When a workaholic businessman receives devastating news about his health, he meets a boy in the hospital who changes his outlook on life. Their bond grows through an unexpected friendship and small acts of kindness, teaching him what truly matters—until a heartbreaking twist changes everything.
Andrew, 50 years old, was sitting at his desk, shuffling papers while juggling scheduling meetings with his partners.
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He didn’t hear Michael, his assistant, enter the room. Michael stood there, waiting. After a few moments, he cleared his throat.
No response. Andrew kept working, deeply focused. Michael tried again. “Mr. Smith.” Still no answer. He repeated his name three more times.
Finally, Andrew slammed his hands on the desk and snapped, “What?”
Michael didn’t flinch. “You asked me to tell you if your ex-wife called.”
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Andrew groaned and rubbed his temples. “How many times do I have to tell you? Ignore her calls. So, what now?”
Michael held a notepad. “She left a message. I have to warn you: it’s a direct quote. Her words, not mine.” He read the note: “‘Pompous idiot, I will never forgive you for wasting so many years of my life. If you don’t return my painting, I will destroy your car.’ That’s the message.”
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Andrew’s face turned red. “We’ve been divorced for two years! Doesn’t she have anything better to do?”
Michael looked at him, waiting for more instructions. “Should I reply?”
“No! And stop answering her calls,” Andrew said. Then he paused. “Actually, tell her I threw that painting in the trash!”
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Andrew grabbed a pen and threw it against the wall. Michael ducked slightly, nodded politely, and left the room.
Moments later, Andrew’s phone rang. He frowned and answered.
“Andrew Smith?” a voice asked.
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“I’m calling from the hospital. Your test results are ready. The doctor wants to see you.”
“Can’t you just tell me now?” Andrew said, irritated. “I’m busy.”
“I’m sorry, sir. The doctor will explain everything in person.”
Andrew sighed heavily. “Alright. I’ll come in.” He hung up, shaking his head.
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Andrew rarely allowed himself the luxury of taking a break to eat, but this time was different. The doctor’s office was silent, the ticking of the wall clock the only sound.
Andrew sat stiffly in a chair, his fingers tapping the armrest. When the door opened, the doctor entered with a serious expression. Andrew frowned, sensing bad news.
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The doctor sat down across from him and spoke in a firm, measured tone, using terms Andrew didn’t understand.
Then came the word: cancer. “We have to act quickly,” the doctor said.
“Is this a joke?” Andrew asked, his voice sharp. “I own a company. I can’t just check into a hospital.”
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The doctor looked him in the eyes. “Your health must come first. The company can wait.”
Andrew leaned forward. “What are my chances of getting better?”
“I can’t promise you anything,” said the doctor. “Starting treatment immediately is essential.”
Andrew raised his voice. “Can I keep working while I’m here?”
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“The treatment affects each person differently,” the doctor explained. “You’ll stay in the hospital so we can monitor you. You can bring a computer and try to work.”
Andrew frowned and stood up. “Alright. I’ll manage somehow.”
The doctor watched him leave. “We’ll see you tomorrow with your things,” he said before Andrew reached the door.
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As Andrew walked through the pediatric wing of the hospital, he saw a boy of about eight years tossing a ball back and forth with a nurse.
The sound of their laughter echoed down the hall. Suddenly, the ball rolled along the floor and stopped near Andrew’s feet.
“Excuse me, sir!” the boy shouted, smiling. “Can you please throw the ball back?”
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Andrew picked up the ball, his face tense. Without a word, he threw it down the hall, far from the boy and the nurse, then turned and walked away.
“That was mean, sir!” the boy shouted.
Andrew had been in the hospital for days that felt like weeks. He tried to keep working, setting up his laptop and attending meetings.
But the treatment was exhausting. Each session left him weaker. Nausea was constant, and sleeping was nearly impossible.
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One afternoon, during another long chemotherapy session, Andrew leaned back, his eyes half-closed. He felt miserable.
Suddenly, a small voice pierced through the fog. He opened his eyes and saw a boy standing in front of him. Startled, Andrew sat up. The boy let out a little laugh. It was the same boy from the hallway.
“What do you want, kid?” Andrew murmured without looking at him.
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“I’ve been wandering the hospital looking for someone to play with. This is boring.”
Andrew looked at him, annoyed. “What’s your name?” he asked.
“Tommy,” the boy answered with a wide smile.
Andrew sighed. “Listen, Tommy. I’m not in the mood to play. Go bother someone else before I start feeling worse.”
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Tommy didn’t move. Instead, he put his hand in his pocket and pulled out a small peppermint candy. He held it out to Andrew. “This helps with nausea. You should try it.”
Andrew hesitated, then took the candy and put it on the table.
“You’re very grumpy!” Tommy said, laughing. “I’m going to call you Mr. Grumpy. Are you mad because you’re scared of needles?” He pointed to the IV connected to Andrew’s arm.
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Andrew frowned. “I’m not afraid of anything.”
Tommy nodded. “That’s okay. I was scared at first, too, but then I wasn’t anymore. My mom says I’m a superhero. Do you have any superpowers?”
“No,” Andrew said hoarsely.
“That’s because you’re too sad,” Tommy replied, now serious.
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Andrew looked at the boy, surprised by the sincerity in his big, bright eyes. “Do you want something?” Andrew asked.
Tommy smiled. “Yes. I want to buy flowers for my mom. She works a lot, but I don’t have money.”
Andrew sighed again, searched his wallet, and pulled out some bills. “Here. Buy her the flowers. And if there’s any left, buy yourself something too. But leave me alone.”
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Tommy’s face lit up. “Thank you, Mr. Grumpy!” He ran off, clutching the money, while Andrew stared at the peppermint candy on the table.
With a sigh, he picked it up, unwrapped it, and put it in his mouth. To his surprise, the sharp sweetness helped ease his nausea. It wasn’t much, but for a little while, it helped.
That night, while Andrew was looking at his laptop, a nurse knocked on his door.
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She was carrying a small paper bag. “This is for you,” she said, placing it on the table. “Tommy sent it.”
Andrew opened the bag and found it full of peppermint candies. He shook his head, unsure whether to feel amused or touched.
The next morning, he decided to look for Tommy. There was one thing he needed to make clear: the money was not a gift.
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When he approached Tommy’s room, he saw a woman leaning against the wall, her shoulders shaking. She was crying.
“Are you okay?” Andrew asked quietly.
The woman quickly wiped her eyes and looked up. “Yes… Do you need something?”
“Tommy gave me some candies yesterday,” Andrew said.
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The woman’s lips curved into a small smile. “Ah, so you’re Mr. Grumpy,” she said.
Andrew raised an eyebrow. “My name is Andrew,” he replied.
“I’m Sara,” she said. “Are you here for treatment too?”
“Then you understand,” Sara said softly. “The bills, the stress. Right now I can’t even pay the rent. They told us we’ll be evicted in two months.”
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Andrew nodded again, not knowing what to say. Before he could respond, the door suddenly opened. Tommy ran out and his face lit up when he saw Andrew. “Hey, Mr. Grumpy!” he shouted, grinning from ear to ear.
From that day on, Tommy became a constant presence in Andrew’s life.
The boy would enter Andrew’s room with a big smile and endless energy. At first, Andrew found it annoying, but Tommy’s persistence wore him down.
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Soon, Andrew began to look forward eagerly to the visits. Tommy taught him to notice life’s simple joys.
They sat by the window, watching the sunset, guessing the colors of the sky. They played harmless pranks on the nurses, earning scolding looks and stifled smiles.
Sometimes they “borrowed” wheelchairs and rolled down the halls, laughing until their sides ached.
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Andrew didn’t ask about Tommy’s illness. He didn’t know how to bring it up. One afternoon, Tommy said Sara had been crying again. “She’s worried about money,” Tommy said. “We might lose the house.”
Andrew discreetly gave Tommy an envelope with money. “Tell her it’s from a magician,” he said.
When Sara tried to return the money, Andrew waved her off. “I’m not a magician,” he said. “I don’t know where it came from.”
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Weeks passed. Andrew’s treatments worked, and the day came when the doctor gave him the news: he was cancer-free.
Overjoyed, Andrew hurried to share it with Tommy. But when he arrived, Tommy was unconscious, Sara sitting beside him with tears in her eyes.
“What happened?” Andrew asked, his voice barely above a whisper.
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Sara wiped her eyes and shook her head. “The doctors said there’s nothing more they can do.”
Andrew stared at her, struggling to process the words. “But… he seemed so happy. He always smiled. I thought he was getting better.”
Sara looked at him, her face full of pain. “He didn’t want you to see how sick he was. He wanted to be strong for you. He believed he was a superhero.”
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Andrew felt a tightness in his chest. “I’m so sorry.”
Sara managed a weak smile through her tears. “Don’t be sorry. He said you saved him. These months, you gave him laughter and hope. You made him forget he was sick.”
Andrew slowly shook his head. “No. He was the one who saved me.”
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He stepped closer and wrapped her in a gentle hug. She cried silently against his shoulder, and although Andrew wished he could take away her pain, he knew nothing could truly ease it.
That night, Tommy passed away peacefully, surrounded by his mother’s love and the memories he had created.
Afterward, Andrew sat alone in his room, overwhelmed by the loss. He couldn’t bear the thought of such a bright soul fading into oblivion.
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Determined, he founded a foundation in Tommy’s name to help sick children, ensuring his kindness would live on.
He also stayed in touch with Sara, offering her support in any way he could.
One afternoon, Andrew stood at his ex-wife’s door, holding the painting she had demanded for so long. She opened the door, mouth ready to launch accusations, but Andrew handed her the painting silently.
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“I haven’t come to argue,” Andrew said calmly, offering her the painting.
His ex frowned, puzzled. “What is this supposed to mean?” she asked.
“Nothing important,” Andrew replied with a small smile. “I’m just making sure I keep my superpowers.” Without waiting for a response, he turned and walked away.
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