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, was sitting at his desk, flipping through papers while trying to schedule meetings with his business partners.

He didn’t hear Michael, his assistant, enter the office. Michael stood there, waiting. After a few moments, he cleared his throat.
No response. Andrew kept working, laser-focused. Michael tried again. “Mr. Smith.” Still no response. 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 let you know if your ex-wife called.”
Andrew groaned and rubbed his temples. “How many times do I have to tell you? Ignore her calls. Now what?”
Michael held a notepad. “She left a message. I should warn you—this is a direct quote. Her words, not mine.” He read the note: “‘You pompous idiot, I will never forgive you for wasting so many years of my life. If you don’t return my painting, I’ll destroy your car.’ That’s the message.”
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 further instructions. “Do you want me to respond?”
“No! And stop answering her calls,” Andrew said. Then he paused. “Actually, tell her I threw that painting in the trash!”
Andrew grabbed a pen and threw it against the wall. Michael ducked slightly, gave a polite nod, and left the room.
Moments later, Andrew’s phone rang. He frowned before answering.
“Andrew Smith?” asked a voice.
“Yes. Who’s calling?” Andrew replied.
“This is the hospital. We have the results of your tests. The doctor would like to see you.”
“Can’t you just tell me now?” Andrew asked, irritated. “I’m busy.”
“Sorry, sir. The doctor will explain in person.”
Andrew sighed heavily. “Fine. I’ll come in.” He hung up, shaking his head.
Andrew rarely allowed himself the luxury of a lunch break, but this time was different. The doctor’s office was quiet, the ticking of the wall clock the only sound.
He sat stiffly in a chair, his fingers drumming on the armrest. When the door opened, the doctor entered with a serious expression. Andrew frowned, sensing bad news.
The doctor sat across from him and spoke in a calm, measured tone, using medical terms Andrew didn’t fully understand.
Then came the word: cancer. “We need to act quickly,” the doctor said.
“Is this some kind of joke?” Andrew asked, his voice sharp. “I have a business to run. I can’t just check into a hospital.”
The doctor met his eyes. “Your health needs to come first. The business can wait.”
Andrew leaned forward. “What are my chances of getting better?”
“I can’t promise anything,” the doctor said. “Starting treatment immediately is critical.”
Andrew’s voice rose. “Can I keep working while I’m here?”
“The treatment affects everyone differently,” the doctor explained. “You’ll stay in the hospital so we can monitor you. Someone can bring you a laptop.”
Andrew frowned and stood up. “Fine. I’ll deal with it.”
The doctor watched him leave. “See you tomorrow with your things,” he said before Andrew reached the door.
As Andrew walked through the pediatric wing of the hospital, he noticed a boy, about eight years old, playing catch with a nurse.
The sound of their laughter echoed down the hallway. Suddenly, the ball rolled across the floor and stopped at Andrew’s feet.
“Excuse me, sir!” the boy called, smiling. “Can you please throw the ball back?”
Andrew picked up the ball, his face tense. Without saying a word, he threw it far down the hall, away from the boy and the nurse, then turned and walked away.
“That was mean, sir!” the boy shouted after him.
Andrew stayed in the hospital for days that felt like weeks. He tried to keep working, setting up his laptop and forcing himself into meetings.
But the treatment was draining. Each session left him weaker. Nausea was constant, and sleep was nearly impossible.
One afternoon, during another long chemotherapy session, Andrew reclined, his eyes half-closed, feeling miserable.
Suddenly, a small voice broke through his fog. He opened his eyes and saw a boy standing in front of him. Startled, Andrew flinched. The boy laughed. It was the same boy from the hallway.
“What do you want, kid?” Andrew muttered, not even lifting his head.
“I’m walking around the hospital looking for someone to play with. It’s boring here,” the boy said brightly.
Andrew looked at him, annoyed. “What’s your name?” he asked.
“Tommy,” the boy replied with a wide grin.
From that day on, Tommy became a constant presence in Andrew’s life…