Chris immediately leaned toward him.
“You okay, Captain?”
Ethan’s smile faded slightly.
“Dad, I laughed.”
“I know.”
“I’m allowed.”
Chris leaned back.
“Of course you are.”
I raised my phone.
Click.
Ethan looked at me.
“What?”
“Nothing,” I said.
But after that, almost everything became something I felt compelled to save.
Ethan eating cereal.
Sleeping with one sock on.
The disgusted face he made at hospital gelatin.
The hours he spent arguing football statistics with Chris.
Photos.
Short videos.
Voice recordings.
I told myself I was collecting our life.
I didn’t realize Ethan had noticed.
A few days later, a woman from a wish organization came to his room.
She pulled up a chair.
“If you could do one really special thing, Ethan, anything at all, what would you pick?”
I expected him to name a famous player.
Maybe ask for a trip.
Something extravagant.
Ethan answered immediately.
