Chapter 2 - The Wrong Room and the Right Prayer
“I am lost,” Amara said, her voice small but surprisingly clear in the quiet room. “I was looking for Lily. But you look much sicker than Lily.”
Evan looked down at his rabbit. “I’m dying. That’s what the doctor told my dad.”
Amara walked closer, her wet boots making a slight squeaking sound on the linoleum. She didn’t look afraid of the wires or the rhythmic beep of the monitors. She set her green backpack on the floor and gently laid the rag doll—stitched together with blue yarn hair and a yellow dress—right beside Evan’s limp fingers.
“My grandmother says dying is just going home early,” Amara said softly. “But you’re too little to go home early. You haven't finished your playtime yet.”
Evan looked at the rag doll. “It’s soft.”
“Her name is Faith. I made her with my grandma,” Amara replied. She closed her eyes, bowed her head, and gently laid her small hand over Evan’s cold forehead. “Dear God, please make this boy’s body remember how to be strong. Amen.”
Outside the doorway, Daniel stopped mid-sentence. His phone slid down from his ear. Jae Min’s voice continued to buzz from the receiver, but Daniel didn't hear a word.
He stood frozen in the doorway, staring at the little Nigerian girl standing beside his son’s bed. Her yellow raincoat dripped onto the expensive floor. She had no security detail, no high-priced medical credentials, and no reason to be there.
“Who allowed you in here?” Daniel’s voice boomed, low and dark.
Amara turned around slowly. She looked at Daniel—a man six feet three inches tall, covered in ink, eyes hardened by decades of street wars—and did not flinch.
“You don’t have to know somebody to pray for them,” she said simply.
Daniel stepped into the room, his long shadow covering the floor. “Get out.”
“Daniel?” Evan’s voice was barely a whisper, but it stopped the crime boss instantly. “Dad... she gave me Faith.”
Daniel looked at his son. For the first time in three weeks, Evan’s eyes were completely open. The dull, glossy film that had covered his irises seemed to have cleared just a fraction.
Before Daniel could say another word, the nurse who had told Amara to wait rushed into the room, pale with panic. “Mr. Kwon! I am so sorry, she wandered off—”
“Wait,” Daniel commanded, raising a single hand. The nurse stopped instantly. Daniel looked down at Amara, then at the rag doll, and finally at Evan’s face. Something cold inside Daniel’s chest, frozen for months, began to crack.
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“Who are you?” Daniel asked the girl.
“I’m Amara Okafor,” she said proudly. “And I’m seven.”
