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Eli’s brother nods. “I’m Tommy. And thanks for stopping by, but we have everything we need.”

“O-okay,” I stammer. Eli is still glaring at me, and Tommy crosses the room without so much as a passing glance. “I guess I’ll just go.”

“Thanks.” Tommy’s voice makes my heart ache, but I know there isn’t any more I can do for them right now. They need time together to come to terms with Eli’s illness and his prognosis, which, according to his chart, isn’t good.

I turn to leave the room, and Tommy’s voice softens for his little brother.

“I brought you my iPad.” There is a rustling of a bag and then a few pings, dings, and bleeps of a video game. The music forces my lips into a sad smile.

He’s a Fortnite fan, too.

I pull the door closed behind me and tears spring to my eyes. I love what I do. I love that this program can bring slivers of happiness to kids when they need it most.

But God, I hate that I need to do it.