Beep. Beep.

I see my little boy lying limp on the bed by the window and my heart lurched.

Beep. Beep.

That annoying sound. That annoying machine. That's the only thing keeping my little boy alive.

Kim Jongin, my poor little darling. Why must you suffer such fate?

I paced back and forth in the room, face creasing with worry. Never have I thought that this day would come. The day my little boy lie in bed frozen, still, so hopeless.

"Mrs Kim," a soothing voice interrupted my thoughts. I glanced at the doorway. It was Dr Wu, my little boy's doctor, leaning against the door.

His face showed genuine concern, something I haven't seen for days. For a moment, I felt touched. But then again, it was his job to be concerned. So I pushed those feelings of gratitude for his kind gesture. He was as fake as everyone else here.

"What do you want?" My voice was cold, and I stared at him, hard.

"I just.. I just came to say that he will pull through. Kim Jongin will survive this. He's a fighter," his voice was clear, though there was a hint of uncertainty. As if he was unsure it would console me.

"You don't have to tell me what I know!" I snapped and looked away. "Can you just leave me alone with my son for a moment," I whispered, this time, a little broken.

"Alright," he sighed defeatedly and left the ward almost immediately.

I felt at ease being alone. Finally I could calm myself down and straighten my thoughts. How did this happen? My little boy, he used to dance. He used to be able to twirl around like the little ballerina he was taught to be. I remember clearly those times he came running to me right after ballet classes, tugging my apron and forcing me to watch the new dance moves he learnt. And I happily obliged. Those happy memories, they were so fond. However those small fragments of happiness in my memory was starting to fade.

A sad smile formed on my lips and I heaved a heavy sigh. I wasn't going to give up on my baby. I would never think of such a horrendous thing. My little boy, my baby, my life, I knew him better. Just like what Dr Wu said, my little prince is a fighter. And he would wake up one day. But deep down inside, a small part of me kept telling me repeatedly that I was wrong. I was wrong to ever think that he would wake up.

I walked towards the lifeless body on the bed and took a seat by his side. And I leaned in closer to the fragile form. My resolve, my promise not to cry, crumbled into thin air. Just looking at my poor baby made me feel helpless. All I could do was cry. Tears kept falling and how I wished his fingers could wipe them off like he used to. I felt embarrased for breaking our promise, my promise not to cry.

As I wiped my tears away, I willed myself to be strong. I had to be strong for my baby. I pushed his fringe away and gave him a long kiss on the forehead, just like I usually do before he went to sleep. In a soft voice, I began to hum Jongin's favourite song, Ronan by Taylor Swift. Somehow that particular song he loved was a story about himself. And I was personally afraid of the ending. I never wanted to experience such pain of losing my baby. However I hummed the song the best I could. It was still Jongin's favourite song no matter what.

"Come on baby with me we're gonna fly away from here. You were my best four years," my voice was merely a hoarse whisper. It seemed loud against the deafening silence of the ward. I gave his hand a gentle squeeze. "Mummy loves you no matter what."

Right after, I left the room, feeling miserable. I couldn't take it anymore.