That’s when I thought of Gabriel, one of our hospital volunteers. He was a retired veteran who rode a motorcycle and had a presence that could fill a room — strong, quiet, and unexpectedly soft-hearted when it came to children. More importantly, he carried a scar of his own, one that traced the same path across his temple as Lily’s.

When I called him and explained the situation, he arrived without hesitation. He stepped into Lily’s room gently, his voice warm and steady as he introduced himself and praised her courage. And when she still hid her face, Gabriel slowly removed his own bandana and turned his head, showing her his scar, worn and healed with time.