The headache was the worst. He could handle everything else. The irritated eyes, the dry mouth, the nausea, the dizziness, and the constant feeling of coldness that kept him freezing 24 hours a day. But those damn headaches . . .

Logan sat at his desk and stared at his laptop with tired eyes. The screen flickering didn't do good things to his head, but then again, it didn't matter anymore. There was a soft knock on the door, then it was carefully opened. His father walked in. "What are you doing?"

Logan gave him a quick – and surprised – look. His father was usually dressed conservatively, but today he wore a simple white shirt and jeans.

"I signed up for a special class on Saturdays. Because obviously the only thing I'm allowed to do is studying."

"Can you cancel it?"

"Why?"

"Logan, do you know what you need?"

"Yes," Logan replied curtly, thinking about Camille. But he didn't say her name. He hadn't seen or heard from her in two months.

"You need fresh air and sunshine. So, get away from your desk, close your laptop, and come downstairs with me. And I'm telling you this as a doctor, not as your father. The car is loaded and is waiting for us. It's time for a father-son trip."

"Did Mom allow that?" Logan asked cynically.

"Your mother isn't home. And I don't need her permission to go on a trip with my son. Come on, let's go."

Logan slowly got up and followed his father down the stairs. And when he finally stood in front of the house in the warm sunshine, he was suddenly overcome by a feeling of deep doubt. "Dad?"

His father had opened the car doors and turned around to him. "Hmmm?"

"You . . . you're not taking me to the hospital, are you?"

The disappointment on his face was only briefly visible, but Logan had seen it and now he felt even worse.

"Do you really think I would do something like that?"

Logan turned away. "No, of course not." Tears were welling up inside him. A hand rested on his shoulder, his father pulled him close. Logan laid his head on his shoulder. "Sorry." The tears were now running down his cheeks.

"It's okay."

Silence fell between them until his father squeezed his shoulder gently. "Come on, let's get away from here, okay?"

Logan sniffled, then nodded and got in the car.


Logan's head was leaning against the window. Jeffrey noticed how his son had wrapped his arms around himself. He was freezing again but didn't want to say it.

"There's a blanket on the back seat. Take it."

"Thanks," Logan mumbled.

"Are you tired?"

"A little bit."

Jeffrey nodded. "It will be a while before we reach our destination. Why don't you try to get some sleep?"

"Okay," Logan answered, whose eyes closed the next moment. As Jeffrey stopped at a red light, he watched his son thoughtfully and with deep compassion. "It has to stop," he murmured to himself. "It has to stop."


Logan was awakened by a gentle shake on his shoulder. Confused, he opened his eyes. "What's going on?" he murmured hoarsely.

"We're there. Can you get up?"

Logan nodded dazedly, wrapped himself in the blanket again and climbed out of the car. He looked around. They were standing in a parking lot, which was next to a forest. "Where are we?"

His father was about to open the trunk. Logan saw a backpack and a large gym bag.

"We have to walk a bit, then you'll see." With these words he shouldered the backpack and took the sports bag in his right hand. "Okay, let's go."

They followed a path through the forest for good fifteen minutes, until they emerged from between the trees and stood on the shore of a huge lake. Logan looked around with his mouth open, this place was beautiful, peaceful.

"Surprise," Jeffrey said next to him, smiling contentedly. "Come, let's find a good spot."

They found a spot half in the sun and half in the shadow of a mighty tree. Jeffrey opened the gym bag and pulled out a large picnic blanket. He spread it out on the grass, then they sat down.

"All right . . . We've got chips, coke, water, crackers, pretzels, and lemonade," Jeffrey listed, opening the backpack and placing the items he just mentioned on the blanket. Logan raised his eyebrows. "As a general practitioner and professor for health education, shouldn't you know that most of these things are highly unhealthy?"

His father laughed softly. "Would you like to know how many of my colleagues regularly smoke, drink, or eat too much junk food?"

Logan grimaced. "No, thanks."

"Good decision. 'Cause the answer is shocking."

Now Logan had to smile slightly. He took a pretzel and looked around. "Dad? What is this place?"

"You don't remember?"

Logan stared at him, then looked around again. His gaze lingered on a willow tree, its outer branches hanging in the water. Something about that tree seemed familiar to him. At the same moment, something that had been buried deep down inside him for many, many years was about to burst to the surface . . .


The five-year-old boy stood on the upper branches of the willow tree, whooping with joy, waving to his parents while holding onto the trunk with his other hand. "You see me, Daddy? I'm finally taller than you."

"Yes, that's true," the father replied with a laugh.

"Can you see me, Mommy?"

"Yes, I see you, honey," Joanna Mitchell called up to her happy son, smiling, she was happy because he was happy. "But Logan, please, be careful, do you hear me?" she added in a slightly worried tone, placing a protective hand on her stomach . . .


"Logan?"

Logan blinked. "Huh?"

"Is everything alright?" his father asked worried. "You suddenly turned pale. Are you feeling dizzy, sick?"

Logan slowly shook his head. "No, I . . . We've been here before, haven't we?"

"That's right. We used to be out here almost every free weekend."

"Why did we stop?"

"Well, the last time we were here was a few weeks before you got your diagnosis. And . . . and I guess because of everything that happened after that, well, there just hasn't been a right time to come back."

"Until today."

"Until today."

Logan looked down, running his hand over the grass. "We were happy, weren't we?"

"Yes, and we can be happy again."

"How?"

Jeffrey opened the backpack again and took out a small box. Logan knew what it was and was about to protest, but his father cut him off, "Logan, even though I didn't like it, I've supported you during the last two months and tried to respect your decision. But now I've gotten to a point where it hurts me to see you suffer like that. You wanted to prove something, and you succeeded. But now it's time to get sane again. There are other ways of taking responsibility for your life and decisions without going to the brink of self-sacrifice. Because you will soon reach a point where your body can no longer do what you want it to do if you continue going down this path."

"Maybe that's exactly what I want. Maybe . . . maybe I don't care anymore if I have a life or not. It doesn't matter anyway."

"You're wrong. Because I care, your mother cares, and there are many more people who don't want you go down this self-destructive path."

"He's right, Logan."

Logan turned around, too fast, way too fast for his condition. The dizziness came back, nausea welled up in him, everything started spinning, the world turned upside down.

"Camille . . ."

Then he lost consciousness . . .


He saw nothing but a bright blue sky, then his father's face appeared in front of him. "Are you all right?"

"What happened?"

"You . . . you passed out for a few seconds."

"Dad, I think it's getting worse. I thought I saw . . ."

"Camille?" Jeffrey asked, smiling slightly. Logan nodded weakly.

"Don't worry, you won't go crazy." He waved to someone and as Logan struggled to sit up, he saw Camille approaching them cautiously. She was probably shocked at what her appearance had done.

"Camille . . .? What are you doing here? How did you-?"

"Your dad told me where to find you."

Logan looked at his father. "But . . ."

Jeffrey clapped his hands. "Well, looks like you two have a lot to talk about. This is the perfect time for me to take a walk."

Before Logan could say anything else, his father packed some of the snacks and drinks in his backpack, got up and walked away. Now Logan had no other choice but to deal with Camille. She knelt down next to him, but he avoided eye contact. "Why are you here? You hate me."

"I don't hate you, Logan. I was pretty mad at you, but that was before I found out that you only said all those things because your mom didn't want us to see each other. Your father told me that a few days ago. He was worried . . . and so was I since he told me you were off your meds."

Logan was silent, still staring at the ground. Camille put a hand on his cheek and lifted his face a little. "If you don't want to take them for your mother, your father, or for yourself, I understand that. But can you at least take them for me? Please."

Logan just couldn't look away, could only look silently at her face, which he had missed so much during the last eight weeks. His throat felt tight and all he could do was nod. Yes, he would go back on his meds, for Camille. Only for her.