A Piece of Snow Cake

During the night shift in pediatrics, I picked up an eleven-year-old boy from the bench in the corridor. He didn't cry, he didn't fuss, he didn't look for his parents, he didn't even say a word when he got an injection. After it was cooked, he mustered up all his courage and asked: Auntie, can I have a Wangwang snow cake? Just one. That was the only wish he had ever made in his life.