It happened at the hospital. I was visiting my ailing father, who was hospitalized following his recent heart attack. It seemed like I spent so much of my time there. I was walking along the corridor, back from the washroom with a kettle of tap water, when a frail-looking man with a walking stick bumped into me. He was probably between 40-50 years old. He was wearing the standard white patient's garb and walked with a limp, as he had to rely much on his walking stick.

He bumped into me, spilling some of the water in the electric kettle I was holding when the tip of his walking stick hit a crack on the floor's tile, to which he said, "Sorry, miss."

Our eyes met for a brief moment and I could see the look in his eyes. It was a look of sadness, and loneliness, that of a man defeated and broken. It was the same feeling that I knew reflected inside my own heart. I was the youngest of my parents' three children, with my sister being 8 years older than me. My mother died of an illness when I was very young. My father was the one raising me and my siblings on his own. Then my brother and sister married, and left home, and the home is left with only my father and myself. It was that way for many years. But now my father is on his way to join my mother.

There was still a chance. The doctors said that if I could raise enough money, father can have a surgery that will cure his illness. If only I could find the money, but where would I go to find such a large sum? Without realizing it, my tears fell and my sobs could be heard throughout the ward my father shared with three other patients. The other patients tried their best to calm me down, and I only stopped crying because I didn't want to look like a crybaby.

Regardless, I cried every day, as I kept being reminded of what I had to do, and no way of achieving it. How could I, barely a high school graduate, do anything to get such a sum? I had discussed it with my brother and sister, but both had a family now and neither had the money to spare. They were willing to part with some of what they had, but I knew, even if we pooled our money, it would not be anywhere near enough for father's operation.

I was sitting at the lobby one day, my eyes red from crying just a moment ago. I had stayed with father all night, and had the fortune of hearing father spoke a few words, before he fell back to sleep. At that time, I had to go elsewhere, anywhere to escape the facts, but I had nowhere to go but here.

A man coughed deeply beside me, and I pulled my head up from my palms. I looked at him and through my tears, found that it was the same man who'd bumped into me several days ago. He apologized for disturbing me, but wondered why I was crying.

I told him everything.

By the time I was done, he had his left arm around my waist and his right hand caressing my shoulder-length brown hair. I knew what was going on, but I didn't act to remove his hands. I needed this, I told myself, and I did. I had been so long since I've felt such warm hands holding me tightly, keeping me safe. He whispered that everything's going to be alright. I believed him.

We chatted every day since then, even so far as going to lunch together - always at the hospital's cafeteria. We got to know each other better. His name was Alexander Mauser, but he told me to call him Mause (pronounced mau-ze, like mouse, except with the sound of 'z'). In his youth, he was an engineer and collected a small fortune from his patents and designs. He spoke of his past animatedly and with so much enthusiasm, that I momentarily forgot that defeated man who'd bumped into me two weeks ago. I found that I was looking forward to seeing Mause, and be taken into the wonderful realm of his past, away from my sorrows.

While father's friends often came to visit, and my siblings often came with their families, it was never the kinds of visits I was looking forward to. My father's friends were old and spoke of many different things, things I had not much of an idea of and I ended up having to nod or say 'yes' to whatever they talked about. My brother and sister's visits, while expected, was more of an annoyance than of help. It helped that father laughed a lot more watching the antics of his grandchildren, but it also made him tire easily and had to go back to sleep sooner. On the odd chance that father was well enough to chat with me, it was never enough. His humor and spontaneity was gone, replaced with a ghost of a man, with whom I had to fake a laugh when he did something silly or crack a dry joke. Still, it was the few moment when we can talk, and I was grateful enough for such opportunity.

"You should go to college, Hans," my father said to me. He remarked that my trust fund should be enough to cover the fees.

I refused. How could I go to college when that same money could probably save my father's life? Who would take care of father if I go to the college anyhow?

I mentioned this to Mause after lunch the next day. He looked at me emphatically and held me close, the way I liked it. He would pat my head and caress my hair, and I liked that as well. When he whispered into my ears gently, and brushed his lips on my ears, my body tingled and I was lost in dreams. He said that everything will turn out okay, and for that moment, I believed it would, with no room for doubt whatsoever.

Everything changed when father had another stroke. Doctors and nurses, most of which I had never seen before swarmed his bed. They pulled and pushed his bed into the ER, with the speed and efficiency of a well-oiled machine, as they tried to stabilize my father's condition. I was prevented from going in with them, and told to wait outside. I waited. I didn't even think about calling my brother and sister, my only living relatives back then.

I didn't realize that Mause was standing beside me, until he wrapped his arm around my waist. I turned to him and cried. He patted me on the head as always. His walking stick was hanging to the hand that was wrapped around my waist. The length of his walking stick was resting on the crack of my butt, but I didn't care. He assured me that everything would be fine. I didn't believe him for the first time. I looked up at his face and suddenly noticed the difference in height for the first time.

I have always been petite and slim, standing at merely 5'3" in height. Many remarked that I looked like child and I used to take offense at that, but I learned to ignore them. Mause however was much taller, probably a foot taller, even hunched. I imagined that he must have been taller in his youth.

"I would do anything so that my father can get well, Mause. But there's nothing I can do," I sobbed, wetting his expensive-feeling designer shirt. Designer shirt?

"Anything? Don't sell yourself short, puppe, you are beautiful as you are," he said.

"Why are you not wearing a patient's gown, Mause?" I asked as I distanced myself from him.

"I'm being discharged, puppe," he said, while calling me his favorite petname. Puppe, for doll.

"You're going to leave me alone, Mause?" I asked, feeling slightly betrayed.

He moved to hold my hand, but I pulled away, and he stayed his hand, before putting it onto the knob on top of his walking stick. "You said you would do anything to save your father?" he asked, despite the harsh tone of his voice, his eyes were kind and passionate.

It took me some time, but I replied, "Yes."

"Would it include staying with me in my home?" he asked next.

I was confused, "Why would you want me to stay with you?"

"I have my reasons, puppe. But don't worry, you and your father will be well taken care of, I promise you that," he reassured me.

"What do you mean?"

"Herr Mauser?" came a voice from behind me.

"How is he, Dr. Kreutzmeyer?" Mause asked the doctor.

"We have stabilized him, Herr Mauser. But he will need a surgery soon or even Gott will need a miracle to keep him alive," the doctor said in an accent so thick, I've only heard it in old World war 2 movies.

"Very well, Dr. Kreutzmeyer. Please do what you can for now and send me your recommendations," Mause said authoritatively.

"I will have it placed on your desk by tomorrow afternoon, mein Graf," he said as he bowed slightly, before going back into the ER.

"Wh-what..." I stuttered after the man was gone.

"Those were the doctors that I handpicked to take care of your father. Consider it as a gift." He smiled warmly, and walked past me.

"Mause, what are you doing?" I asked as I grabbed his arm.

He turned around, gently held my fingers and kissed the back of my palm, "A small gift, for one who gave back my life."

"Mause..."

"Ah," he produced a business card from his shirt pocket, "If you decide to accept my offer, call this number," and he placed the card into my hand.

Then he bent forward, kissed my temple, and let go of my hands. I didn't want to let go, but I had no strength. I fell to the floor, as two men appeared on Mause's either side as if from thin air. They opened the door for Mause and he crossed the threshold, and they walked into the blinding sunlight following the angel who had captured my heart. As my thoughts were accompanied by the constant click clack of Mause's walking stick on the floor, I grabbed the card tight and wondered, what should I do?

*Hey all, sorry for disappearing for too long. I just got out of jail for indecent exposure. As always, comments and feedbacks are very appreciated.