The waiting room was quiet, just the low hum of the receptionist’s keyboard and the occasional cough from across the room. My five-year-old, Lila, sat beside me, swinging her legs and peeling through a sheet of colorful stickers she had in her tiny hands. “Mommy, can I play?” she asked, pointing to the little play area in the corner.

I glanced around. The room was mostly empty except for an elderly man sitting across from us, staring blankly at the floor. I nodded. “Stay where I can see you, okay? She beamed, hopping off her chair. I quickly excused myself to the bathroom—just two minutes, maybe less. But when I came back…

There she was. Standing in front of the elderly man, carefully pressing stickers all over his face. Bright, glittery, cartoonish stickers. One on his forehead, a few on his cheeks, a tiny butterfly stuck right at the tip of his nose. And he just sat there. Motionless. His lips trembled slightly, his eyes glassy, as if he were on the verge of crying I froze.

Lila carefully peeled another sticker, a tiny smiling sun, and placed it right over his wrinkled hand. He let out a shaky breath, as if he’d been holding something in for too long. I swallowed hard. “Sir… are you okay?” His chin quivered, his gaze locked on my daughter. And then he whispered something that made my stomach drop. “She reminds me of my granddaughter.”

He touched a small cat sticker on his cheek, and for a moment, I thought I saw a tear in his eye. “I haven’t seen her in a very long time.” I stayed silent, my heart tugging at his words. Lila, oblivious to the gravity of the moment, cheerfully pressed one more sticker—a pink star—onto his forehead. The old man closed his eyes and inhaled slowly. It felt like he was soaking in the memory of a grandchild he missed dearly, trying not to let the tears escape.