Chapter 5

Three days later, Parker was discharged from the hospital.

The doctor had prescribed him medication and granted a week of medical leave, but he only stayed in bed for a single day before returning to work. Medical bills didn't pause just because he got sick.

The autumn sun spilled lazily across the steps outside the library.

I was dozing in my cardboard box when the familiar scent of hot dog hit my nose.

I opened my eyes to find Parker crouching in front of me, holding out a full sausage.

"This is for you," he said, placing it gently on my saucer. "The nurse said you saved my life."

I crept forward cautiously and began to eat the extravagant gift.

But Parker didn't leave. Instead, he sat down beside me, his gaze fixed on the empty field in the distance.

"My mom's getting worse," he murmured, almost like he was speaking to himself. "The doctor says... three months left, at most."

My throat tightened. I looked up at him, throat tight.

His face was eerily calm, like he was talking about someone else's mother.

"Three months," he repeated, absently pulling at a patch of weeds growing from a crack in the stone. "That's just enough time to save up for a decent burial plot."

A gust of wind rustled the dead leaves on the ground.

Then Parker turned to me, forcing a bitter smile.

"Tell me something," he asked. "Why do good people always die young? My mom's never hurt a soul in her life. And yet she's going to die slowly and painfully... while that bastard of a father of mine gets to walk around free and easy."

I didn't know how to answer. So I let out a soft "meow" and nudged his hand with my head.

This time, Parker didn't pull away. His fingers brushed over my fur, hesitant but gentle.

"Your color," he whispered. "It's like sunshine."

We sat together on the steps, silent, until the school bell rang. He stood, hesitated, and then said, "I'll come see you this afternoon."

It was the first time he'd ever said something like that to me.

That evening, Parker returned to the library carrying a small bundle of cloth.

He unwrapped it and showed me what was inside. He had taken an old sweater and sewn it into a tiny cat bed. Far warmer than my cardboard box.

"It's getting cold," he muttered, placing the bed next to my old one. "You can sleep here."

I immediately dove in, turned around in a circle, and let out a satisfied purr.

Parker watched me, and the corners of his mouth twitched upward.

"I guess I should give you a name," he said thoughtfully. After a moment, he decided, "Sunny."

I froze.

In the novel, Parker's most secretive AI project at his future company was called "Sunny". Could it be the name came from a stray cat?

"Your fur," he murmured, "looks like sunlight."

He reached out again, and this time, the touch was deliberate.

Then, to my surprise, he added, "See you tomorrow, Sunny."

As I watched him walk away, I realized something incredible. That high wall around his heart had finally started to crack.

And I... I was the light that slipped through.

Parker started talking to me.

At first, it was just a simple "Good morning" or "Sleep well." Then came little updates from his day.

"Sunny, the fish at the cafeteria was bad today. I didn't bring any. It's raining again. Hope your bed stayed dry.

Gradually, he began saying more.

Every visit came with a story from school.

And I knew what it meant. For someone like Parker, letting his guard down this much meant trust.

"Triston Harrison gave me hell again," he muttered one evening as he brushed my fur, seated on the back steps of the library. "Tossed my homework into the boys' restroom."

I nudged his hand with my nose, offering silent comfort.

His lips curled faintly. That was his version of a smile.

"It's fine," he said quietly. "I rewrote it. But..." His voice trailed off. "That notebook had Mom's medication schedule in it."

I shot up, tail stiff. Parker blinked, confused. "What's wrong?"

I couldn't exactly tell him I understood everything he said. So I rubbed against his leg, then darted off toward the main building, pausing once to make sure he followed.

"Sunny?" he called, getting to his feet. "Where are you going?"

I kept running, glancing back every few steps until he finally caught up.

Together, we made our way into the main building, slipping past the gate when the guard wasn't looking.

The halls were empty. Most students had already gone home.

I stopped in front of the boys' restroom and scratched at the door. Parker frowned. "You want to go in there? Why?"

I kept scratching until he sighed and pushed the door open.

It was empty. I darted inside, straight to the trash can, and began digging. "Sunny! Gross!" he tried to stop me, but I'd already seen it.

Half-buried in soggy paper was a soaked notebook. I tugged it out with my teeth and placed it at Parker's feet.

He froze.

Then slowly knelt down, flipping it open with trembling fingers.

There it was—his homework, water-stained but intact. And the medication chart, the ink smudged but still legible.

"How... how did you know?" he whispered, eyes wide. "Did you... see them do it?"

I gave him a solemn meow. Let him decide what it meant.