Look, but be quiet.

He’s sleeping.

That’s why the little girl and the little boy are sitting in the dark.

Their Daddy is going to die in exactly 48 hours and 25 minutes, but don’t tell them. They’re just babies.

Look at the little boy. There’s a puppy in his lap. That’s the puppy his mommy and daddy gave him when he six. He named the puppy Boots, because the puppy was black with tan feet. Bootsy was run over by a car the following Christmas Eve. He was killed. The Daddy had to wake up the little boy and tell him.

You should have seen the Daddy’s heart break from it. You’ve never seen anything like it.

Look at that little boy. He’s still wearing his Tampa Bay Bucaneers pajamas.

See the little girl? See her there? She knows what’s happening.

But she’s not going to tell anyone. It’s a secret.

See her walking down the hallway to bathroom? See how she’s avoiding all the cracks in the tile?

Step on a crack, break your mother’s back.

She’s avoiding them anyway, just in case they meant to say your father’s back.

Hop scotch to the bathroom, little girl, in your favorite Strawberry Shortcake dress and your hair in pigtails, just like your best friend Allison.

She’s not going to tell the little boy what’s happening when she gets back. He might cry like he did when the puppy was killed, and she would die from that.

So she is keeping it a secret.

On-your-honor-you-will-die-stick-a-needle-in-your-eye promise that you’ll keep it a secret.

They have just two days left, but we can’t tell them.

Look at them.

They’re just babies.