“So, you want us to adopt it? I mean, him?”
“Exactly. Raise him like you would any other boy.”
They looked at each other, brows furrowed, nervous, still holding hands. Through the two-way mirror, they watched him play with the toy firetruck, happy as can be. She said, “What if he gets sick? Do I—”
“Do you what you would do if any child gets sick. Thermometer, chicken soup, wet washcloth on the forehead, whatever. Nurse him back to health.”
“But will he? Get sick?”
“He’s programmed to, on occasion. Nothing too serious.” The scientist laughed. “Chicken Pox, at most.”
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