Alice poked at her cereal, her hazel eyes deep in thought. She glanced at her mother, whose gentle hands moved with practiced care as she prepared a small green capsule.
"Mommy, why do you take that medicine every morning? Is it really safe?"
Alice clung to her mother’s side, her thin frame dwarfed by the towering plants. The air inside the greenhouse is earthy, vibrant, and alive with quiet energy.
"Wow, I didn’t know medicine could look like this," she murmured, eyes wide.
Mr. Benson shakes Alice’s hand warmly, crouching to her level. His words are gentle, his presence reassuring.
"Are you a superhero too?" Alice asks, her voice tinged with awe.
"We like to think so," he replies. "We make medicine that helps people who are very sick, like cancer patients who need to eat, or women who hurt every month, or people who can't sleep. We even help some people stop using dangerous drugs."
Alice watches as a worker folds a packet, her small fingers mimicking the motion. Her mother kneels beside her, explaining each step.
"It’s like making sure every band-aid is clean before you use it," she says, smiling.
"But Alice," Mr. Benson adds softly, "it’s very important to know that kids can’t have this medicine. It’s only for grown-ups who really need it."
"Why can’t kids have it?" Alice asks, voice uncertain.
"If someone younger than 25 uses it, it can stop their brain from growing properly," her mother explains. "But for older people, it might even protect their brains as they age. That’s why we’re careful."
Alice smiles, her questions answered and her worries eased. She looks up at her mother, feeling proud and secure.
"I’m glad you’re helping people, Mommy. You really are a superhero,"
