There she is.

Welcome back, Ms. Pollock.

You're okay, sweetie.

Just a fainting spell.

Pretty common for someone
with your diagnosis.

I thought I saw someone, an old lady--

I'm not exactly an ingenue,
but [?] is pretty harsh.

Not you, someone…

Never mind.

I'm Dr. Georgina Stanton.

Welcome to Brightcliffe.

I'm sorry about earlier, Doc.

-Earlier?
-When you fainted.

He scooped you up and ran for the door,

which I completely understand.

It makes no sense.

No [?] at all to leave her here.

To leave her here when she's sick.

Trust me. I know.

It's exactly how I felt
when I lost my son, Julian.

I couldn't talk to parents
in your situation

if I hadn't been one myself.

I'm sorry, I didn't… didn't realize.

The thing I didn't understand
when we talk about [?]

or any terminal illness, really.

Look at the language we use,
the language of battle.

We're gonna fight this thing.

We're going to fight
with everything we've got.

Be [?] for the fight.

And then people say…

they lost the battle.

It's so backwards.

I get it. To talk about the fight,
it's active, visceral.

Don't look at the hard part.

Look at all these shiny, sharp [?]
we've developed all for you to try.

Brightcliffe isn't about battles.

It's about permission
to leave the battlefield.

To focus on living instead of fighting.

We aren't about a fight,
and it's certainly isn't losing a battle.

Every living day here is a [?].

You and I can talk a little more, Tim,
if you'd like.

Maybe while Ilonka finishes her tour.

Um, I'd like that.

So this is the dormitory.

Boys or girls?

Both. Boys and girls
don't [?] rooms, of course,

but we don't see the need
to quarantine them.

These young people are dealing
with more than some [?] ever will.

The least I can do
is treat them like grownups.