James M. Barrie, Scottish playwright, sits next to Sylvia Llewelyn Davies, kind and loving mother of four boisterous boys, George, Jack, Peter and Michael. Sylvia is sick, stricken by a disease that she will allow no one but herself to know or worry about. She has kept her condition a secret from everyone except the doctor. James has come to see her on the opening night of his amazing play, “Peter Pan”, upon hearing she was too ill to come to the show. Arguments and uncertainty past, they sit quietly. James holds Sylvia’s hand carefully, as if she may break if he clasps too hard.

“James, you must go back to your play. You do realize that once the show ends and is a success, you will be sought after my many satisfied ladies and gentleman looking to praise you. You shouldn’t make them wait and search for you.”

“Darling, I see no need to go back there unless you can go with me. Besides, that play will probably end up dubbed another “pile of rubbish” by the end of the evening, especially by the critics”.

“I shall not rest until you go back to the play. You must at least find Peter and fetch him back here for me”.

James shifted uncomfortably on the bed, seeing the truth in Sylvia’s words.

“Alright, I’ll go find the boy, but I shan’t remain a second longer than necessary. You should rest, Sylvia. Get well soon”.

He left the room quietly. A single tear slipped down Sylvia’s cheek as she thought about the fate the doctor had predicted for her. If the doctor was correct, there would be little good rest could do for her, only extremely expensive medicine. Sylvia’s mother suddenly bustled in, griping, as usual, about James.

“Young wretch, coming in here disturbing my daughter and grandsons, putting so many silly notions in those boys’ heads…. Sylvia dear, how are you? James hasn’t tried getting you out of bed yet?”

Sylvia cut in sharply.

“Mother if you can say nothing good about the only ray of light that the boys and I have had in our lives for years, I must ask you to pack your things and leave. Now.”

The dignified elder lady stopped and stared at Sylvia for a long moment.

“Very well”, she said finally. “If you still have not seen sense, you obviously will not any time soon. I will indeed leave this house tonight, and shall not return. Goodbye, Sylvia, and if you ever come back to your senses about your life I would be happy to return and add a more sensible side to those poor boys’ lives. Farewell.”

With that, she swept from the room and Sylvia sank back slowly to the pillows she had vacated in the heat of her anger. She sighed; realizing that one of the only people who really did care about her children had just walked out he door. However ornery she had seemed, her mother had only wanted good for her only daughter and grandsons and she had meant well.

“But if mother can’t accept the fact that James is part of our family now, she can not go on living here and ordering him about like a child”, she whispered to herself.

Now she had to face another of her problems; James was becoming more attached to her, and she to him, with each passing day, and she could not allow that to continue. Certainly, he had left Mary, but that would only make it easier for them to grow closer. When she…her mind shied from the word, but she forced herself to think it…died, James would be heartbroken. She could see him and his plays falling even deeper into somewhere dark and cold, someplace that no one could bring him back from – something that Sylvia did not want James to experience because of her. Slowly she became more and more exhausted as her thoughts chased each other in circles until she fell at last into a fitful doze, awaiting James and Peter’s return.

When she woke it was much later in the night, she could tell. Looking at her tiny bedside clock, she saw it was a quarter to midnight. A soft rapping on the door made her realize that it was James returning that must have awakened her. Straightening up in bed, she called “Come in”. James entered the room with Peter in tow.

“Sorry mum, but we had some business to attend to; I’m going to bed right away. Uncle Jim said I should tell you myself that the play was a wonderful success”.

Peter said all this in a rush, cheeks flushed and with a huge grin on his face. Sylvia was delighted that the play had made him so happy. She smiled at Peter, kissed him on the forehead, and said “I’m so glad the play was good, Peter. Now run along to bed and tell me about it in the morning, alright?”

Peter nodded, still smiling, and gave James a curiously conspiratorial look before leaving the room. Sylvia, now studying James’ face, was surprised to see that his usually well masked emotions were showing through for once; his face was flushed as well and he smiled wider that usual as he strode to the bed and sat down next to her, taking her hand again.

“Sylvia, the play, as Peter said, was an amazing success; there wasn’t a person there who wasn’t thrilled with it.”

Sylvia interrupted, unable to contain herself. “I’m so happy it was good, James’.

“Yes, yes, quite. But that isn’t all, dear. A fine man offered me quite a generous sum of money to buy the rights to my script and put on a number of shows throughout the city; I’ll receive the same generous cut of money from each show as I made tonight”.

“But of course, James, you want to keep the rights to you play in your own name, correct?”

He took her other hand and became more serious.

“Yes, I normally would refuse, but I had more pressing things to use so much money for. Peter and I were so late tonight because we went to see the doctor. Gave him quite a turn at such a late hours. But we asked him what you would need to be able to get well again, now that there is so much money. He gave me medicine, expensive it was too, and you are to take it every day. The doctor said if you take it consistently for six months, you will be nearly back to full health again, though you will have to be vigilant about getting the best treatment possible if you get even the slightest chest cold.”

For a moment, Sylvia could not speak. James filled the silence.

“George was waiting up for us in the parlor. Before he went to bed, he said you sent your mother away. I’m so proud of you, Sylvia – you stood up to her at last.”

Sylvia finally found her voice. “James…I…thank you. So much”.

Exhausted and ill, she fell asleep. “Goodnight, Sylvia”, said James quietly, and he left the room, unable to keep a smile from his face.