When my brother Keane was diagnosed with autism at age four, I was just seven. I didn’t fully understand—only that he was different. Teachers said he belonged with children “like him,” words that puzzled and hurt me. Keane used to speak in fragments, but by four, he stopped speaking entirely. Two years ago, after our mother passed away, I took Keane in. Sending him to a facility was never an option. Though my husband hesitated at first, we both knew Keane belonged with us. A few months ago, I gave birth to my son, Milo. One morning, while Milo was...
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