It started as an ordinary evening. Bath time. Pajamas. The usual negotiations about brushing teeth. Nothing out of the ordinary — until I noticed it. A small, raised spot on my daughter’s arm. At first glance, it looked like a splinter. Or maybe a bite. There was a tiny dark center beneath the skin, barely visible unless the light hit it just right. I ran my finger gently across it. It felt slightly firm, like something embedded just under the surface. “Does it hurt?” I asked. She shrugged. “Not really.” That was the beginning of a quiet spiral that many...
Continues…