The fluorescent lights of the emergency room hummed with a sterile, cold tension that mirrored the panic in my chest. My three-month-old daughter, Emma, had been screaming for hours, her fever spiking to a dangerous 102 degrees while Sarah and I felt our world collapsing from sheer exhaustion. I was on the edge, my judgment clouded by three months of sleepless nights and the raw, piercing sound of colic that felt like it was drilling into my skull. When a large man in a weathered leather vest stepped into that crowded waiting room, his heavy boots echoing against the linoleum,...
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