I will never forget the sterile smell of the hospital corridors or the blinding fluorescent lights that greeted me at three in the morning. Just a few hours prior, my thirteen-year-old son Andrew had left our home for a routine walk with his father. Now, he lay in the emergency room, suspended between life and death. Andrew was always full of relentless energy, the kind of boy who wore out his sneakers in months and left half-empty water bottles in every corner of the house. Before they left, I gave him my usual gentle reminder, telling him to take his...
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