My husband died in a car crash on a stormy night, leaving me to raise our sick son alone. Weeks later, I got a single text from his number — just one word: “Hi.” That tiny message shattered everything I thought I knew about grief, truth, and the man I had loved for so long. Life had already pushed me to the edge long before that message arrived. My son, Oliver, was five when the doctor spoke the words that changed everything: “It’s rare, but treatable. Expensive, though.” I remember sitting in that sterile white room, the sharp antiseptic scent lingering, holding his tiny hand, forcing a smile I didn’t feel. He swung his legs from the exam table, blissfully unaware of the storm that had just settled over our lives. After that day, everything revolved around bills, medicine, and long hours — always more hours….CONTINUE READING IN BELOW
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