She thought it was just another tired day — another side effect, another long afternoon in the fight against cancer  .
But looking back, every small sign was a warning she didn’t understand at the time  .

Low oxygen. Fast heart rate.   Fatigue that seemed endless.
She focused on the tumor — the part she could see — not realizing the silent danger growing inside his lungs and blood  .

The next day, a transfusion brought her boy back to life. He smiled again. Laughed again   .
And she let herself believe they were safe.

A year later, she knows better.
She knows what those numbers meant, what that look in his eyes was trying to tell her.
And she carries the weight of every what if — every moment she wishes she could change.

“I wasn’t his doctor,” she whispers, “but I was his mom. And that will never stop hurting.”

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