Hazel

In the quiet stillness of Ethan’s nursery, where the soft glow of the moon filtered through the sheer curtains, I found myself trapped in a reverie of thoughts. It was 3:30 AM, an hour when the world felt hushed, yet my mind buzzed with the sort of anxious energy that had become all too familiar lately. Ethan, my little warrior, lay cradled against my chest, his tiny body rising and falling with each peaceful breath. He had fought bravely from the moment of his premature birth, and now, ...