I learned how to lift him without hurting his hips. I learned how to help him dress without making him feel helpless. I learned how to cook meals that worked with his therapy schedule and his energy levels.
I memorized medical terms I never wanted to know.
I filled out paperwork that made my head spin.
I sat in waiting rooms for hours, pretending I wasn’t scared.
I worked two jobs. During the day, I waitressed. At night, I cleaned office buildings long after everyone else had gone home.
When Evan finally fell asleep, I studied online courses about special education and disability support, fighting to keep my eyes open.
Some nights, I cried silently in the bathroom so he wouldn’t hear.
I was exhausted.
I was overwhelmed.
And yet, every morning, Evan smiled at me like I was the best part of his day.
He never complained.
When other children ran past him at the playground, he clapped for them.
When strangers stared, he smiled back.
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