During my night shift, my husband, sister, and 3-year-old son were brought in unconscious. As I tried to rush to them, my colleague doctor quietly stopped me. “You shouldn’t see them right now.” In a trembling voice, I asked, “Why?” The doctor kept his head down and said, “I’ll explain everything once the police arrive.”
Three hours earlier, my life had been a portrait of domestic normalcy. “Mommy, are you coming home tonight?” Noah had asked, his small, sticky hands clutching my scrubs. Mark had leaned against the doorframe, his smile gentle, projecting the image of the perfect, supportive husband. “It’s okay, buddy. Daddy’s here. We’re going to build the…
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