The universe, it seemed, had a cruel sense of humor when it came to the Leskov family. For years, Peter and Olivia had chased the ghost of a child’s laughter through their quiet home. They had navigated the sterile, hopeful corridors of fertility clinics, their hands clasped tight, only to be met with sympathetic smiles and clinical رأس shake. Olivia had traced the paths of pilgrims to holy sites, even journeying to the ancient stones of Jerusalem, with Peter, her steadfast knight, always by her side. But the heavens remained silent.
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