“I didn’t sign up for this.”
“This” was our son, born with one leg shorter than the other.
That was it.
One sentence. One suitcase. And he was gone.
***
The next 16 years didn’t come easily.
There were doctor’s appointments, braces, and adjustments. Physical therapists pushed Brennan harder than I thought was fair. But he just kept going.
Edward didn’t even look at him.
I watched my son learn to stand and walk, wobbling as if the ground weren’t steady beneath him. I watched him fall more times than I could count. Then he’d get up every single time.
When Brennan decided he wanted to run, I almost said no.
Not because I didn’t believe in him, but because I didn’t want him to get hurt.
“Mom,” he told me one night, “I don’t want to be careful. I want to be fast.”
I didn’t argue after that.
He’d get up every single time.
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