My parents refused to pay $85,000 to save my son…

Most offered sympathy and small amounts that would not make a dent. My aunt Teresa sent $500 with a note saying she wished it could be more. I appreciated every penny.

But I was trying to fill an ocean with a teaspoon. Two weeks later, I came home from a particularly brutal day at school to find Ethan struggling to breathe. His lips had a blue tinge that sent panic shooting through me.

I called the ambulance, and they rushed him to the hospital. The doctor stabilized him, but the cardiologist pulled me aside with a grim expression. “His condition is deteriorating faster than we anticipated,” Dr.

Morrison said. “Without that treatment we discussed, I’d say he has three months at most. Maybe less.”

I nodded numbly, unable to speak past the lump in my throat.