Logan was fifteen when we lost him.
Andrew was only one.
Our family changed overnight.
I went from being a wife and mother to supporting two children on a single income.
The mortgage still needed paying.
There were household expenses.
Daycare fees.
Groceries.
School supplies.
Empecé a aceptar turnos de enfermería adicionales siempre que fue posible.
Pero mientras trabajaba, Logan silenciosamente asumió las responsabilidades que ningún adolescente debería tener que llevar completamente solo.
Every afternoon, he collected Andrew from daycare.
He walked him home, prepared snacks, helped him get ready for bed, and kept him entertained until I returned.
Sometimes I came home after eleven and found Logan sitting at the kitchen table, trying to finish his homework with Andrew asleep against his chest.
“Sweetheart, you should be in bed,” I’d whisper.
“He had a bad dream,” Logan would explain. “I didn’t want to wake him.”
