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Anyone with kids knows what the worst thing imaginable is. Recently, I heard about the worst thing happening to a friend of a friend. I didn’t know the family, but it doesn’t matter. The worst thing makes you believe in evil, in absolute darkness.

When you hear about the worst thing, you want to know, but you don’t want to know. Was it genetic, hereditary… was there already a problem. Was it an accident? Where? It makes you ferocious and breathless blind with panic. And you feel that mother’s pain as if it is your own for as long as you can stand it. Because as a mother, you spend all your time with that enemy in the back of your mind, strategizing against it. Hoping you can outfight it, outplan it, and outlove it. Because it just shouldn’t be.

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