I woke up from the coma and heard my son whisper, “D0n’t 0pen your eyes”… my husband and my own sister were waiting for me to d!e so they could take everything.

Even breathing felt like shards of glass splitting my head apart.

But I recognized that voice instantly.

“Ethan…”

My nine-year-old son stood beside my hospital bed, crying quietly, holding my hand the same way he used to when he was afraid of fireworks.

“Mom… if you can hear me, squeeze my hand. Please.”

I tried.

I truly tried.