Their laughter felt forced, their play quieter.
“Dad’s okay, right?” our eldest asked one night, his voice small.
“Of course,” I lied, forcing a smile.
But I wasn’t sure. I couldn’t shake the feeling that something was fundamentally wrong.
Each day felt like a balancing act, trying to keep everything from tipping over.
And with each passing moment, the follow-up appointment loomed larger in my mind.
It was more than just an accident; it felt like a tipping point, the moment when everything might change.
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