Leo was our first child, Niccolo's and mine. Our only one.He'd been sick since the day he was born.When the doctor said the words "narrowed airway," Niccolo went white as a sheet.That same day, he put all family business on hold, shut himself in the kitchen with nutrition books, and cooked every one of Leo's meals himself.Leo lived to see his third birthday. Every day, he grabbed his crayons and scribbled white daisies.There were crayon daisies everywhere: on the walls, on the table, even on the hem of my dress.I thought I'd get to watch him grow up.Until the day an enemy hurled a Molotov cocktail into our house.Niccolo threw himself over Leo and me and yelled, "Get out, both of you!"He grabbed the gun from his man and ran back into the fire.Leo was screaming. I held him tight and ran for my life. I didn't know how long I ran.Then I looked down, and he wasn't crying anymore.His face and body had turned a bluish purple. His lips were dark, and his little hands hung limp.I f
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