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My daughter woke me up at 2 AM, crying in pain and whispering, “Mom, there are little fish swimming inside my stomach.” Hours later, the X-ray revealed 36 swallowing magnets tearing her apart. My husband immediately pointed his finger at me, screaming, “You’ve always hated her! What did you do to her?” I stayed completely silent. I pulled out my phone, turned the screen toward the detective, and said, “Don’t ask me. Ask the person sitting in my seat at the dinner table.”

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Pacific horizon, Nancy proudly used a piece of tape to secure her vibrant drawing right onto the center of our refrigerator door. The little fish were finally exactly where they belonged—safe on paper, forever banished from her pain, and entirely surrounded by fierce, unconditional love.

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