My family celebrated while my son was buried—then demanded his trust the next day, and I realized his death was no accident but the start of a chilling betrayal

them if he had been. He wore his superhero pajamas to chemotherapy — his choice, established on the first day and maintained without exception. He collected the stickers the nurses gave him and stuck them on the wall above his bed until the wall looked like a celebration. He made up stories about the other children on the ward, elaborate ongoing narratives continue reading …