Left Behind in the Name of Love “Mom, I want to go with you!” eight-year-old Diane cried, clinging to her mother’s arm as Erika zipped up her last suitcase. The smell of her mother’s favorite perfume filled the room—floral, sweet, and warm—but it did nothing to comfort Diane. She could already feel something was wrong. Erika sighed and brushed Diane’s hair off her forehead. “I’m sorry, child. I’m going on a business trip. You can’t come with me this time. When I come back, we’ll go to Disneyland together, okay?”

I received the call late at night. It was one of those moments where your heart jumps before your brain even wakes up. My phone buzzed on the nightstand, its screen lighting up the dark room. Half-asleep, I didn’t even check who it was — I just answered. “Dad,” came a trembling voice. It was Lily. My daughter. Instantly, I was wide awake. “Lily? What’s wrong?” I said, already swinging my legs off the bed and shoving my feet into my slippers. “Tell me what happened.” She was crying so

The Boy Who Turned Grief Into Light The night my 12-year-old son came home from his best friend’s funeral, he didn’t say a single word. He just sat on the floor, clutching a worn-out baseball glove like it was the only thing holding his world together. I didn’t know it yet, but that night was the beginning of something bigger—something that would change not just his life, but others’ too. It happened on a dull Tuesday in April. The sky was gray and heavy, not warm, not cold—just the kind