His Deal, My Son's Death

The dull ache in my eight-year-old son, Leo' s, stomach quickly sharpened into something terrifying.

His small body trembled, his face pale and beaded with sweat, as he whimpered, "It hurts, Mommy. It really hurts."

Panic seized me as I dialed my husband, Ethan, only for him to pick up on the fourth try, irritated, "What, Olivia? I' m in the middle of something huge."

He dismissed Leo' s 103-degree fever and my fear of appendicitis, declaring, "Give him some Tylenol. I can' t leave right now, this is a billion-dollar deal."