I heard his tiny voice call out to me in the night.
The thud-thud-thud of his little feet told me he was out of bed, but the noise stopped, and so did he, so I thought he had gone back to bed. A while later he called out to me again, his voice a pitiful croak over the baby monitor, and I knew he needed me.
I fluttered down the stairs to retrieve him and opened the door to his room to find him curled up in our rocking chair, away from his bed, disoriented and ill — a fever clouding his mind — our little boy was sick.
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