Nothing mattered except him.

The steady rhythm of medical machines filled the room as I sat beside his bed, holding his hand and whispering that I was there, that he wasn’t facing this alone.

After spending the night awake in a hard waiting-room chair, I called my manager to ask for five days off so I could stay with my child.

I expected empathy—or at least basic understanding.

What I received instead was a detached response, carefully delivered.

“You need to keep your professional responsibilities separate from your personal matters,” he said.

The sentence cut deeper than I anticipated.

I stood in the quiet hospital hallway, unsure whether to push back or simply end the call.

In the end, I replied, “I understand,” and hung up.

That evening, as Liam finally slipped into a stable, peaceful sleep, I reached a quiet conclusion.

If my company believed compassion had no place in the workplace, then I would make my priorities unmistakably clear.

The following morning, I showed up at the office dressed as I always was.

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