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Six months ago, the biggest things on my mind were parking tickets, overdue project blueprints, and whether our wedding playlist leaned too hard on 80s nostalgia. I was twenty-five, working as a structural engineer, engaged to a woman who already had a Pinterest board full of baby names and a Maui honeymoon half-paid for. My mom, Naomi, texted me vitamin advice like it was a part-time job and reminded me to eat anything that wasn’t caffeine. It was stress, sure. But it was the normal, predictable kind. Then a driver blew through a red light on a Tuesday afternoon while…
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