This morning, I went into my son’s room to clean.

Kneeling there on the floor, I turned the strange fragments over in my hand, my imagination racing far ahead of reality. The odd texture, the pale color, the powdery coating—none of it felt right. I thought of hidden habits, dangerous substances, things kids might stumble into without understanding the risks. For a few long seconds, I was convinced I had discovered something dark about my own home.

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