Then the faint sweetness reached me. I brought a piece closer, recognizing the familiar scent that instantly cut through my fear. It wasn’t chemicals. It wasn’t medicine. It was chocolate—plain, forgotten white chocolate that had broken, dried, and “bloomed” with that harmless white film over time. The relief was almost dizzying. I laughed at myself, gently scolded my son for snacking in his room, and realized how quickly love can turn ordinary crumbs into imagined catastrophes.
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