I was preparing dinner when my little daughter tugging on my robe. “Mom, can I stop taking the pills Aunt gave me?” My blood ran cold. Trying not to frighten her, I calmly told her to bring me the bottle. When I took it for analysis, the doctor turned pale: “Do you know what this is? Where did you get it?”
I was slicing vegetables for dinner when I felt a small tug on my robe. My seven-year-old daughter, Lily, stood behind me, twisting her fingers the way she always did when something worried her.“Mom,” she whispered, “can I stop taking the pills Aunt Claire gave me?” The knife nearly slipped from my hand. Claire was…