The Expiration Date of Love
Language: en
The day I was born, the moment the nurse handed me to my parents, the joyful smiles on their faces instantly froze. Hovering just above my smooth, newborn head was a string of numbers that only they could see. 6,570 days. Exactly eighteen years. Not a day more, not a day less. The nurse assumed they were just nervous first-time parents. But my mom and dad knew the truth—that number was the countdown to my death. While the other families in the maternity ward were celebrating new beginnings, my parents were staring directly at my end. For the next eighteen years, I was the most…