My five-year-old son, Leo, was the sunshine of my life, even with the constant shadow of his severe peanut allergy.
At the town picnic, Leo took a bite of a cookie, and suddenly, his vibrant laughter turned into a terrifying, choked gasp.
I screamed for my husband, Mark, to get the EpiPen, but his eyes were glued on Tiffany, the preacher's daughter, as she dramatically faked a faint, her Southern charm a cruel façade.
Mark, annoyed by my panic, fumbled, then dropped the vital medication to rush to Tiffany' s side, coldly telling me to "just use the damn thing."
Precious seconds became an eternity as I jammed the EpiPen into Leo' s thigh, but it was too late.