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I used to believe my sixteen-year-old son, Jax, was the one the world needed protecting from. As a mother of two, I thought I had seen everything—chaos, scraped knees, school calls, and endless messes. My older daughter, Lily, followed a polished, predictable path, while Jax stood on the opposite end: loud, sharp-witted, and unapologetically different.continue reading …
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