I graduated from medical school just last month. It still feels unreal. Sometimes I look in the mirror and half expect to see the nervous kid who used to sit under a flickering streetlight with his books because our power had been cut again. But then I remind myself. I made it. No—we made it. And that “we” is my mom. Every late night of studying, every heavy textbook, every exam I thought I would fail—her fingerprints were there in the margins. My mother, Maria, came to the U.S. before

After a year away, Alex returned home expecting hugs, laughter, and a warm reunion with his wife, Jennifer. Instead, he stepped into the biggest nightmare of his life. I had been counting the days, scratching them off like a prisoner waiting for freedom. For almost twelve months I worked overseas on an engineering project, clinging to the thought of finally seeing my wife again. The idea of coming home to Jennifer kept me alive during the long nights. But when I finally pulled into the driveway, something didn’t feel right.

I never imagined my life would break apart at 35. My wife, Elizabeth, was gone because of a car accident, and I was left a widower. Five years of marriage had disappeared in a heartbeat, and the thought of it made it hard to breathe. I was in a hotel, thousands of miles away, when it happened. By the time I got the news, it was too late—I couldn’t even make it to her funeral. My mother-in-law called me in tears. Through the sobs, she told me how my two