We remember the moment everything changed… the moment our lives turned upside down. Before, he was just our little boy, full of life, laughter, and innocence. And then suddenly, on January 5th, at just 3 years old, we heard the 3 words that shattered everything; Acute Myeloid Leukemia. In an instant, our world was crushed. The life we knew disappeared, and we were thrown into a reality no parent is ever prepared for. Watching your child go through cancer is a kind of pain you can’t put into words. Seeing Milo in pain, watching his little body go through so much… it breaks you in ways you didn’t know were possible. The chemo—the side effects are horrific. It doesn’t just fight the cancer, it takes so much from them. The exhaustion, the sickness, the way his little body had to endure things no child ever should. And on top of that, there’s always someone poking him, prodding him, drawing blood, hooking him up to machines. No matter how gentle they try to be, it’s still too much for a little boy who just wants to play and be free. Treatment was relentless. There were no real breaks, no time to catch our breath. It felt like survival mode every single day—just trying to get through the next hour, the next appointment, the next round. And one of the hardest parts… was the isolation. Trying to keep him, now 4 years old, inside a room for months at a time is something we never could have imagined. A child who just wants to run, explore, laugh, and live… confined to four walls. Having to tell him “no” over and over again. Watching him look out, wanting more, not fully understanding why he couldn’t just go be a kid. It was heartbreaking in a different kind of way. We had to become his whole world inside that room. Finding ways to keep him entertained, to keep his spirit up, to make those walls feel a little less heavy. Some days we managed. Some days felt impossible. The isolation was just as hard emotionally as the treatment was physically. It takes a toll on all of you. One of the hardest things has been trying to explain it all to him in a way he could understand. How do you tell a 3-year-old that his blood is sick? That the medicine making him feel worse is actually what’s supposed to help him? How do you explain why he can’t just go be a normal kid… why we have to be so careful, so protective, so aware of everything around him? Every day, every decision, comes with fear. But if there’s one thing this journey has shown us, it’s who Milo truly is. He is stronger than we ever imagined. In moments where we feel like we’re falling apart, he’s the one holding on. Through the pain, the treatments, the endless hospital days—he still finds a way to smile. He still laughs. He still finds joy in the smallest things, reminding us what really matters. He doesn’t give up. He doesn’t stop being himself. There’s a quiet strength in him that humbles us every single day. Even when he’s hurting, even when he’s exhausted, there’s something in him that keeps fighting—something unbreakable. Milo has changed us. He’s taught us what real strength looks like. What unconditional love really means. And even in the darkest moments, he reminds us why we keep going… why we keep fighting right alongside him. This is our story. And we’re still living it.