It was 1:58 a.m. when the call came — her three-year-old son, Cash, was gone.
Fentanyl. One word. One heartbreak that never ends.
He was pure light — chasing bubbles, singing songs, wrapping his tiny arms around his mom.
And in her final moment with him, his hair fell perfectly into place — as if he was helping her one last time.
Fentanyl took his life, but not his light.
Every night, she still whispers, “Help me, Cash,” and somehow, she makes it through.
