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The stairs were only six steps, but to four-year-old Marko, they might as well have been Everest. Every morning, his mom, Ivana, would stand a few steps behind him, hands ready, waiting for the day he’d climb them on his own.
Some mornings he tried. Most mornings, he simply turned, arms raised, asking to be carried. She told herself he was just tired, or maybe a little lazy. He was her easygoing kid, the one who loved cartoons, animals, and splashing in the pool until his fingers wrinkled.
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