My Maid Recognized A Two-Hundred-Year-Old Portrait — And Revealed My Dead Son Is Still Alive.
Part 2
The heavy wooden doors of the armory swung open, groaning in protest as they hadn’t been used in decades.
I tossed a heavy traveling cloak toward Megan, watching as the thick fabric nearly swallowed her small frame.
We had to leave immediately, before Heather could finish whatever dark ritual she was performing on my son.
The Obsidian Spire was located in the heart of the Whispering Mountains, a place where the very air was known to drive mortals completely mad.
I adjusted the straps of my armor, the familiar weight of the enchanted steel settling over my shoulders.
I hadn’t prepared for war in over a century, but this was a battle I could not afford to lose.
Megan stood by the entryway, her fingers nervously tracing the edges of the starlight pendant I had given her.
You don’t have to come with me, I told her, my voice softer than it had been in years.
This journey will test the limits of your sanity, and there is no guarantee either of us will return.
She lifted her chin, her eyes burning with a fierce determination that reminded me of my finest warriors.
He trusted me, she replied firmly, her voice steady and clear in the echoing hall.
If she has twisted his mind, I might be the only voice he still recognizes.
I nodded once, silently acknowledging the immense bravery of this simple servant girl.
I turned toward the ancient mirror that dominated the far wall of the study.
Speaking the forgotten words of the old tongue, I commanded the glass to reveal the present truth.
The surface rippled like a disturbed pond, clearing to show the highest chamber of the witch’s tower.
My breath caught painfully in my throat.
Tyler was there, chained to the floor within a glowing ritual circle.
He had grown tall and lean, possessing the unmistakable aristocratic features of my bloodline.
But his eyes were vacant, staring into the darkness as Heather circled him like a hungry vulture.
She was chanting in a twisted language, slowly draining the ancient power from his veins to fuel her own immortality.
The mirror cracked down the center under the force of my rising fury, shattering the vision into a thousand jagged pieces.
I turned back to Megan, my crimson eyes glowing with the promise of utter destruction.
The shadow roads await us, I said, offering her my arm.
We stepped out into the freezing midnight air, leaving the safety of my fortress behind.
Would I be able to reach him before the witch drained his life, or was I leading this brave girl to her death alongside my only son?
Part 3
The shadow roads were not meant for mortal minds, nor were they designed for those who clung to the fragile concept of sanity.
They were ancient, treacherous pathways woven between the very fabric of reality, bending time and distance to the will of the traveler.
King David moved through the swirling mist with practiced, predatory ease, his tall form cutting through the ethereal fog like a perfectly sharpened blade.
Beside him, Megan clung desperately to his armored arm, her knuckles white with the agonizing strain of simply existing in this fractured dimension.
The young maid kept her eyes fixed firmly on the ground, terrified of the shifting colors that bled together like neglected watercolors left in the driving rain.
She could hear thousands of overlapping voices whispering from the endless darkness, offering impossible bargains and threatening unspeakable horrors that defied human comprehension.
For two hundred agonizing years, David had ruled his vast, shadowed kingdom with a heart of solid, impenetrable ice.
He had convinced himself, through decades of enforced solitude and ruthless governance, that love was nothing more than a fatal weakness waiting to be exploited.
He had built towering walls of terror and intimidation so incredibly high that no one, not even his most trusted generals, dared to look him directly in the eye.
His reputation as an unfeeling, bloodthirsty monster had been carefully cultivated, a defensive mechanism designed to keep the crushing weight of his grief at bay.
When his beloved wife had supposedly died giving birth to their only son, a piece of David’s soul had shattered into countless, unrecoverable fragments.
He had been told that the child had perished alongside the mother, a tragic casualty of their inherently dangerous, ancient bloodline.
He had buried two empty coffins on a rain-swept hillside, standing utterly alone in the pouring rain while his heart turned to ash inside his chest.
From that day forward, the vampire king had forbidden any mention of children, families, or the concept of hope within the cold stone walls of his massive fortress.
He had dedicated his immortal existence to expanding his territory, waging endless, brutal wars against neighboring realms to distract himself from the deafening silence of his empty home.
But now, everything he thought he knew, everything he had built his miserable existence upon, had been completely and utterly upended by a terrified servant girl.
Megan, a girl with dirt beneath her fingernails and calluses on her hands, had inadvertently dropped a polishing cloth and shattered his carefully constructed reality.
She had pointed a trembling finger at the forbidden portrait above the roaring fireplace, uttering words that David had never expected to hear in this lifetime.
She had claimed to know the boy in the painting, the son David had mourned for two centuries, and her description had been too devastatingly accurate to be a lie.
Hold tight, David instructed, his deep voice cutting sharply through the chaotic, maddening noise of the shadow dimension.
Do not let go of my arm, no matter what twisted horrors you see or what desperate pleas you hear echoing in the fog.
The shadow roads show truth, but they also prey mercilessly upon the deepest, darkest fears hidden within the mortal mind.
Megan gasped violently as a sudden, visceral vision flashed before her wide, terrified eyes.
She saw the familiar, crumbling stone walls of St. Catherine’s orphanage, the miserable place she had called home for the majority of her tragic life.
But the sprawling building was completely engulfed in roaring silver flames, the unholy fire consuming everything it touched with a ravenous hunger.
She could see Sister Brenda standing in the center of the burning courtyard, her face twisted in a mask of pure, unadulterated zealotry.
The stern, unforgiving nun was chanting the same twisted, ancient words that the witch queen had used on the night Tyler had been stolen from them.
Megan remembered the agonizing hunger that had constantly gnawed at her stomach during those long, brutal winters at the orphanage.
She remembered how Tyler had always saved half of his meager bread ration, secretly slipping it onto her plate when the nuns were deliberately looking the other way.
He had been fundamentally different from all the other frail, sickly children who coughed and shivered their way through the endless, freezing nights.
Tyler never caught the deadly fevers, never succumbed to the coughing sicknesses, and always possessed a quiet, unnerving strength that defied all logical explanation.
She vividly recalled the terrifying day a massive, rotting ceiling beam had suddenly collapsed in the main dormitory, pinning a younger child beneath its crushing weight.
While the nuns had panicked and screamed for the groundskeeper, twelve-year-old Tyler had calmly stepped forward and lifted the massive timber with his bare hands.
It was a superhuman feat that should have required three fully grown, exceptionally strong men, yet the pale boy had accomplished it without even breaking a sweat.
Sister Brenda had watched him that day with a deeply unsettling mixture of absolute terror and cold, calculating recognition burning in her eyes.
It’s an illusion, the king said firmly, his strong grip tightening around Megan’s trembling arm, pulling her closer to his armored side.
Focus entirely on the sound of my voice and let the enchanted pendant protect your vulnerable mind from the encroaching darkness.
The crystallized starlight resting heavily against her delicate collarbone grew wonderfully warm, actively pushing back the creeping, jagged edges of magical madness.
David was currently fighting his own silent, monumental battle against the realm’s relentless, targeted mental assault.
He saw vivid, heartbreaking visions of Heather as she had been many centuries ago, beautiful and terrible, offering him a twisted eternity by her side.
He remembered the exact, agonizing moment their twisted love had finally soured into a bitter, endless, mutually destructive hatred.
She had aggressively demanded that he share his unique vampiric immortality with her, a sacred gift that was bound solely to his ancient, royal bloodline.
When he had steadfastly refused to break the sacred laws of his ancestors, she had screamed curses that shook the foundations of the earth itself.
She had sworn a blood oath to completely destroy everything he would ever hold dear, promising to leave him with nothing but ashes and regret.
Now, two hundred years later, she had finally found the absolutely perfect, devastating weapon for her long-awaited revenge.
She had somehow discovered that David’s son had survived the tragic birth, secretly tracking the boy to the miserable, isolated orphanage on the edge of the kingdom.
She had patiently waited for sixteen years, biding her time until Tyler’s dormant vampire powers finally began to dangerously awaken.
Sixteen was the crucial, intensely volatile age when their kind experienced their first, profoundly dangerous physical and magical transformation.
Without proper guidance from a blood relative, the sudden awakening of those dark powers could easily tear a young, unprepared soul entirely apart.
Heather had capitalized on that extreme vulnerability, using her dark magic to override the boy’s free will and drag him out into the freezing night.
She planned to drain his pure, ancient blood to forcibly steal the immortality she had been denied so many centuries ago.
The mere thought of his innocent son suffering at the hands of that cruel, manipulative witch made David’s dead heart physically ache with a rage he hadn’t felt in centuries.
Suddenly, the swirling, chaotic mist began to rapidly solidify, turning from intangible, grasping fog into hard, jagged, obsidian stone.
They had successfully navigated the perilous shadow roads and arrived at the desolate base of the dreaded Whispering Mountains.
The jagged peaks loomed menacingly above them, impossibly tall and permanently shrouded in a malevolent, creeping gray mist that seemed to possess a mind of its own.
At the very summit stood the Obsidian Spire, a towering fortress of black glass that seemed to actively absorb the faint starlight itself.
We must move quickly, David said, smoothly drawing his father’s ancient, rune-covered sword from its heavily worn leather scabbard.
The legendary blade hummed softly with latent, destructive power, practically vibrating with a desperate eagerness to taste the blood of his sworn enemies.
The grueling climb up the jagged mountainside was incredibly treacherous, the incredibly narrow, icy path winding dangerously close to absolutely bottomless, screaming chasms.
With every single precarious step they took, the terrible whispers grew significantly louder, viciously scratching at the delicate inside of Megan’s skull.
She focused absolutely all of her remaining attention on the broad, imposing expanse of the king’s armored back, letting his unwavering, confident determination anchor her to reality.
She placed one freezing foot carefully in front of the other, refusing to look down into the swirling abyss that constantly threatened to swallow them whole.
They surprisingly encountered no armed guards, no monstrous, mutated beasts waiting in the freezing shadows to tear them limb from limb.
Heather was historically arrogant enough to truly believe that the treacherous mountains themselves were more than enough defense against any potential intruders.
She deeply underestimated the boundless, destructive power of a grieving father who had finally found a desperate, burning reason to live again.
As they finally reached the incredibly heavy, intricately carved obsidian doors of the towering spire, David didn’t even bother looking for a hidden key or a magical lock.
He simply raised his heavily booted foot and violently kicked the massive gates with the unstoppable, crushing force of a steel battering ram.
The thick black glass shattered violently inward, the deafening sound echoing like a massive thunderclap through the completely empty, cavernous halls.
They immediately rushed up the endlessly spiraling stone staircase, David taking the steep, uneven steps three at a time in his desperate haste.
He could acutely feel his son’s unique life force flickering wildly like a tiny, fragile candle in a massive hurricane, growing noticeably weaker with every single passing second.
He knew that if they didn’t reach the highest chamber in the next few minutes, Tyler’s soul would be permanently, irrevocably severed from his physical body.
They finally burst into the expansive, circular highest chamber just as Heather dramatically raised her pale arms to deliver the final, fatal incantation.
The air in the room was thick and suffocating, absolutely heavy with the sickening, coppery stench of dark magic and ancient, spilled blood.
The incredibly ancient, deeply cruel witch queen spun around rapidly, her remarkably long, flowing silver hair whipping violently through the freezing, heavily tainted air like a stream of pure, unadulterated liquid moonlight.
You are far too late to stop this inevitable conclusion, David, she hissed menacingly, her pitch-black eyes blazing fiercely with the horrifying, sickening glow of violently stolen, ancient vampiric power.
The incredibly rare, exceptionally potent immortality that rightfully courses through this foolish boy’s royal veins is already securely within my absolute, unwavering grasp.
Tyler was currently slumped helplessly in the exact, glowing center of a deeply complex, intricately drawn magical ritual circle that practically pulsed with a dark, suffocating energy.
His unusually pale, incredibly thin wrists and delicate ankles were tightly bound by exceptionally thick, heavily enchanted silver chains that continuously burned his sensitive, immortal flesh.
His normally vibrant, incredibly expressive face was completely devoid of any recognizable emotion, leaving his expression dangerously blank and chillingly vacant.
He stared blankly into the oppressive, suffocating darkness, looking exactly as though his very soul had been violently, mercilessly torn from his physical body and locked securely away.
David absolutely refused to waste even a single, precious second engaging in pointless, arrogant banter with the incredibly dangerous, utterly psychotic monster who had ruined his life.
He immediately lunged forward with terrifying, explosive speed, his incredibly ancient, rune-covered sword moving significantly faster than the frail mortal eye could possibly hope to track.
He brought the legendary, glowing blade down perfectly on the jagged, glowing edge of the complex ritual circle, channeling centuries of suppressed rage into the devastating, heavy blow.
The magically reinforced, supposedly impenetrable boundary completely shattered with a deafening, explosive crack that violently shook the towering obsidian spire to its very ancient, structural foundations.
Heather shrieked in sudden, blinding pain as the violent, uncontrollable magical backlash of the completely broken spell violently picked her up and threw her heavily against the far, jagged wall.
Megan bravely sprinted directly past the momentarily stunned, heavily groaning witch, completely ignoring the lingering sparks of dangerous, dark magic that still crackled menacingly in the stale air.
She practically threw herself to the freezing stone floor, dropping heavily to her bruised knees right beside the completely unconscious, dangerously still body of her oldest, dearest friend.
Tyler! she cried out desperately, her small, trembling hands frantically pulling at the incredibly heavy, deeply enchanted silver chains that bound him tightly to the cold floor.
It’s me, Megan, from the orphanage, you simply have to wake up and look at me right now!
Tyler’s incredibly pale, paper-thin eyelids fluttered weakly, clearly struggling intensely against the heavy, suffocating weight of the dark, lingering magic that still clouded his fragile mind.
He slowly, painfully opened his remarkably crimson eyes, his normally sharp, intelligent gaze currently unfocused, cloudy, and incredibly distant.
Megan? he rasped incredibly quietly, his dry, unused voice barely registering as more than a rough, painful whisper in the vast, echoing silence of the massive chamber.
David carefully stepped over the broken, sparking remnants of the magical boundary, completely dropping his incredibly valuable sword to the floor and falling heavily to his armored knees.
He reached out hesitantly with slightly trembling, heavily scarred hands, gently grasping the incredibly thick, dangerously hot silver chains that tightly bound his only son’s frail wrists.
The enchanted, magically heated metal immediately sizzled angrily against his incredibly pale, immortal flesh, severely burning his skin to the bone, but he completely ignored the searing, unimaginable pain.
With a terrifying, deafening roar of absolute, unrestrained parental effort, the famously stoic, normally composed vampire king violently tore the heavily enchanted chains entirely apart with his bare, bleeding hands.
Tyler gasped loudly, violently taking his first real, unrestricted breath in what genuinely felt like an absolute, endless eternity of pure, unadulterated suffering and isolation.
He looked up slowly, his incredibly weary, tear-filled eyes locking instantly onto the incredibly tall, remarkably imposing figure of the powerful man who had just saved his life.
David’s normally cold, utterly emotionless crimson eyes were currently filled entirely to the brim with unshed tears, a deeply human, incredibly vulnerable sight no one had witnessed in over two hundred years.
You actually came for me, Tyler whispered incredibly softly, a very small, incredibly weak, but genuinely relieved smile finally touching his severely cracked, bleeding lips.
I somehow always knew deep down in my heart that you would eventually find me and bring me home.
I will absolutely never, ever lose you again, David vowed fiercely, violently pulling his deeply traumatized, incredibly exhausted son into a fiercely protective, desperately tight, emotionally overwhelming embrace.
He buried his face in the boy’s white hair, inhaling the scent of his long-lost child and letting two centuries of paralyzing grief finally wash away.
Suddenly, a massive, incredibly powerful blast of raw, crackling dark energy violently slammed directly into David’s heavily armored back, forcefully throwing him completely across the expansive room.
Heather rose slowly and menacingly from the hard stone floor, casually levitating several feet in the stale air, her beautiful face currently twisted into an expression of absolute, unhinged rage.
If I absolutely cannot have his incredibly potent, wonderfully ancient immortality, she screamed at the top of her lungs, her voice echoing painfully, then absolutely neither of you will ever leave this dark tower alive!
She immediately hurled a significantly larger, incredibly dense sphere of crackling, purely destructive black magic directly at Tyler’s completely exposed, incredibly vulnerable chest.
Megan didn’t even stop to think about the consequences; she simply reacted on pure, unadulterated instinct, acting with the kind of selfless bravery that only true, unconditional love can naturally inspire.
She bravely threw her small, fragile mortal body directly over the deeply weakened, completely exhausted boy, fully bracing herself for the inevitably fatal, agonizing impact of the dark spell.
She tightly squeezed her eyes completely shut, desperately hoping that her incredibly small sacrifice would somehow buy the incredibly powerful vampire king enough time to save his only child.
But the devastating, inevitably fatal blow she was bracing for absolutely never came.
David had moved with completely impossible, genuinely terrifying speed, violently throwing his massive, heavily armored body directly into the path of the incredibly destructive spell.
He intentionally intercepted the incredibly dangerous dark magic with his own incredibly resilient body, completely shielding both the terrified mortal girl and his newly recovered, deeply beloved son.
The wildly unpredictable, intensely destructive dark magic violently tore right through his ancient, magically reinforced armor, deeply scorching his pale flesh, but he didn’t even flinch or cry out.
He stood incredibly tall and remarkably imposing, absorbing the terrible, agonizing pain with the quiet, dignified stoicism that had always defined his exceptionally long, incredibly bloody reign.
He slowly, deliberately raised his ancient, incredibly powerful sword once again, the legendary, rune-covered blade currently glowing with a brilliantly intense, almost blindingly pure white light.
This long, bitter conflict absolutely ends right here and right now, Heather, he declared with absolute, unwavering certainty, his deep voice echoing loudly with the undeniable, immense authority of a true king.
He threw the incredibly heavy, perfectly balanced sword with completely devastating, practically supernatural precision, putting every single ounce of his immense, vampiric strength firmly behind the throw.
The brightly glowing blade effortlessly pierced directly through the witch queen’s chest, violently pinning her securely to the jagged, incredibly cold obsidian wall with a sickening, wet crunch.
Her genuinely horrifying, incredibly piercing screams immediately shattered every single piece of remaining glass in the massive chamber before she finally, mercifully dissolved into a pathetic pile of gray, lifeless ash.
The incredibly oppressive, suffocating magical energy in the room vanished almost instantly, leaving behind a profoundly deep, incredibly peaceful silence that felt absolutely wonderful to all of them.
David slowly, carefully lowered himself to the incredibly cold stone floor, his normally steady, incredibly controlled breathing now distinctly ragged and heavy from the immense, draining physical effort.
Megan immediately scrambled to her feet and gently helped Tyler up, allowing him to heavily support his severely weakened weight firmly against her remarkably small, incredibly sturdy shoulder.
The pale, exhausted boy looked directly at his father, seeing clearly past the terrifying, blood-soaked reputation and the hardened, incredibly intimidating exterior that frightened everyone else.
David rose from the ash-covered floor and extended his bare, blistered hand toward the boy he had mourned for two centuries.
Tyler stared at the raw, burned flesh for a second before reaching out to grip it firmly.
The sharp hiss of skin meeting skin broke the silence, and Tyler did not let go.
The young vampire tightened his grip, his fingers digging into David’s blackened armor as he pulled himself upright.
I am finally ready to go home now, Tyler whispered softly, leaning heavily against Megan as they began the incredibly slow, arduous walk toward the shattered obsidian doors.
The descent down the treacherous, jagged face of the deeply haunted Whispering Mountains was significantly quieter than their incredibly tense, terrifyingly dangerous ascent had been.
Without Heather’s dark, suffocating magic actively poisoning the very atmosphere, the malevolent, creeping mists seemed to gradually dissipate, revealing the stark, breathtakingly beautiful reality of the harsh landscape.
The terrible, maddening whispers that had constantly plagued Megan’s fragile mind were now completely gone, replaced entirely by the incredibly crisp, incredibly clean sound of the freezing mountain wind.
She realized, with a profound sense of absolute, undeniable clarity, that she was no longer just a completely insignificant, easily replaceable servant girl scrubbing floors in a cold, lonely castle.
She had literally stood her ground against an incredibly ancient, deeply powerful witch queen and had willingly offered to sacrifice her own mortal life to protect a young, terrified boy.
David walked closely beside them, his ancient, rune-covered sword safely back in its heavily worn leather scabbard, his imposing presence serving as a deeply comforting, incredibly solid anchor.
He looked remarkably different now, the crushing, impenetrable aura of deeply terrifying, absolutely unapproachable darkness having been completely stripped away by the raw, undeniable power of a father’s profound love.
He was severely injured, his magnificent armor scorched and his immortal flesh deeply burned, but he carried himself with a quiet, dignified peace that practically radiated from his very soul.
For the very first time since his beloved wife had tragically passed away, he actually felt like he had a genuine, undeniable purpose that extended far beyond simply ruling through fear.
He was no longer just the terrifying, heavily feared King David of the dark, ancient legends; he was simply a deeply relieved, incredibly grateful father bringing his only beloved son safely home.
As they carefully reached the desolate, rocky base of the towering mountains, David completely stopped and gently placed his remarkably large, heavily calloused hand firmly on Tyler’s thin shoulder.
We must incredibly carefully navigate the profoundly dangerous shadow roads one last time to reach the safety of our impenetrable fortress, he explained softly, his deep voice thick with genuine emotion.
It will inevitably be incredibly disorienting and deeply unpleasant, but I promise you on my immortal life that I will not let go of your hand for even a single, fleeting second.
Tyler nodded bravely, his deeply crimson eyes shining incredibly brightly with absolute, unwavering trust as he tightly gripped his father’s immensely strong, highly protective hand.
David seamlessly opened the incredibly complex, highly ancient magical gateway, and the three of them stepped bravely forward together into the swirling, intensely chaotic mists of the dimension between worlds.
The distorted visions returned instantly, assaulting their minds with images of failure, pain, and despair.
But this time, the bond connecting the reunited family formed an impenetrable shield against the psychic onslaught.
Megan clutched the starlight pendant to her chest, drawing courage from the solid reality of the king walking beside her.
Tyler closed his heavy eyes, focusing entirely on the steady warmth radiating from his father’s iron grip.
David ignored the fading illusions completely, keeping his sharp gaze fixed on the clear path leading home.
When they finally emerged from the chaotic mists, they stood still in the center of David’s private study.
The fire had long since burned completely out, leaving the massive stone room deeply cold, incredibly quiet, and profoundly still, but it finally felt absolutely wonderful and deeply welcoming to all of them.
Megan immediately collapsed heavily into one of the plush, incredibly comfortable velvet armchairs, her exhausted, deeply bruised mortal body finally, completely giving in to the immense, overwhelming physical toll of their harrowing journey.
Tyler walked incredibly slowly, almost reverently, toward the incredibly large, wonderfully detailed oil portrait hanging beautifully above the heavily soot-stained, deeply ancient stone fireplace.
He reached up with a slightly trembling, incredibly pale hand and gently traced the intricately carved, highly ornate wooden frame, a remarkably soft, incredibly genuine smile slowly touching his severely cracked lips.
You genuinely kept it hanging here perfectly safe for all these incredibly long, agonizing years, he whispered softly, a single, incredibly perfect tear sliding slowly down his pale, flawless cheek.
I absolutely never, ever gave up hoping that you would somehow, miraculously return to me, David replied honestly, his deep voice remarkably thick with intense, incredibly raw, barely contained emotion.
The rigid tension that had defined the king’s posture for two centuries dissolved, leaving his broad shoulders resting naturally for the first time.
He exhaled a long breath, letting the final traces of his defensive magic fade into the quiet room.
The rest of the kingdom would soon notice the change in his stride, a lightness that had replaced the crushing phantom weight of his ancient grief.
But for tonight, in the quiet, absolute safety of their incredibly grand, highly secure home, they were simply a deeply reunited, incredibly happy family resting peacefully after a long, harrowing journey.
Megan eventually drifted peacefully off to a deep, incredibly restorative sleep in the surprisingly comfortable chair, feeling absolutely safe, deeply secure, and profoundly protected for the very first time in her incredibly difficult life.
David gently draped a deeply warm, incredibly soft woolen blanket completely over her sleeping, exhausted form, silently, profoundly thanking her for the incredible, unimaginable miracle she had bravely brought into his life.
He then turned slowly and incredibly affectionately toward his deeply beloved son, who was currently watching him closely with a remarkably similar, deeply proud, highly knowing expression on his incredibly pale face.
They incredibly slowly walked out of the massive, deeply historic study entirely together, quietly leaving the heavy, suffocating darkness and the painful, haunting memories of the past permanently behind them.
The deeply powerful, incredibly ancient vampire king and his newly found, wonderfully resilient son bravely walked side by side toward a significantly brighter, incredibly promising, absolutely beautiful new dawn.
THE END
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Disclaimer
This story is a work of fiction inspired by real events. Names, characters, and details have been altered. Any resemblance is coincidental. The author and publisher disclaim accuracy, liability, and responsibility for interpretations or reliance. If you would like to share your story, please send it to [email protected].
