Leo's Miracle

On January 3, 2025, death entered a child’s bedroom.
Three days after my birthday.
Three days after the last smile.

“Say goodbye to your child,”

they told me.

His fingers deformed,

his face veiled in pain.

His body: 13 kilos of misery.

His will: broken.

A four-year-old boy said:
“I can’t take anymore.”

Then a man came.

An old friend from an old life.
He brought me hope wrapped in phone numbers.

I called. I acted. I paid.

On January 13, a Monday,
I dropped Leo’s oil on his lips for the first time.

An elixir.

Not a medicine.
No prescription.
No guarantee.

Only hope.

And a father who defied heaven.

The nurse said:
“There are no miracles here.”

But three days later my son was sitting on the sofa.
He played.
He laughed.
He lived.

The MRIs came. The tumors left.
The bone marrow was clean.
The head clear.
The cancer gone.

And in the end,

only one sentence remained
in a report from Hamburg:

“The only survivor.”

He lives.

Because we didn’t give up.
Because we gave something inexplicable
but it worked.

Leo’s Elixir.

It was our last chance.
It became our miracle.