We are taught to believe that greatness is earned through accolades, degrees, and titles—that it resides in corner offices or behind the lecterns of prestigious universities. But my understanding of greatness was rebuilt not in a classroom, but within the sunlit walls of a small apartment, shaped by a young woman with no diploma but an endless capacity for sacrifice. I was twelve when my world collapsed. The day our mother died is etched into me with a permanence that time cannot soften. I remember the sharp scent of antiseptic in the hospital corridors, the silence that seemed to swallow…
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