The weight of the world feels unbearable some days, as I watch my little boy lie in his hospital bed, tangled in a web of tubes and wires, his small body trembling with pain. The second I see him suffer, my heart breaks. Jaś, my precious four-year-old son, has been through more than any child should ever have to endure.

Today, he is in the midst of his third round of chemoimmunotherapy, and while the treatment gives us hope, we are still waiting for the results of his tests — will the tumor retreat? Will we have a chance to finally stop this nightmare? Or will we face even worse news?

I try to stay strong for him, to be the mother he needs me to be. But the pain of watching him suffer is slowly consuming me. His tiny hand clutches mine, his eyes pleading with me to make the pain go away. How can I tell him that no matter how hard I try, there are times when I feel powerless? When I feel as though I am failing him in the most unimaginable way? I see him looking at me with that unwavering trust, believing that I will somehow save him, and it shatters me.

The hardest part of all is seeing that a mere drop of morphine is all that can ease his pain, and only for a short while. It’s not enough. My heart aches for him in ways I can’t even put into words.

 My baby boy, so innocent and vulnerable, trapped in a battle that should never have been his to fight. Every day, I watch him suffer, his eyes filled with hope and fear, and it feels as though I am failing him. I see the hope in his eyes — hope that I can protect him from the world, from this disease — and I can’t help but feel like I am letting him down.

The helplessness consumes me. The fear, the worry — it is suffocating. The worst part of it all is knowing that his future, his very survival, is tied to something that is beyond my control: money. The money we need for his treatment, the money we need to give him the chance to live, and I don’t have it. We don’t have it.

It’s the one thing I can’t change. The one thing I can’t fix. And it is breaking me. I hate that this fight has come down to finances. I hate that his life is measured by the cost of medical care, something that no parent should ever have to worry about. We need your help. Without it, we may lose him, and I can’t even imagine a world where I lose my precious boy.

Jaś’s words, his small, fragile voice, are a constant reminder of the strength he still has within him, despite all the suffering. When he sees me cry, he wipes my tears away, trying to comfort me when he is the one in pain. “Don’t worry, Mommy,” he says, trying to smile through his tears. “I’ll always be with you, even if I’m not here. I’ll be there, in the other world, watching over you.” His innocence, his understanding of what’s happening around him — it breaks me every time.

Jaś knows what’s at stake. He knows that this treatment is his last chance. He is only four years old, but he is wise beyond his years. The fact that he even grasps the situation, that he can understand the urgency of our plea, is heartbreaking. He knows that the money we need is a barrier, and yet he still holds on to the hope that we will find a way to get it.

“I’m scared, Mommy,” he admits quietly, his small voice trembling. “But I know you’re doing everything you can. And if we can’t get the money for my treatment, maybe it’s just my time. I’m sorry.” Those words, from my baby boy, are the hardest to hear. How can I explain to him that no matter what, I will never give up? How can I tell him that we will fight until the very end, no matter how exhausted we are, no matter how impossible it seems?

I want to tell him that we will find a way, that somehow we will gather the money and save him. But the truth is, we are running out of time, and I am running out of strength. I cannot do this alone. Without your help, Jaś’s fight will end too soon. Every day, every hour, I pray that someone out there will hear our plea, that someone with a kind heart will step forward and help us in this battle. Every little bit counts, every share of this story, every donation, is a lifeline that could mean the difference between life and death for my son.

To all of you who have shared our story, who have reached out with kind words and support, I am eternally grateful. Your help is more than just financial — it is a source of strength for us in this dark time. It gives us hope that maybe, just maybe, there is still a chance for Jaś to live, to grow, to experience life the way every child should.

Jaś, my sweet boy, thank you for being so brave, for teaching me the true meaning of strength. Even in his pain, he remains kind, gentle, and full of love. He still believes in the possibility of miracles, in the goodness of the world, and that alone is worth fighting for.

Please, we are asking you from the bottom of our hearts — help us save Jaś. He deserves a future. He deserves a life. Every donation, every share, brings us one step closer to getting him the treatment he so desperately needs. I don’t want to say goodbye to my son before his time, and I need your help to make sure that doesn’t happen.

Thank you for hearing our plea. Thank you for standing with us in this fight for Jaś’s life. Your generosity and kindness mean everything to us.

Milena, Jaś’s mother

The Pizza Delivery Driver Who Saved Five Kids From a Burning House.1037

The Pizza Delivery Hero Who Ran Into Flames – And Came Out With Five Lives in His Arms

It was a quiet summer night in Indiana three years ago when 25-year-old pizza delivery driver

Nick Bostic spotted an orange glow in the distance. At first, he thought it was just a bonfire. But as he drove closer, he realized it wasn’t harmless flames—it was a house fully engulfed in fire.

Nick had no idea whose home it was, or who might be inside. All he knew was that he couldn’t just drive away. Without a second thought, he slammed his car into park, dropped the pizzas he was carrying, and sprinted toward the blaze.