I slide closer to Liza, my only daughter, sitting on the cream chenille sofa as she explains she wants to donate her kidney to me. The knot in my gut tightens. My maternal instincts rise like an emotional geyser.
She wants to protect me and make everything OK. But isn't this my job? My innate instinct to protect her from harm was instantaneous from the moment she was born 25 years ago.
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