He saw me start to shake, saw my body tense up, saw my breathing become shallow. A tiny child who can barely talk understood that something was terribly wrong. He tried to wake me up, shook my hand, called me, cried, but I didn’t react.

So he did the only thing his little mind could think of: he grabbed a cup of water and started pouring it over my face, hoping it would bring me back.

And it worked.

I sat there soaking wet, in shock, and in front of me stood my little boy with a trembling lip and huge, frightened eyes.

I pulled him close and hugged him as tightly as if I were afraid of losing consciousness again.

“It’s okay… You saved Daddy, you hear?” I whispered, feeling a lump rise in my throat.