By the third day in the Outer Banks, my eight-year-old nephew was drinking constantly, making frequent trips to the bathroom, and worn out from the heat, and then his breathing started to change—even though my sister had warned me to turn off my ER-nurse instincts.

The next morning, the sun broke over the Atlantic in a brilliant burst of gold and pink.

For our final day in Nags Head, the beach felt different. The frantic, overwhelmed energy of the first few days had given way to a settled, quiet joy.

Finn was the first one down on the sand, carrying a plastic bucket and spade that looked almost as big as he was. His energy was completely restored—he ran in wide, sweeping circles around the umbrellas, digging holes, chasing seagulls, and laughing with his cousins.

Every two hours, Lydia’s phone would give a quiet, cheerful chime. She would check the continuous monitor reading, call Finn over for a quick sip of water or a small snack, and let him run right back out to play.

There was no hyper-vigilance, no paralyzing fear. Just careful, structured management.

Around noon, I walked down to the water’s edge where Finn was building a massive, sprawling sand fortress complete with a moat connected to the tide line.

"Needs a drawbridge," I declared, crouching down beside him in the damp sand.

"Aunt Greer!" he yelled, waving a sandy shovel. "Look! I built a giant tower to keep the monsters out!"

"That is an exceptionally strong tower," I laughed, helping him pack wet sand around the base.

He stopped digging for a moment, looking at the small white CGM patch on his arm, which was sticking out from beneath his rash guard shirt. "Aunt Greer?"

"Yeah, buddy?"

"Do you think the kids at school are going to think my patch looks weird?"

I stopped building and looked at him. "Some of them might ask questions because they’ve never seen one before. But you know what you tell them?"

"What?"

"You tell them it’s a high-tech health computer that gives you superpower readings straight to your mom's phone. Because that’s literally what it is."

Finn grinned, his dimples showing. "Yeah! I'm like Iron Man!"

"Exactly like Iron Man," I smiled, poking his nose with a sandy finger.

Lydia walked down from the umbrellas, carrying a cooler bag. She didn't look anxious or exhausted anymore. She looked strong, grounded, and completely in her element.