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The patient on the table was a young boy named Leo, no more than seven, with eyes the color of a stormy sea. He had been born with a valve that refused to behave—a mitral leaflet that fluttered instead of snapping shut. For years, the sound of his heart had been a whisper of chaos: a soft shush where there should have been a thump.
Emily nodded, her eyes wide with wonder. "It sounds like... a lub-dub, lub-dub."
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The patient on the table was a young boy named Leo, no more than seven, with eyes the color of a stormy sea. He had been born with a valve that refused to behave—a mitral leaflet that fluttered instead of snapping shut. For years, the sound of his heart had been a whisper of chaos: a soft shush where there should have been a thump.
Emily nodded, her eyes wide with wonder. "It sounds like... a lub-dub, lub-dub."
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