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It had all come down to this, she thought, signing her name in careful script.

The years of agony endured by her son, who, at 11, still couldn’t read or write. The antidepressants the boy had been prescribed in a desperate attempt to salve his battered self-esteem. The thousands of dollars they’d scraped together for expert testing, to prove what their son’s severe learning disability required. The tedious and maddening back-and-forth between their lawyer and the one employed by the boy’s suburban Boston school district — the bargaining that yielded the document she had just signed.