For her entire life, Amanda Scarpinati kept a small stack of black-and-white photos that moved with her from home to home. One mattered most: a picture of herself as a burned infant in 1977, wrapped in gauze and cradled by a young nurse whose calm, tender expression felt like a silent promise of safety. At just three months old, Amanda had rolled off a couch and onto a hot-steam humidifier.
The scalding water caused third-degree burns, and she was rushed to Albany Medical Center. While doctors worked, a young nurse held her gently — a moment captured forever in that photo. Growing up, Amanda didn’t remember the accident, but she lived with the scars. Children pointed, whispered, mocked. Whenever the cruelty felt overwhelming, she returned to the photo.
