“How aggressive?” Tom asked.
The doctor’s hesitation frightened me more than his answer.
I clenched my fists beneath the table.
“I’ll fight for him with all I have.”
Tom reached for my hand. His fingers were warm, but trembling.
“We’ll fight together,” he said.
And we did.
Every scan terrified me. Every appointment made my stomach twist. Even a ringing phone could make my heart race.
At night, when Tom finally slept, I buried my face in the pillow so he wouldn’t hear me cry.
By morning, I forced myself to keep going.
We emptied our savings and borrowed money. We traveled to specialists in other cities, tried different medications, and eventually agreed to an experimental treatment that offered only a tiny chance.
I held onto that chance because it was all we had.
