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.
A year after the diagnosis, I sat beside Tom and held his hand as his breathing slowed.
He gave me one last weak smile.
Then he was gone.
After the funeral, I
