Some nights I cried in the shower. Other days I snapped, then apologized as Joshua held me, both of us shaking.
When his hair began to fall out, I picked up the clippers.
“Ready?”
“Do I have a choice?” he asked.
The boys giggled as I shaved his head.
The trial nearly broke us.
Then one bright morning, my phone rang.
“It’s Dr. Samson, Hanna.
The latest results are all clear. Joshua is in remission.”
I dropped to my knees.
Now, two years later, our house is chaos—backpacks, soccer cleats, crayons everywhere.
Joshua tells the boys I’m the bravest one in the family.
I always answer the same way: “Being brave isn’t staying quiet. It’s telling the truth before it’s too late.”
For a long time, I thought Joshua wanted to give me a family so I wouldn’t be alone.
In the end, the truth almost destroyed us.
It was also the only thing that saved us.
