"Can you take us in tonight?"
The next hour passed in a blur, pajamas stashed into bags, stuffed toys carried under arms, and William's favorite book. The boys barely woke as I buckled them into their car seats. I left Joshua a note on the kitchen table:
"Don't call. I need time."
***
At Caroline's, I fell apart for the first time. I didn't sleep. I just stared at the ceiling, running through every conversation we'd had for the past six months.
In the morning, with the boys coloring quietly on the living room rug, my mind kept circling that name: Dr. Samson.
I fell apart for the first time.
I opened Joshua's laptop and found what I was terrified of, scan results, appointment notes, and an unsigned message from Dr. Samson telling him again that he needed to tell me.
My hands shook as I called the office.
"I'm Hanna, Joshua's wife," I said when Dr. Samson came on. "I found the records. I know about the lymphoma. I just need to know if there's anything left to try."
His voice softened. "There is a trial. But it's risky, expensive, and the waiting list is brutal."
My breath caught. "Can my husband join it?"
"We can try, Hanna. But you need to know that it's not covered by insurance."
I looked at the twins, four years old, clutching their crayons.
"I have my severance money, Doc," I said. "Put his name on the list."
