That afternoon, he walked straight into the living room and sat beside me.
“Mom?”
“What’s wrong, sweetheart?”
He looked down at his hands.
“Grace is really sick.”
I sat closer.
“I know, honey.”
“Her dad says she’s going to need a lot of treatment.”
I nodded.
“Her doctors are going to do everything they can to help her.”
He was quiet for a moment.
Then he asked, “Is she going to lose her hair?”
I took a careful breath.
“She might. Some of the medicine can cause that.”
Noah stared at the floor.
“She loves her hair.”
I remembered Grace’s beautiful brown hair, which she used to wear in long braids.
“I know.”
He leaned against me.
For several minutes, neither of us said anything.
Over the following weeks, Grace began chemotherapy.
Some days, she felt well enough to attend school for a few hours.
Other days, she stayed home.
