At one of those shelters, I met Tom, the boy who would later become my husband.
I never understood why no family chose him. Even under difficult circumstances, Tom remained cheerful, and the shelter workers adored him.
He would chuckle.
“Maybe that’s the reason I like you so much.”
We stayed in touch until we both aged out of foster care. Soon after, we went on a date and quickly realized neither of us wanted to be apart.
Three months later, we were married.
“It just feels like I’m dreaming”
We didn’t have much. I worked as a store clerk, while Tom was a mechanic. But we had food on the table, a comfortable bed, and someone who genuinely cared.
After the childhoods we had survived, that felt like everything.
When our daughter Emily was born, we were happier than we had ever imagined possible.
One morning, I looked at Tom and smiled.
“It just feels like I’m dreaming. One wrong move, and I’ll wake up without you.”
A month later, that fear became real.
A doctor adjusted his glasses and sighed before delivering the news.
“Your husband has cancer. It’s very aggressive.”
The room seemed to freeze.
I heard the clock ticking behind him and the faint rustle of paper as Tom shifted in his chair.
“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.”
