I pulled him into my arms, but he didn’t cry. He stood stiffly against me, staring over my shoulder.
“Is she going to die?” he whispered.
It was the question every adult had been trying not to ask in front of the children.
I couldn’t promise him that everything would be fine. I couldn’t tell him that cancer always ended happily or that being brave guaranteed a good outcome.
So I held him and told him the truth as gently as I could.
“Lily’s doctors are going to do everything they can to help her. We don’t know everything that’s going to happen, but she won’t have to face it alone.”
He nodded against my shoulder.
Then he stepped away, wiped his face with his sleeve, and asked whether dinner was ready.
That was Ethan.
He could be hurting deeply and still remember that he was hungry.
Over the following months, his friendship with Lily changed, but it didn’t disappear.
