Lily’s illness soon became visible in ways none of us could ignore.
The treatments drained her strength. Her skin grew pale, her appetite faded, and eventually, her hair began coming out.
At first, she tried to joke about it.
She wore colorful hats and teased Aaron about buying matching wigs. But even from a distance, I could sense how painful the change was for her.
Her hair had always been part of how she expressed herself. She had worn it long since she was a child, sometimes curling it, sometimes braiding it, and sometimes coloring the ends for school events.
Losing it made the illness feel even more real.
One evening, I was folding laundry in the living room when I heard Aaron coming down the stairs.
His footsteps were unusually slow.
I looked up.
The towel in my hands fell directly into the basket.
His curls were gone.
Aaron’s head had been shaved completely smooth.
For several seconds, all I could do was stare.
“Aaron,” I finally whispered. “What happened to your hair?”
He rubbed his palm across his bare scalp and gave me a nervous smile.
“I knew you’d be surprised.”
“Surprised?” I stood and walked toward him. “You had a full head of hair this morning.”
I reached up before thinking and gently touched his scalp. The skin felt cool beneath my palm, so different from the thick dark curls I was used to brushing away from his eyes.
