Police sirens shattered our quiet afternoon as officers approached my 8-year-old daughter on our porch. Lily looked up with confused, frightened eyes, her bald head shining from chemotherapy treatments. Daddy, are they here because I look scary without hair? Our HOA president had called cops on my cancer patient.
The sound of sirens pierced through our quiet Tuesday afternoon like a knife through my heart. I was in the kitchen making my 8-year-old daughter Lily’s favorite chicken noodle soup. The only thing she could keep down these days after her morning chemotherapy session when I heard the unmistakable sound of police cars pulling into our driveway.
Continue on the next page:
