My Daughter’s Classmates Held Prom in Her Hospital Room Because She Couldn’t Attend Due to Her Illness – Then One of Them Handed Me an Envelope and Said, ‘Here’s the Real Reason We’re Here’

“I promise, baby.”

The latest round of chemo had hollowed Carol out in a way the others hadn’t.

Her cheekbones looked sharper, and her hands looked smaller.

On the rolling tray beside her sat a leather journal I’d bought her in February. She wrote in it every day now. Letters, too, were carefully folded in thirds and addressed in her looping handwriting to names I recognized from her class.

When I leaned over to fluff her pillow, my daughter stirred and quickly slid the journal under her blanket.

Her hands looked smaller.

“Sorry, honey. Didn’t mean to startle you,” I quickly apologized
“It’s fine, Mom.” She gave me her tired smile. “Just girl stuff.”

I nodded as if I understood. Teenagers needed their privacy, even sick ones. Especially sick ones, maybe.

Carol’s phone buzzed on the tray. The name Daryl lit up the screen before she turned it face down.

Daryl had been her best friend since middle school, the kind of boy who held doors open and remembered birthdays.