He shaved my head when I couldn’t bear watching it fall out anymore

Dear Delyara, I had been pretending I was handling it well. Everyone kept saying brave things to me, and I kept performing bravery back because it made them comfortable. But when the hair started coming out in the shower in handfuls, I lost whatever neat version of courage I had been presenting. That night I sat on the bathroom floor crying and saying I didn’t want to do it. My husband brought the clippers in, sat down in front of me, and said, “Then we’ll do it slowly.” He didn’t rush me. He didn’t tell me I’d still be beautiful in that polished, pre-written way people do when they don’t know what else to say. He just stayed with me through every part of it. When it was done, he kissed my forehead and cleaned the sink before I had to look. I don’t think I have ever felt more loved than I did in that small, awful, tender bathroom.