on the living room couch with one arm across his stomach, his face turned toward the cushions like he could hide the pain if he stayed quiet enough.

“Mom,” he whispered one night, “it hurts again.”

I told my husband, Scott, that we needed to take him to a doctor.

Scott barely looked up from his phone.

“He’s fine.”

“He’s not fine,” I said. “He’s barely eating.continue reading …