My Daughter’s Friends Brought Prom to Her Hospital Room—Then Her Best Friend Handed Me an Envelope and Said, “This Is the Real Reason We’re Here”

Six months had passed since the word “leukemia” entered our living room and refused to leave. My daughter, Carol, was 17 years old, and I was a single mother who had learned to smile through things no smile should ever have to cover.

Carol used to cut pictures of dresses from magazines and tape them to her bedroom mirror.

“Mom, promise you’ll do my hair continue reading …