TST. Latest update on Will Roberts: his family is stepping into one of the hardest chapters of his fight.

A mother’s love is often spoken about in grand, poetic terms, but sometimes it reveals itself in the quietest, most painful moments—when there are no words left that can fix what is coming. What we see in Brittney Roberts is not a metaphor or an idea. It is love in its rawest form, standing face to face with fear and choosing not to turn away.

Yesterday morning, before dawn fully settled over Alabama, Brittney and Jason Roberts loaded their car outside their home near Tuscaloosa and began the long drive to Houston, Texas. In the back seat was their 14-year-old son, Will. The road ahead wasn’t just measured in miles, but in surgeries, uncertainty, and hope held together by faith and sheer willpower.

Will is fighting bone cancer. The kind that doesn’t negotiate. The kind that already took his left leg.

No parent ever imagines watching their child endure something like that. No parent imagines hospital rooms replacing classrooms, or prosthetics replacing soccer cleats, or words like “pelvis” and “femur” becoming part of daily conversation. Yet for the Roberts family, this has become their reality.

Tomorrow, doctors at MD Anderson Cancer Center will attempt to remove cancer from Will’s pelvic area. On Thursday, surgeons will remove two more cancerous spots from his right femur. Each procedure carries risk. Each one carries hope. And between those two forces—fear and faith—the family waits.

Will is described by everyone who knows him as a great kid. Positive. Faithful. Strong in ways that surprise even the adults around him. But strength doesn’t erase fear. Courage doesn’t mean the absence of worry. Will is brave, but he is also 14 years old. He knows what’s coming. He knows what he has already lost. And he knows that nothing about this is guaranteed.

Just before leaving for Houston, Brittney recorded a video.

There is no script. No attempt to polish the moment. It is raw and unguarded. You can hear the weight in her voice—the kind that comes from holding yourself together because your child needs you to. In that video, Brittney isn’t trying to be inspirational. She isn’t trying to go viral. She is simply a mother speaking from the place where fear and love collide.

Watching it, you don’t see weakness. You see restraint. You see a woman allowing herself just enough vulnerability to breathe, while still staying strong for her son. You see the kind of courage that doesn’t look heroic, but is heroic nonetheless.

There is a moment in parenting when you realize you can’t protect your child from everything. For Brittney, that moment has arrived in the most brutal way imaginable. She cannot take this cancer from Will. She cannot trade places with him. All she can do is stay. Hold him. Drive beside him. Love him through it.

That is what makes this so powerful.

In a world obsessed with outcomes, statistics, and timelines, this story reminds us of something simpler and deeper. Love is not about fixing everything. Love is about showing up when nothing can be fixed yet. Love is about sitting in the passenger seat of fear and refusing to abandon hope.

Jason, too, walks this road quietly. Fathers often grieve differently, carrying their worry in silence while making sure the family keeps moving forward. Together, Brittney and Jason form a shield around Will—not one that blocks the danger, but one that ensures he never faces it alone.

There is something sacred about the space between a mother and her child when they know a storm is coming. Words become fewer. Touch becomes everything. A look, a squeeze of the hand, a whispered “I’m here” carries more weight than any speech.

That is what people feel when they watch Brittney’s video. It reaches beyond cancer, beyond medicine, beyond circumstance. It touches something universal. Anyone who has ever loved deeply recognizes that look, that voice, that moment.

It makes you want to do the only thing that feels right: reach through the screen and offer comfort. A hug. A prayer. A quiet promise that they are not alone.

This week, in Houston, surgeons will do what they can. Science and skill will be tested. Hope will rise and fall with each update. And through it all, a mother will sit nearby, loving her son with a force stronger than fear.

No one knows exactly how this week will end. But one thing is certain: whatever happens, Will will be surrounded by love. Real love. The kind that doesn’t flinch. The kind that stays even when the outcome is uncertain.

So from wherever we are—our homes, our desks, our screens—we send the Roberts family what we can. Our prayers. Our thoughts. Our encouragement. Our belief in a brave young boy and the parents who refuse to let him walk this road alone.

This week, we are rooting for Will.
We are holding space for Brittney.
And we are reminded, once again, of what a mother’s love truly looks like.