Inside those walls, Will Roberts is facing a moment no child should ever have to face.
Doctors stood nearby, their words measured now — not because they don’t care, but because the treatments that once carried hope no longer offer the certainty they did before. Options have narrowed. The hours ahead feel fragile, heavy, unreal.
For families like Will’s, this is the kind of night that changes everything. The kind where clocks are watched too closely. Where breaths are counted. Where no one dares to speak too loudly, afraid of breaking what little calm remains.
But behind closed doors, something unexpected is happening.
A conversation.
A possibility.
One detail the family isn’t ready to share yet.
It’s the reason no one is sleeping tonight.
It’s the reason prayers are being whispered instead of spoken.
And it’s the reason this story is not finished.
Not yet.
This isn’t a goodbye.
This is a pause — suspended between fear and faith, exhaustion and hope.
