I tried to be strong, holding his hand and whispering, “We’ll get through this.” But every night, I cried alone in the bathroom. Because I knew something Daniel didn’t. He had grown up in foster care, never knowing his parents, never even knowing if he had brothers or sisters. Without close relatives, the odds of finding a donor match were almost impossible.

The wait could take months, maybe years, and Daniel didn’t have that kind of time. Earlier today, his doctor pulled me aside. His words gutted me. “Emily, we are running out of options. If we don’t find a compatible donor soon…” He didn’t finish the sentence. He didn’t have to.