The truest version is about her.

Because while I was overseas imagining myself her protector, my wife was, alone, doing something far braver than anything I did in uniform.

She was fighting a deadly disease and a monstrous cruelty at the same time, with no allies, no money, no phone, and no hope of rescue that she could count on — and she refused to give up.

When they took her money, she found more.

When they took her phone, she found another way.

When they left her with nothing at all, she sold her own hair to buy the truth about her body, because she would not simply lie down in that storage room and die the way everyone around her had decided she should.