A crushing weight from that question crushed down inside me. John the Giant. The mention of him brought visions of raw, brutal strength, an unstoppable force tearing through anything standing in his way. Knowing he threatened my family - my mother, sister, and the fragile foster kids depending on me - made my blood run cold. Was I strong enough to face him head-on? It felt like I was going up against a storm I couldn’t survive. Saving them would take shrewd, guts, and probably a touch of anxiety I didn’t recognize I had. The only other possibility was letting his merciless wrath destroy us all, a reality I could never agree to. I understood inaction was not a choice. My life, my family members’s lives, hung in the equilibrium. The question wasn’t if I’d stand my ground, but how I’d survive this hell and hold on to those I cherish.