I’m also a single mother, and I have been raising my daughter Greta alone for ten years.
If you’ve ever done either job, you probably understand the rule I lived by:
Something will eventually go wrong, and you’ll handle it.
I took pride in being the person Greta could always depend on.
So when she started acting strangely before summer camp, I convinced myself it was just nerves.
She had been talking about camp since March.
She packed her bag three days early.
But that Tuesday morning, while stirring her cereal, she suddenly asked,
“Mom, can parents pick kids up early if they feel sick?”
“I guess so. Why? Are you feeling okay?”
She looked down.
“Yeah. I was just wondering.”
Two days later, she unpacked her duffel bag and repacked it twice.
I assumed she was nervous about spending the night away from home for the first time.
Then Saturday morning, the hospital called.
Two nurses had called out, and they needed me in the ER earlier than expected.
There was no way I could drive Greta forty minutes to camp and still make it to work on time.
Greta stood in the doorway with her bag beside her.
“It’s okay,” she said quickly. “I don’t have to go. I can stay home.”
At the time, I thought she was trying to make things easier for me.
“Absolutely not.”
I crouched in front of her.
“You’ve been looking forward to this for weeks. You’re not missing camp because I got called in.”
Her chin trembled slightly, but she nodded.
That was when Owen walked in.
Owen had been one of my closest friends for years.
What happened next changed everything… FULL STORY on the next page.
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