“Emily hasn’t been in class all week,” her teacher told me.
I stared at the phone in my hand, certain I had misunderstood her.
“That’s impossible,” I replied. “My daughter leaves for school every morning at 7:30. I watch her walk out the door myself.”
There was a brief silence on the other end.
“I understand why you’re confused, Mrs. Carter,” her teacher said gently. “But Emily hasn’t attended a single class since Monday. We’ve marked her absent every day this week.”
I felt the blood drain from my face.
My daughter was fourteen years old. She had her problems, of course. She spent too much time on her phone, rolled her eyes whenever I asked her to help around the house, and had recently developed a remarkable talent for making me feel like the most embarrassing mother on the planet.
But she wasn’t a troublemaker.
