Alice came home glowing, her bag empty, her spirit lighter than ever.
So every morning I packed two lunchboxes.
“How’s your friend?” I would ask each afternoon.
“He said thank you again,” she told me one day. “He said I have a kind heart.”
“You do,” I said, kissing the top of her head.
“He told me God sent me,” she added shyly.
I laughed softly. “Maybe He did.”
“He said I have a kind heart.”
“We’re raising a good one,” Wade said one night, watching her sleep.
“The best one,” I agreed.
I truly believed we had it all figured out.
I thought kindness was simple.
You gave, and the world grew a little softer around you.
I never imagined that gentleness could carry a hidden weight.
I thought kindness was simple.
I never imagined my sweet girl might be paying a price I couldn’t see.
“Mommy,” she asked one night, unusually quiet, “is it bad to be different?”
