She looked down at her hands.
“I just want to have one normal day.”
I reached across the center console and held her hand.
“I know.”
She took a deep breath.
Then she opened the door.
I watched her walk toward the entrance.
Halfway there, she turned around.
I gave her a thumbs-up.
She responded with a tiny smile before disappearing inside.
I sat in the parking lot for several minutes after she was gone.
I wanted to follow her.
I wanted to stand outside every classroom and make sure no one looked at her the wrong way.
I wanted to guarantee that she would never be hurt again.
But motherhood doesn’t give you that power.
What it gives you is the responsibility to create a place where your child can return when the world becomes too difficult.
That afternoon, Emily came home looking exhausted.
I didn’t bombard her with questions.
