I always imagined myself as the steady one — the rides to school, the packed lunches, the reminders, the quiet, constant stitching that keeps a child’s world together. I believed that was enough.
Until one unexpected phone call flipped everything upside down.
“Hi, this is Mrs. Carter,” the voice said. “Emily’s homeroom teacher. I wanted to check in because Emily hasn’t been in class all week.”
For a moment, I honestly thought she had the wrong number.
“That doesn’t sound right,” I replied, pushing my chair back so quickly it scraped the floor. “She leaves the house every morning. I see her walk out the door.”
There was a pause — not empty silence, but something heavy.
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