The door opened with a bang against my front hall.
Something was wrong. My heart revved like a racecar. I wiped wet hands against my apron and hurried to meet my daughter, home from third grade.
Charity fell into my arms, a melted puddle of tears.
“I’m such a s-i-n-n-e-r!” She wailed.
Sobs ripped raw from her eight-year-old soul.
“Oh, Moooooom, what am I going to do?”
By then I’d imagined a number of worse case scenarios.
“What happened, honey?” With forced calm, my arm wrapped around her. I led her to the couch where we sat down.
The story came in bits and pieces…