When My Daughter Smiled Again
The change was immediate.
The next morning, Lily woke up early.
She brushed her own hair.
She picked out her sparkliest unicorn shirt like she was reclaiming her life one sequin at a time.
In the drop-off lane, she looked at me and smiled.
“Is Ms. Peterson coming back soon?”
“I don’t know, baby,” I said softly. “But I know you’ll have a different substitute for now.”
Lily’s shoulders loosened like she’d been holding her breath for weeks.
That afternoon, she ran to my car again.
She waved a construction-paper turkey and shouted, “We made thankful feathers!”
