Part 2
By Saturday morning, Daniel had left twenty-seven missed calls.
Madison started sending photos of the children sitting inside their minivan, hoping guilt would work because it always had before. And honestly, it usually did. That had always been the problem.
At 8:14 that morning, Daniel texted:
Mom, stop acting childish. We already made plans.
I replied:
So did I.
Then I flipped my phone face down and enjoyed breakfast with my sister Carol in a quiet café in Maine. She looked at me across her coffee cup and smiled knowingly.
“You finally did it.”
“I feel terrible,” I admitted.
“No,” she corrected gently. “You just aren’t used to freedom yet.”
