Tears were beginning to flow down her cheeks. I hugged her. Tightly enough to let her know that I love her, but not enough for her to know that I really just wanted to take her back home with me. I saw the anxiety wash over her, as she listened to the other girls’ chatter, refusing to look in their direction. Eyes fixed on me, pleading. Her words whispered, her stomach knotted.
Maybe she wasn’t ready for this. Maybe neither of us were.
But this would be a good thing. A weekend winter camp would be a great introduction for her, just two days separated from mom and dad, far less than an entire week in the summer.
So here I sit tonight, praying that pure exhaustion washes over her and allows her to sleep through the night, away from her mother’s safe and warm embrace. Knowing that tomorrow is a new day, and that the next time darkness falls, she will be snuggled in tight beside her mother, trying desperately to vividly recall every moment of her newfound independence.
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