The phone rang at 7 a. m. on a Tuesday. I knew it was my daughter before I even looked at the screen.
She never called this early unless something was wrong. My hands shook as I answered, and her voice came through, tight and strained. “Mom, I need to tell you something. I’m getting a divorce.
” I sat down on the edge of the bed, the world tilting around me. For years, I had watched her marriage from a distance, biting my tongue when I saw the cracks. I had told myself it wasn’t my place to interfere. But now, hearing the finality in her voice, I felt a wave of guilt wash over me.
Had I done enough? Had I said the right things? Or had I been so afraid of pushing her away that I had failed her when she needed me most?