Three months after cancer took my husband, I thought I had already learned what the worst kind of phone call sounded like.
Then, one morning, my phone rang again.
It was Principal Brennan.
And before he had even finished his first sentence, my hands were shaking.
“You need to come to school right away,” he said. “It’s about Letty.”
My heart stopped.
“Is my daughter hurt?”
There was a long pause.
“No. Letty is safe, Piper. But you need to come here immediately. You won’t believe what happened.”
I stood frozen in my kitchen.
The cereal bowl I had been holding slipped from my hand and struck the sink.
For a moment, I couldn’t breathe.
Three months earlier, another phone call had changed my life forever.
My husband, Jonathan, was gone.
Now someone was calling me about our twelve-year-old daughter.
I grabbed my keys, left the water running, and rushed out the door.
But what made the situation even more confusing was that only the night before, my biggest concern had been my daughter’s terrible haircut.
