She burst through the front door waving her phone.
Then, last fall, she earned a spot in a respected studio’s advanced teen program, along with a scholarship that covered most of the tuition.
She burst through the front door waving her phone.
“Mom! They accepted me!”
I read the email twice before hugging her.
“That’s incredible, sweetheart.”
The studio was fifty minutes away by car, or two bus transfers.
“Can I go? Please say yes.”
I wanted to. The problem was getting her there.
The studio was fifty minutes away by car, or two bus transfers. Classes ended after eight.
Scott and I both worked late. I was a hospital administrator; he supervised construction sites.
“We’ll figure something out,” I promised.
Audrey heard the hesitation.
I had no good answer that wouldn’t disappoint her.
“You always say that.”
“Because I mean it.”
“Then why do you look worried?”
