My 5-year-old niece was supposed to spend one easy afternoon at the pool with me and my daughter. Then she lifted her arms, whispered…

into my arms.

But it felt holy.

Because when a wounded child chooses to trust again, even a little, it is not weakness. It is courage in its purest form.

That night, I buckled both girls into the back seat and drove home under a darkening sky. Lily slept. Chloe watched the passing streetlights in silence.

At one red light, she spoke.

“Auntie?”

“Yes, sweetheart?continue reading …