I sat on the edge of Cindy’s bed, my heart heavy with concern. My daughter’s tear-streaked face mirrored my own worry, and I couldn’t shake the feeling that something was deeply troubling her.
“Honey, can you tell me why you cry when grandma comes over?” I asked gently, hoping to coax the truth out of her.
Cindy sniffled, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand before speaking in a small voice. “Because of her friend,” she murmured.
Confusion clouded my thoughts. “What friend? Grandma always comes alone,” I replied, trying to make sense of Cindy’s words.
