She never became friends with those girls.

Probably never would.

But she hadn’t allowed them to take something away from her.

A few miles from home, Greta became quiet.

Then she looked down at the clay turtle in her lap.

“Mom?”

“Yeah?”

“I knew sending that picture was wrong.”

I waited.

“I was just tired of always being the one going home upset.”

Her voice became softer.

“I wanted her to know what it felt like.”

I understood that anger.

But understanding it didn’t make her choice right.

“I get why you felt that way,” I said. “It still wasn’t okay.”

“I know.”

Another minute passed.

Then Greta looked at me.

“Next time, I’ll tell you.”

I didn’t give her a lecture.

I didn’t need to.

I reached over, squeezed her knee, and said,

“Good.”

I Let My Friend Drive My 10-Year-Old Daughter to Summer Camp – A Few Hours Later, the Camp Administrator Called and Said, ‘I Think You Need to Come Here. It’s About the Man Who Brought Her’