I picked up my 19-year-old daughter after her summer job at a resort—and she was carrying a newborn baby. Before I could even ask whose baby it was, she looked at me and said, “Mom… she’s mine now.”
My name is Renee, and Callie is my only child.
After her father died five years ago, it was just the two of us. We became incredibly close. Even as a teenager, Callie told me everything, and we rarely went a day without talking. So when she got a summer job at a lakeside resort three hours away, I worried.
⸻
“You’ll call me, right?”
“Every night, Mom.”
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And she almost did. All summer, Callie told me about work, her roommates, difficult guests, and new friends. She sounded happier and more independent every single week.
