I’ve always trusted my fourteen-year-old daughter, and I like to believe she knows that. Still, when I heard soft laughter behind her closed bedroom door one Sunday, my imagination ran ahead of me. Her boyfriend, also fourteen, is polite and respectful, yet I wondered what if? I finally peeked in—just a crack—and found them cross-legged on the floor, surrounded by notebooks and math problems, completely absorbed in studying. The cookies I’d brought were untouched. She looked up, puzzled, and smiled. I closed the door, relieved, reminded that sometimes the truth is wonderfully simple.
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