Then last Thursday morning, something strange happened that sent my life into a tailspin.
The landline rang.
We rarely use it anymore, so the sound startled me so badly that I almost let it go unanswered.
Neil told me Grace was brain-dead.
“Ma’am?” a careful voice asked. “This is Frank, the principal at the middle school your daughter used to attend. I’m sorry to disturb you, but we have a young girl here who came into the office asking to call her mother.”
“What girl? You must have the wrong person,” I said automatically. “My daughter is deceased.”
There was a pause on the line.
“She says her name is ‘Grace,’” Frank continued. “And she looks remarkably similar to the photo we still have in our student database.”
My heart started pounding so hard it hurt.
“My daughter is deceased.”
