I spotted my daughter at the mall food court, not shopping, not eating—just lining up coins on a napkin like she was trying to make a miracle out of pocket change. I asked, “Where’s the car we got you?” Her throat tightened. “He took it,” she said. “And his mom took the rest.” Then her eyes flicked toward her little girl and dropped again as she whispered that they’d been using my granddaughter to scare her into staying quiet. I didn’t argue. I didn’t panic. I sat across from her and said, “Don’t worry. Mom will handle this…”
The worn sneakers. The faded grocery store uniform with the name tag barely hanging on. The way my daughter Emma kept her eyes down when I spotted her at the food court in Century Mall. I almost didn’t recognize her. My daughter—who used to wear tailored scrubs from the hospital boutique, who drove a brand-new…