We were driving back from Reno on a Sunday.
My current husband was driving. My daughter was in Las Vegas, in her own house, in her own life—living it the way grown daughters do, separate from mine, doing things I didn't always know about.
I was in the passenger seat trying not to suffocate.
There's a particular kind of quiet in a car when you want to talk about something heavy and you can't. When your husband is driving and he's not the one who needs to understand what's happening with your child. When you have so much to say and nowhere to put it.
Then the phone rang.
I wasn't expecting it.
I didn't know she'd been to therapy. I didn't know about the diagnosis. I didn't know she'd picked up medication from a pharmacy and was nervous about trying it.
My daughter was living her own life and making her own decisions and I was just... finding out.
I didn't know what to feel. What should I feel?
