Lily wiped one eye.
“Mom, I need you to understand something first.”
“No. I need a name first.”
She hesitated.
“It’s not one name.”
I stared at her.
“What?”
She took a breath.
“Seventeen names.”
For a second, I thought I had misunderstood.
“Seventeen people?”
“Yeah.”
“What people?”
Lily stood.
“Come with me.”
“I’m not going anywhere until you tell me what happened.”
She grabbed her café hoodie from the counter and pulled it on.
“Please.”
I looked at Michael’s empty keychain beside my coffee.
Then at my daughter.
Twenty minutes later, we were walking toward the café where Lily had worked all summer.
Neither of us spoke much.
My mind was racing through every possible explanation.
Had coworkers pressured her?
Had some adult learned she had savings?
Had Lily decided that being generous meant giving money to anyone with a sad enough story? Charitablegiving platform
She was sixteen.
