The phone call came late, my heart racing as the voice said, “We found her purse, but… she’s safe at the community center.” Relief hit me hard. When I arrived, my daughter sat alone, hoodie up, trembling. Her fearful eyes met mine, expecting anger. Instead, I hugged her tightly. “I’m sorry, Mom,” she whispered. “I felt unheard and lost my purse.” I admitted my fear of losing her, promising to listen better.

That night, over cocoa, we talked—not about rules, but feelings. She felt suffocated; I was terrified. For the first time, we truly connected. We started a Sunday tradition: hot chocolate, no phones, just talk. Some nights were light, others heavy, but always honest.

I learned safety isn’t just boundaries—it’s trust. That call, “We found her purse, but…,” led me back to my daughter’s heart.