That Friday, I finally agreed to let him walk home from school by himself.
It was only a ten-minute walk.
But I was nervous.
“Mom, I’m eleven,” he protested. “I can manage ten minutes.”
I smiled.
“Straight home. And send me a message when you leave school.”
“I promise.”
At 3:11 that afternoon, my phone buzzed.
**Joel: On my way.**
I smiled and returned to what I was doing.
Ten minutes passed.
Then fifteen.
At twenty minutes, I walked toward the window.
No Joel.
I reached for my phone.
Just then, Ivy called.
“Sarah, you need to come outside immediately.”
My stomach dropped.
“Where’s Joel? Is he okay?”
“He’s here.”
“Is he hurt?”
“Just get outside and see what your son has done!”
I ran out the front door.
Ivy stood beside the curb looking furious.
Joel was next to her, clutching a yellow garbage bag.
His face was red, and he looked close to tears.
