I’m not very good at this kind of thing, but I’ll learn.”
He picked up a hook, clumsily held it, and said, “Will you teach me to crochet?”
Emma laughed for the first time in days. Daniel’s first attempts were… well, hilarious, but after two weeks, Emma had her 80 hats. We mailed them out, never suspecting Carol was about to come back into our lives with a vengeance.
Two days later, I got an email from the director of the main hospice, thanking Emma for the hats and explaining that they had brought real, genuine joy to the children. She asked for permission to post pictures of the children wearing the hats on the hospice’s social media. Emma nodded, a shy, proud smile on her face.
The post went viral. Comments piled up from people wanting to know more about “the kind little girl who made the hats.” I let Emma reply from my account. “I’m so happy they got the hats!” she wrote.
“My grandma threw the first set away, but my daddy helped me make them again.”
Carol called Daniel sobbing later that day, completely hysterical. “People are calling me a monster! Daniel, they’re harassing me!
Take the post down!” she wailed. Daniel didn’t even raise his voice. “We didn’t post anything, Mom.
The hospice did. And if you don’t like people knowing the truth about what you did, then you should’ve behaved better.”
She started crying again. “I’m being bullied!
This is terrible!”
Daniel’s response was final: “You earned it.”
Emma and Daniel still crochet together every weekend. Our home feels peaceful again, filled with the comfortable click-clack of two hooks working in tandem. Carol still texts on every holiday and birthday.
She’s never apologized, but she always asks if we can fix things. And Daniel simply replies, “No.”
