I was sitting at my desk bawling one day (after a phone call with a rude scheduler at my doctor’s office) when the doorbell rang. I wiped my eyes, but I didn’t even get up. I figured it was one of the many neighborhood kids who practically lived there during the summer.
But when my son yelled, “Mom, some lady’s at the door asking for you!” I jumped up. At the door stood a beautiful young woman with a concerned look on her face.
“My name is Jane and I’m with child protective services,” she said. Noticing my tear-stained face, she said, “Oh, are you okay?”
I nodded and briefly explained what had happened with the rude lady on the phone, and then asked her how I could help her.
“Uh, we got a call from someone who said your children are being neglected,” she said, almost apologetically. “I’m here to investigate.”
I felt the blood rush to my face and my heart was suddenly pounding. I have never been perfect, but I’m a good mom and everyone who knew me knew how much I love my kids.
“What? I don’t understand,” I said, feeling dizzy. “Who would do that?”