“We’d also like to share a short post about what she did. Nothing elaborate. Just something for the school community.”
Ariel looked up.
“Do we have to?”
“No,” Mr. Reed said. “Only with your mother’s permission. And you have a say, of course.”
I should’ve stopped there.
For illustration purposes only
Instead, I heard something else.
Ariel deserves to be recognized.
“Jennifer?” Mr. Reed asked.
“Yes.”
Ariel turned toward me.
“Mom.”
“It’ll just tell people what you did.”
Mrs. Grunwald shifted near the window.
“Perhaps not all of it,” she said.
I turned.
She touched the new frames. “I don’t need a fuss.”
“It’s something good.”
“I still prefer my private life to stay private.”
Mrs. Grunwald looked at Ariel.
“If
you’re comfortable with it.”
Ariel gave a small shrug.
I mistook that for agreement.
“Then yes,” I said. “You have my permission.”
The post went up that afternoon.
At first, I loved it.
I hated admitting that later, but I did.
It described Ariel as a thoughtful ten-year-old who had saved her spending money and helped an elderly custodian replace broken glasses.
The praise came quickly.
“What a wonderful child.”
“Her mother must be proud.”
I screenshotted that one.
Then I saved another: “This is how children should be raised.”
Ariel came into the living room carrying an apple.
“They’re saying nice things about you,” I told her.
She leaned over my shoulder.
