She got her license. I watched her drive away and felt like my chest was being squeezed and lifted at the same time. Pride, sure—huge pride. But also… terror. My daughter. On the road. Alone.
I keep thinking about all the things that could go wrong, and I hate that I can’t protect her from everything. And yet, I know she has to have this—freedom, independence, the ability to go wherever she wants without asking. It’s everything I’ve hoped for her, and everything that scares me at once.
I catch myself staring at the driveway, half-expecting to see her come back, and then I remember—she’s out there. Making choices. Living her life. And all I can do is hope I’ve taught her enough, that she remembers what matters, that she stays safe.
I’m proud. I’m terrified. I’m learning that those two feelings can exist together, tangled up in the same moment. And maybe that’s the point—letting go, even a little, and trusting that she’ll be okay.
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