My husband Dale told me I did the right thing. My sister Carol called it tough love, said Lacey needed to feel a consequence for once in her spoiled life. Our pastor, Greg, he patted my hand on Sunday and said sometimes you have to let them hit bottom before they want to climb back up.

Everybody had a saying ready. Everybody agreed with me. And I sat there nodding along like a fool, feeling proud of myself for being so firm.

Day one, she texted me. “Can I get my charger?” That was all. No sorry, no please, just the charger. And I looked at that little message and I thought, no. You want to act grown, you can figure out a charger. I didn’t answer her. I want you to remember that, because I sure can’t forget it. Five words, and I let them sit there.

Day two, nothing. I told myself she was being stubborn, that she was at a friend’s house teaching me a lesson. I cleaned the whole house top to bottom that day. Funny how you scrub a floor that doesn’t need it when your mind won’t sit still.

Day three, her friend Kayla called the house phone. Sweet girl, always has been. “Mrs. Parker,” she said, real quiet, “I don’t think I’m supposed to tell you this.” Then she told me Lacey had been sleeping in her car behind the Walmart out on Route 12. In her car. My baby in a Honda in a parking lot at night while I was home rearranging my pantry. I told Dale and he said give it one more day, she’ll come home when she’s cold and hungry enough. So I listened to him. Lord forgive me, I listened.

Day four I couldn’t take it anymore. I drove out to that Walmart at six in the morning while Dale was still asleep.

Drove the whole lot, behind the building, the loading side, twice. The car wasn’t there. I sat in my own car in that empty lot and told myself she’d just moved to a friend’s couch, that this was good, this was her getting smart about it. I actually felt a little relieved. That’s the kind of lie you tell yourself when you’re scared.