On the way to school, Isabelle told me a story.
Something that happened with a boy she likes.
Nothing major.
But it’s the second time she’s brought it up—without realizing she’s repeating it.
She said he doesn’t like him. Shrugged it off like it didn’t matter.
“It’s fine,” she said.
But I think it does matter.
And I didn’t say that.
I just listened.
At 13, she’s navigating all kinds of emotions—some new, some quiet, some she doesn’t even have language for yet.
I wanted to say something helpful. Or soft. Or wise.
But maybe this isn’t the moment for that.
Maybe this is just one of those times where the best thing I can do is be in the car…
…listening.
