I’m Sofia, 44. Two weeks ago, my biggest worry was taxes or my thinning hair. Life was routine — work, bills, small arguments with my husband, Rick.
We finally took a break: ten days on the Oregon coast, just us. Emma, our 16-year-old, stayed with my sister. Everything at home was secured — or so we thought.
When we got back, things felt off. The safe was empty. Our savings gone. We checked the cameras.
It was Emma. She’d come in with two boys, opened the safe, and left with everything.
We didn’t confront her right away. At dinner, we mentioned the break-in. She froze. That night, she came to us crying, duffel bag in hand. She’d done it for a car — thought we’d be proud.
We didn’t yell. We held her.
The next day, we returned the money, changed the locks, and signed her up to volunteer. She never asked for a car again.
Some nights, she still knocks just to say, “Goodnight.”
Forgiveness isn’t forgetting. It’s choosing to love — even when it hurts.