Camila Rae

Let me tell you a little story about Camila.

One time, she was nowhere to be found. After searching, I finally found her in the bathroom. As soon as I opened the door, the smell of lavender hit me. She looked up at me and smirked.

“I just want to smell my hair,” she said.

I was a little irritated and explained to her that shampoo is only for bath time. I told her I wasn’t very happy about it and then closed the door, leaving her to it.

I decided to let her keep the shampoo in her hair for a little while and went upstairs. A while passed, and I didn’t hear from her. Then, suddenly, I heard tiny feet stomping down the hallway, followed by the sound of a door slamming—then silence. A few minutes later, the stomping and door slamming started again, and I could just feel her frustration.

I chose to remain silent and let her fight her own battle. She stomped back and forth, slamming doors, clearly working through something.

Then, after what felt like forever, the door opened slowly. It was Camila. She climbed onto the bed and hugged me. What she said next melted me:

“I’m sorry, Mommy. I’ll love you forever, wherever you go.”

In that moment, I realized she had been fighting with herself about saying sorry—and she finally lost that battle.