When my best friend’s marriage ended, her world fell apart. She had no home of her own, no place to go. I couldn’t bear to watch her sink into despair, so I did what I thought any true friend would do: I opened my door.
She moved in quietly, carrying only a suitcase and a heart full of sorrow. My husband didn’t object, and I believed it was the right thing to do.
Still, I knew that sharing a home came with responsibilities. To balance things, I asked her for one small favor.
“All I need,” I said, “is for you to watch my three-year-old son while I’m at work from nine to five.”
Her face softened with a smile. “Of course. I’d love to help.”
And so, life moved on.
An Afternoon of Panic
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