To make up for it, she brought us homemade lasagna. And then came back the next week. And the next. We became friends. She’d walk with us after dinner, talk about life, and leave surprise care packages on our porch with notes like:
“You’re doing better than you think.”
That one cruel comment led to a wave of connection. Parents in our neighborhood now meet for coffee, swap babysitting, and support one another.
The woman at the store tried to shame me—but kindness won. And now, my son knows this: some people judge, but others show up with lasagna and love.
Shame isolates. Compassion connects.
