After my divorce, my 9-year-old son continued wetting the bed and wore Goodnites at night. One day at the grocery store, he spotted a classmate and begged me to hide the package, but it was already on the checkout belt. His classmate saw it, and my son was so embarrassed that he refused to return to school the next day. Five days passed, and he remained terrified of facing his classmates.
Then one evening, our doorbell rang. At the door was a package, and I saw his classmate’s mother waving from her car before driving away. Inside were warm, homemade brownies and a handmade card showing a superhero with a giant “K” on his chest. The message read: “My little brother wears Goodnites too. You’re not alone. Want to play again soon?” My son stared at the card, and for the first time in days, he smiled.
