I had no idea how important those words would become.
Three Weeks Later
When I arrived at camp to pick her up, Mia came running toward the car.
She was wearing a handmade bracelet made from colorful threads and tiny wooden beads.
Her hair was messy.
Her face was tanned.
She looked exhausted and happier than I’d seen her in months.
She started talking before she had even reached the car.
“Dad, you won’t believe what happened with the horses—”
Then Denise, the camp director, approached me.
She didn’t smile.
“Can I speak with you privately?”
My stomach tightened.
“Sure.”
I followed her several steps away from Mia.
Then she said:
“Mia won’t be welcome back next summer.”
I stared at her.
“What?”
“She isn’t welcome back.”
For a moment, I couldn’t process it.
My daughter had just spent three weeks at the camp she’d dreamed about since she was ten, and the director was telling me she couldn’t return.
“Why?”
Denise hesitated.
“I don’t want kids like her here paying that kind of money.”
My expression changed immediately
“What exactly do you mean by ‘kids like her’?”
Denise realized how badly she’d phrased it.
“No. That’s not what I meant.”
“Then what did you mean?”
