Chapter 1C: The Weight of Choices

I sat at the kitchen table, my thoughts tangled and restless, still struggling to make sense of everything that had happened earlier at Carla’s house. Even after her mom left, Carla hadn’t been herself—not when she changed into her nightgown while Rachel and I sat awkwardly in her room, not even when she walked us to the door and said goodbye.

The unease clung to me, insistent and inescapable. No matter how hard I tried to bury the thought, it lingered.

Mom sat across from me. Cradling her coffee cup in both hands, her fingers tracing absentminded circles on the ceramic. After a long silence, she finally spoke.

“You’ve been quiet since you got home, sweetheart,” she said softly. “Do you want to tell me what’s on your mind?”

I hesitated; the words caught in my throat, but forced them out. “Carla’s mom made her...” I swallowed hard, “open the front door completely naked. In front of me. In front of Rachel. She ... her mom said it was to get used to the idea. To prepare for ... the program...”

“I see.” Her fingers tightened around the cup. “How did that make you feel?”

I let out a breath, wrapping my arms around myself. “Uncomfortable. For her. For me. It was...” I shook my head searching for words. “It felt ... wrong, but can’t put my finger on why.

I looked up at her, my chest tightening. “Then Carla’s mom made it sound like ... like it was something we all might have to do eventually. Like it was normal.”

“And that scares you?”

I nodded. “More than anything.”

Mom set her cup down and leaned forward slightly. Her voice was calm but serious. “Danielle, there’s something I’ve been meaning to talk to you about.” A strange tension coiled in my stomach. It’s something your dad and I decided when you were much younger—back when you were in kindergarten.”

I frowned, confused. “What do you mean?”

She sighed and folded her hands on the table. “When you first started school, all the parents of children who might eventually be eligible for the Mailgirl Program had to choose.

I froze.

“They told us that every eighth-grade girl would be automatically included in the selection pool ... unless we specifically chose to remove your name from consideration.”

I froze.

The world tilted slightly, my heart skipping a beat. “You had a choice?” My voice barely came out. “You could’ve taken my name off the list?”

Mom nodded, her expression unreadable. “Yes. We could have.”

Something cold settled in my chest. “Then why didn’t you?”

She sighed; her expression pained but steady. Because we didn’t know what the future would hold, Danielle.” She hesitated. “We didn’t want to make a decision for you that might limit your options later on.”

The words felt like a slap. Limit my options? My voice rose. “An opportunity for what?”

Mom sighed again, looking down at her hands. “At the time, the program seemed different. More like ... a structured experience. Something that could open doors.”

I pushed back in my chair, anger flaring in my chest. “Open doors to what? Humiliation?”

“Danielle,” Mom said gently, cutting me off. “I know it’s hard to understand. I don’t blame you for being upset. Looking back, I wonder if we made the wrong choice, but we weren’t the only ones. Almost all the parents we believe including your friends—Rachel’s, Carla’s, everyone you know—made the same decision.”

I sat there, staring at her, struggling to breath past the tightness in my throat. “So, I’m only in this because of a choice you made years ago?”

“Yes.” Mom’s voice was barely above a whisper. “But you’re not alone in this, Danielle. If they ever choose you, we’ll face it together.”

Tears welled up in my eyes, and I wiped at them angrily. “It just feels so unfair. I didn’t ask for this. I don’t even know if I could ... if I could ever do something like that. It’s terrifying to think about.”

Mom reached across the table, her hand warm and steady over mine. “I know it feels unfair, sweetheart. And I’m sorry. I need you to know that you’re stronger than you think and you will adapt. No matter what happens, we’ll face it together. And if you’re scared, that’s okay. It’s okay to be scared.”