My daughter kept getting free ice cream from the same truck — then the driver gave her a note and told her, “Make sure your mom reads this.”
For about two weeks, my nine-year-old daughter, Ellie, kept coming back inside with ice cream even though I knew she hadn’t taken any money with her.
My name is Sarah, and we live in a pretty normal suburban neighborhood in Cedar Hollow, Indiana, where an ice cream truck rolls through a few evenings a week during the summer.
The second Ellie hears the music, she’s usually at the front door asking for three dollars.
One afternoon, she came back holding a strawberry shortcake bar.
“I thought you didn’t have any allowance left.”
“I didn’t need it.”
“Why?”
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