She looked at the other parents, then down at the book. Her voice was stiff as she began.
“…He picked up the phone. His hand trembled, but he dialed the number. A voice on the other end said, ‘I’m here. I’m listening.’ For the first time in months, the weight on his chest loosened. He realized he didn’t want to die; he just wanted the pain to stop. And now he knew asking for help was the first step to stopping it.”
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Brenda stopped reading. The room was so quiet you could hear the hum of the refrigerator in the break room.
“We don’t stock that book to teach kids how to despair,” I said gently. “We stock it to show them how to survive.”
