Now as I walked into her bedroom, I met her curled up in bed under the covers. She began, “Mommy I have something to tell you and I know you might not be happy, but I can’t keep it any longer.” “Okay, go on and tell me,” I said. Then a hint of anger and betrayal boiled on the inside of me.

The moment I got into my car to drive home on that sunny day in March 2012, my heart thumped heavily against my chest and then it felt like it had sunk into my stomach.

As I am driving along the highway, I said a short prayer to calm my nerves.

I tried to freeze my mind so that it would not think, especially not anything negative. For comfort, I convinced myself it was not bad news.

My daughter was six months shy of her sixteenth birthday.

She had just started college and was only in her second semester.

Prior to that, from the moment she turned fourteen and leading up to that day, she was a ‘troubled’ teenager.

The problems she gave me, and the troubles she kept on getting into, were attributed to peer-pressure.

It was my worst nightmare when it was discovered that she had become sexually active.

I gently kissed her forehead and re-assured her how much I loved her.