It started with a small fall—nothing dramatic. My toddler cried a bit, then calmed down with Goldfish crackers and her blanket. No bruises, no swelling. But she wouldn’t walk. Every time I encouraged her, she’d gently say, “No thank you.” I thought she just wanted to be held.

The pediatrician said to give it a day. The next morning, her leg was stiff and she cried when I took off her sock. We went to the ER, still thinking it was probably nothing. But the X-ray showed a fracture. I was crushed with guilt for not realizing sooner. They put a tiny pink cast on her, and she calmly asked, “Leg all better now?”

A week later, Child Services showed up—an anonymous report of possible neglect. I was terrified. The caseworker observed everything, asked questions, and eventually closed the case. “You’re clearly a caring mother,” she said. Still, I couldn’t stop wondering who had called.

Eventually, I learned it was likely a fellow mom, Marcy. We ran into each other at the store and I told her the case was closed. She looked stunned. I felt oddly peaceful—I had nothing to prove.

My daughter healed perfectly. We even threw her a “No More Cast” party. I became more attentive, more trusting of my instincts, and found support in a new group of moms. One day, I helped another mom spot a hidden fracture in her son. That’s when it hit me: all the fear and doubt led to something meaningful—a chance to help someone else.

Parenting isn’t about being perfect. It’s about learning, listening, and doing your best with what you know. And sometimes, that’s more than enough.