An eight-year-old girl sleeps alone, but every morning she complains that her bed feels “too small.” When her mother checks the security camera at 2 a.m., she breaks down in silent tears…

An eight-year-old girl sleeps alone, but every morning she complains that her bed feels “too small.” When her mother checks the security camera at 2 a.m., she breaks down in silent tears…

THE BED THAT FELT TOO SMALL AT 2 A.M.
My name is Laura Mitchell.

My family lives in a quiet two-story house in the suburbs of San Jose, California—a place that’s filled with light during the day, but at night becomes so silent you can hear the ticking of the clock echoing from the living room.

My husband and I have one child, a daughter named Emily. She’s eight years old.

From the beginning, we agreed we would have only one child.
Not because we were selfish.
Not because we feared hardship.
But because we wanted to give her everything we possibly could.

The house, valued at nearly $780,000, was something we bought after more than ten years of saving. We opened Emily’s college fund when she was still a baby. I had even planned her university path before she could read properly.

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