The title says it all. Before we wade into the morass of details, rest assured there is a happy ending.

That is what I have told myself for the last five hours. Everything is fine. She is fine. We were lucky. We have a happy ending.

And yet. And yet. And yet. My mind keeps going to the what could have happened. And that’s when I get angry and scared and tearful and shaky and thankful and quite frankly nauseous.

Four days a week, Tate, age 6, leaves her half-day kindergarten class and crosses the hall at school to an on-site child care program. She stays there until 3:30 when she is joined by Cat and then her father or I pick them up. One day a week, instead of pick-up, they ride the bus home where one of us is there waiting for them at 4 p.m. Today was supposed to be a pick up day.

As luck would have it, today was also our parent-teacher conference with Tate’s teacher, and so Chris and I left work early, met at home, and then drove up to the school. The plan was to attend the conference at 4 p.m., be finished by 4:30ish and then pick up the kids together. Chris and I passed the afternoon bus on our way to the school.

We had a great conference with Tate’s teacher and after the 40 minute “Tate is fabulous” festival, we started to walk across the hall to the child care room but were met in the hall by Cat, 8, crying. “Tate went home on the bus,” she said. “Tate went home on the bus and she isn’t here.”

“What?” Chris and I said in unison.

“TATE IS NOT HERE,” Cat said more urgently. “Is anyone home to get Tater?”

With that, Chris took off running for his car. We live less than five minutes from the school. If Tate had been dropped off, she could have been on her own for nearly an hour. I stayed behind to figure out what happened and where the hell my child was. Surely, Cat was mistaken. She was confused. Tate was fine, right?

I walked into the childcare room and found the supervising teacher. “Excuse me,” I said, surprisingly calmly. “Cat is saying that Tate isn’t here. But Tate is here, right?”

“Yes, she is around here somewhere,” the teacher said surveying the couple of dozen children engaged in various activities.

“Where? Because Cat is saying that Tate was accidentally sent home on the bus and there is no one home to meet her.” Cat stood crying and shuddering beside me.

The next few minutes are a blur. The teacher asked the assistants, checked the sign-out sheet, asked other kids and quickly came to the conclusion that Cat had already stated. Tate, 6, was sent home on the bus alone.

“But the bus driver isn’t supposed to let her off if no one is waiting. They should have brought her back to school.” But no one had brought Tate back to school and no one knew where she was.

I grabbed my cell phone and called our neighbor, a stay-at-home mom and friend who had been waiting at the bus stop for her daughter when Chris and I left. There was no answer.

Tate’s teacher was calling the office. The supervisor for child care was talking. Cat was crying. I am pretty sure that my heart stopped beating.

I redialed the neighbor and her husband answered. I can’t recall exactly what I said but he told me that Tate had been safe and sound at the neighbor’s house and was returned home when my in-laws returned from their outing. From what I have pieced together in the last few hours, Tate told the person who walked her to the bus and the bus driver that she wasn’t supposed to be on the bus. The adults didn’t listen and for reasons we don’t yet know, she was left at the bus stop to walk home alone. In fairness, our house is one house down from the bus stop and on bus days, I let Cat and Tate walk home without me while I stand in the doorway to watch them. But it wasn’t a bus day and her sister wasn’t with her.

Apparently Tate walked to the house and rang the bell. When no one answered, she walked around to the garage door, which is usually open when one of us is home. That was closed too. Our neighbor had witnessed this from a distance and when she saw Tate looking scared and confused, in the rain, drove over with her daughter and told Tate to come with her. We had told Tate previously that this neighbor was one of our “safe adults” and so Tate went with her and enjoyed 20 minutes of playtime and cheese doodles before being returned home.

She is fine. She wasn’t upset at all by the experience. She was aggravated that no one had listened to her when she said it wasn’t a bus day. She had hoped for a longer play date at the neighbor’s house. She was annoyed when I wouldn’t stop hugging her when I rushed home to find her safe. She wanted to play Puppyopoly with Pop-pop Ron and all of the hugging and hair-stroking was causing an unacceptable delay of game. “Aren’t you supposed to be getting your nails done? Can you take Cat with you?” she said, followed by “GO NOW. I AM FINE.”

She is fine. I am not. I should be. I will be. But for now, I am far from fine.

I tried to fake fine. I decided to go ahead and go to my nail appointment.  She was fine and was behaving normally so certainly I could exhibit the calm and aplomb of a six-year old.

Actually, I couldn’t. En route, I pulled my car over shaking to throw up. I will not share the images that have paraded through my brain since hearing, “TATE IS NOT HERE.” Suffice it to say, the pictures are dark and evil and the stuff of headlines and heartbreak.

I tried to call my parents from the parking lot of the nail salon twice but just got their machine. I didn’t leave a message. I wasn’t sure how to articulate in 30 seconds or less “Hi, it’s me, I just thought that my worst nightmare had been realized with something happening to one of the girls thanks to a series of unfortunate mistakes but the girls are fine and I am having a breakdown but I am late for a nail appointment so I’ll call you later.” After all, she is fine.

She IS fine. I know because I have checked on her every few minutes since arriving home. I stopped and bought the biggest arrangement of flowers I could find for our neighbor and then turned into a sobbing puddle in her entryway saying thank you to her for collecting Tate and keeping her safe.

How do you properly thank someone for preventing the end of the world as you know it? I tried to do it with roses and lilies and a crushing hug. Thank you for keeping my baby safe. Thank you for noticing and caring. Thank you for doing the right thing when so many things went wrong. Thank you for the happy ending.

I have survived some ugly things in my 39 years. I can and will survive more, I am sure. But the loss of one of the girls? Nope. I don’t think I could survive it and frankly don’t think I would want to. They are my kryptonite, my Achilles heal, my soft underbelly. They are my north, my south, my east and west. Without them, it all amounts to nothing.

So now I sit, trying to focus on the happy ending and not the could have been. Chris prescribed a large glass of white wine and a Xanax. Tate allowed me extra cuddles at bedtime tonight and promised to use her loudest voice should future mix-ups occur. Cat performed a booty dance to cheer me up and also promised to use her loudest voice should her sister again be misplaced.  I’ll follow up with the school tomorrow to ensure that appropriate precautions are taken. People made mistakes. People do. No serious harm done this time. She is fine.

She is fine.

She is fine.