It really is so stupid. But I have learned that moments of breakdown come, as they should, unexpectedly. When you’re holding a fragile nervous state together with a safety pin –it’s always that stupid, small, silly thing – that unravels you.

The first day I cried. Something heavy dropped through me when I got the email: I am sad to inform you, I have some devastating news.

I think part of my reaction was based on her delivery. If you tell someone something is devastating, they’re going to act devastated.

My hands were shaking as I called the admissions director. She had the same tone in her voice. "I'm sorry," she said. The tone was the worst part. They all felt bad. They had pity. Well, pity wasn’t going to help me.

I told my husband he should have joined the cricket team. Then they would have had to let us in. He told me he wasn’t paying money and joining a cricket team just so we could get in like everyone else.

I didn’t want to say it aloud but the longer I kept it inside, the worse I felt. I finally said, “I think it was me.”

Staring at the list of families who got in, all of them, I realized, but mine, I understood it clearly: It was definitely me.