On Thursday, Katie Ledecky set yet another record when the women’s 4 x 200m freestyle relay team from Team USA took home the silver medal.
With 13 medals, the 27-year-old became the most decorated female swimmer in Olympic history. Her most recent victory ended a tie she had with Dara Torres, Jenny Thompson, and swimmer Natalie Coughlin.
In the demanding 1500m freestyle on Wednesday, the Maryland native claimed her eighth gold medal and her 12th overall. Ledecky tied Thompson for the most gold medals won by a female swimmer in Olympic history when she completed the event in an Olympic record time of 15:30.02.
Ledecky told reporters that she allowed her thoughts to roam and considered all the people who had contributed to her current situation as she was swimming.
“And during the race, I kind of let my mind wander, remembering everyone who has trained with me.” Was like thinking about them and chanting their names in my brain. I love you guys, my Florida crew—all those Florida boys who challenged me every day. I know I often make your life difficult, but you guys really made my life easy today. I really appreciate it.
The 27-year-old swimmer had another opportunity to increase her medal total on Thursday.
Ledecky, Claire Weinstein, Paige Madden, and Erin Gemmell represented Team USA in the 4 × 200m freestyle relay, finishing second behind Australia.
Ledecky became the most decorated American woman in Olympic history and the most decorated woman of any nation in swimming history with the team’s victory, which brought her 13 medals overall. She is only ahead of Michael Phelps, who has 28 medals.
Ledecky has one more chance to increase her medal total as swimming draws to a close. On Saturday, she’ll participate in the 800m freestyle.
Ledecky intends to qualify for the 2028 Summer Olympics in Los Angeles, despite the fact that this is her fourth Olympics overall, in Paris.
“Yes, my statement that I would love to compete in Los Angeles hasn’t changed over the last few months or years has been consistent.”
Katie, congratulations! You are history’s greatest.
MY 12-YEAR-OLD SON DEMANDED WE RETURN THE 2-YEAR-OLD GIRL WE ADOPTED — ONE MORNING, I WOKE UP AND HER CRIB WAS EMPTY
The morning sun streamed through the window, casting long, dancing shadows across the floor. I stretched, a contented sigh escaping my lips. Then, I froze.
Lily’s crib, nestled beside my bed, was empty.
Panic clawed at my throat. I bolted upright, my heart hammering against my ribs. “John!” I yelled, my voice hoarse.
John rushed into the room, his face pale. “What’s wrong? Where’s Lily?”
“She’s gone!” I cried, my voice cracking. “Her crib is empty!”
John’s eyes widened. “Oh God, you don’t think…”
The thought that had been lurking in the shadows of my mind, a fear I had desperately tried to ignore, now solidified into a chilling reality. My son, driven by anger and resentment, had taken Lily.
The ensuing hours were a blur of frantic phone calls to the police, frantic searches of the house, and a growing sense of dread. Every ticking second felt like an eternity. John, his face etched with guilt and fear, was inconsolable.
“I should have been firmer with him,” he kept repeating, “I should have never let him stay home alone.”
But I knew it wasn’t his fault. It was mine. I had allowed my son’s anger to fester, I had underestimated the depth of his resentment. Now, I was paying the price.
The police arrived, their faces grim as they surveyed the scene. They questioned us, searched the house, and offered little comfort. “We’ll find her,” the lead detective assured us, his voice firm, but his eyes held a grim uncertainty.
As the hours turned into days, the initial wave of panic gave way to a chilling despair. I imagined Lily, frightened and alone, wandering the streets, lost and vulnerable. I pictured her small face, her big brown eyes filled with tears, her tiny hand reaching out for comfort that no one could offer.
The search continued, but hope dwindled with each passing day. Volunteers scoured the neighborhood, posters with Lily’s picture plastered on every lamppost. The news channels picked up the story, her face plastered across television screens, a plea for information.
But there was no trace of her.
The guilt gnawed at me relentlessly. I replayed every interaction with my son, every harsh word, every dismissive glance. I had focused on the joy of adopting Lily, on the love I felt for this small, vulnerable child. But I had neglected my son, his feelings, his needs. I had failed him, and now, because of my neglect, Lily was missing.
One evening, while sitting on the porch, staring at the fading light, I heard a faint sound. A soft whimper, barely audible above the rustling leaves. I followed the sound, my heart pounding, my breath catching in my throat.
Hidden behind a large oak tree, I found them. My son, huddled beneath a blanket, was holding Lily close, his face buried in her hair. Lily, her eyes wide with fear, was clinging to him, her small hand clutching his shirt.
Relief washed over me, so intense it almost brought me to my knees. I rushed towards them, tears streaming down my face. “Lily!” I cried, scooping her up into my arms.
My son, his face pale and drawn, looked up at me, his eyes filled with a mixture of shame and relief. “I… I couldn’t let her go,” he mumbled, his voice barely audible. “I know I was mean, but… but I love her too, Mom.”
As I held Lily close, her tiny body trembling against mine, I realized that the past few days had been a painful but ultimately necessary lesson. It had taught me the importance of communication, of empathy, of acknowledging the feelings of those I loved.
That night, as I rocked Lily to sleep, my son curled up beside me, his head resting on my shoulder. We had lost precious time, but we had also found something unexpected – a deeper, more profound connection. We had faced our fears, confronted our mistakes, and emerged stronger, more united than ever before.
The road to healing would be long, but we would face it together, as a family. And in the quiet moments, I would cherish the sound of Lily’s laughter, a sweet melody that filled our home with a joy I had almost lost forever.
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