“Emily hasn’t been in class all week,” her teacher told me. That made no sense — I watched my daughter leave every morning. So I followed her.
When she stepped off the bus and got into a pickup truck instead of going inside, my heart stopped. When the truck pulled away, I drove after them.
I never thought I’d be the kind of mother who follows her child, but when I discovered she’d been lying to me, that’s exactly what I did.
Emily is 14. Her dad, Mark, and I split up years ago.
He’s the guy who remembers your favorite ice cream but forgets to sign permission slips or book appointments. Mark is all heart but no organization, and I couldn’t carry it all by myself anymore.
I thought Emily had adjusted well.
But the terrible teens have a way of bringing problems to the surface.
Emily seemed like her usual self.
She was a bit quieter, maybe a little more glued to her phone than usual, a bit overly fond of wearing oversized hoodies that covered half her face, but nothing that screamed “crisis.”
She left for school every morning at 7:30 a.m. Her grades were good, and when I asked how school was going, she always said it was fine.
Then I got a phone call from the school.
I answered right away. I assumed she had a fever or forgot her gym shoes.
“This is Mrs.
Carter, Emily’s homeroom teacher. I wanted to check in because Emily has been absent all week.”
I almost laughed; it was just so out of character for my Emily.
“That can’t be right.” I pushed back from my desk. “She leaves the house every morning.
I watch her walk out the door.”
There was a long, heavy beat of silence.
“No,” Mrs. Carter said. “She hasn’t been in any of her classes since Monday.”
I hung up the phone and sat there.
My daughter had been pretending to go to school all week… where had she really been going?
When Emily came home that evening, I was waiting for her.
“How was school, Em?” I asked.
“The usual,” she replied. “I got a whole ton of math homework, and History is so boring.”
“And what about your friends?”
She stiffened.
“Em?”
Emily rolled her eyes and let out a heavy sigh. “What is this?
The Spanish Inquisition?”
She stomped off to her room, and I watched her go. She’d been lying for four days, so I figured a direct confrontation would just make her dig a deeper hole.
I needed a different approach.
The story doesn’t end here –
it continues on the next page.
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