I thought I was losing my daughter to rebellion, the kind every parent dreads but hopes to survive. When I finally followed her into the night, I discovered something that shattered my assumptions — and moved me to tears. I used to believe I had everything a man could ask for.
It was just the three of us: me, my wife, Claire, and our daughter, Lily. Then one evening, Claire didn’t come home from work, and I was forced into single parenthood. This led me to the day I had to follow my daughter secretly because she was sneaking out of the house in the middle of the night.
When Claire was still alive, we weren’t rich, not even close, but our lives felt full. There were Saturday morning pancakes, Sunday park strolls, and spontaneous dance parties in the kitchen. The kind of peace that makes you believe — maybe just for a while — that nothing could ever go wrong, until my wife’s sudden death.
At first, I told myself she probably stopped for gas or groceries that evening. I waited an hour, then two. Then, I called her phone over and over until my hands ached from gripping it so tightly.
Finally, it rang, and my breath caught. I answered, expecting to hear her voice, but it wasn’t her. It was a police officer.
They found her car crumpled on the side of the freeway. A truck driver had lost control. The impact and death were instant — that’s what they said.
She didn’t feel anything. I don’t remember much after that, just the numbness. There was a funeral, with me holding our five-year-old Lily while she kept asking, “Why won’t Mommy wake up?” I had no answer for her.
I barely had the strength to talk, but I had to. For Lily. After the funeral, there were endless nights of trying to explain to Lily what it meant that “Mommy is in heaven.” Then there were the desperate attempts to comfort her while trying to survive my own grief, and learning how to get out of bed each morning with a hollow space carved inside me.
I had to learn how to do it all as a single parent: pigtails and pancakes, parent-teacher nights and bedtime stories. Grief was my shadow, but Lily was my light. And I thought I had done okay.
Maybe not great, but okay. Until Lily became a teenager. It didn’t happen all at once, but after bringing her up by myself for ten years, every teenage cliché came true.
At first, it was just music I didn’t recognize. Then came the pink hair, nose ring, random piercings, and black lipstick. Her bedroom door was always shut with a massive red sign that read, “KEEP OUT.”
Then she met him — Jason.
The story doesn’t end here –
it continues on the next page.
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