My daughter begged me to let her spend the summer in Florida with her dad and stepmom. I got her sunscreen, snacks, and a new bathing suit. After that, I kissed her farewell. Three days later, I got a call from her school.
I told her she was out of state because I was confused. The secretary paused for a bit before responding, “She’s right here and won’t say where she’s been…”
I almost dropped the phone. I was very apprehensive when I asked to talk to her. I heard her voice, and all she asked was, “Can you come get me?”
No tears. Don’t freak out. Just flat. Nothing. I left work and didn’t lock the door to my office. Driving for twenty minutes felt like hours.
She stood at school with her backpack on and her hood up. During the month of July. In the state of Florida. I held her tight. “Hey, darling, what’s up?” I asked. “Can we go home?” she just asked.
She finally said, “Please don’t make me go back there,” halfway down the freeway.
She shut the door to her room at home. I tried to reach her father. No answer. His wife, Tasha, didn’t answer. The next morning, I sent another text that said, “She’s here.” Safe. What happened?
He asked, “What are you talking about?”
I called. I told you, “She left your house three days ago.” “You sent me a text saying she got there safely.”
He gave it some thinking. “I thought she was in her room.” She hasn’t said much… I didn’t actually check.
“You didn’t know your daughter was gone for three days?” My voice cracked. “Mateo, she’s twelve.”
That night, she spoke the truth. “He was never there.” Tasha didn’t want me to be there. Said I was “too much like you.” They were fighting. Very loud. He left. Then she did. “I woke up alone.”
I asked, “For how long?”
“A long time.” I was scared. I tried to get in touch with him. No answer. So I phoned a cab.
“You had money?”
She pulled out a crumpled twenty-dollar bill. “He gave it to me at the airport.”
She told the driver to take her home. She told him the address of the school, which was the most significant thing she could recall.
A few days later, a manila envelope appeared. There is no address to send it back to. The same twenty inside. And a note:
She was braver than most grownups I’ve met. I hope she’s all OK.
That person I didn’t know brought her back to me.
The next few weeks were awful, with nightmares, silence, and therapy. She got softer with time. Laughed again. Then one day, she found an old photo album from before the divorce.
“Why did you and Dad break up?” she said.
“We wanted different things.” I wanted to start a family. He wanted something different.
She agreed. “I don’t think he wanted me either.”
My heart broke. ” That’s not true. He just doesn’t know where he is.
Mateo called a few weeks later. He told her he was sorry. He said he was going to therapy. Gave me an opportunity to make things right.
She said no. But they did send him a letter. She said she wasn’t ready yet, but maybe someday. A month later, he sent ten pages written by hand. True. Sorry. She read it twice and then said, “All right.”
They started talking carefully, on her terms. Calls that are short. Zooms. One day, she asked me to forgive him. “I want us all to be okay,” she replied. “Even if it’s not the same as it used to be.”
By September, she had transformed. More strong. Braver. She even spent a weekend with him while someone else was watching. “Still strange, but good,” she said.
I don’t know if their relationship will ever be what she wanted it to be. But I do know that she isn’t terrified anymore. Of saying anything at all. Of going away. Of asking for what she wants.
What about me? I learned that the people we think will keep us safe won’t always do so. A cab driver, a secretary, or even a twelve-year-old youngster may show us what real strength looks like.
It’s not easy to heal. But it all begins with being honest.
Even if it’s just, “I’m not ready.”