“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, she complained about homework and gave me the standard teen eye roll when I asked about her friends.
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 next morning, I went through the motions.
I watched her walk away down the driveway. Then, I ran for the car.
I parked a short distance from the bus stop and watched her get on the bus. Nothing concerning so far.
So, I followed the bus. When it hissed to a stop in front of the high school, a sea of teenagers poured out.
The story doesn’t end here — it continues on the next page.
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