So the next day, I followed her.
When she stepped off the bus and climbed into a pickup truck instead of walking into school, my heart nearly stopped.
And when the truck drove away, I drove after them.
I never imagined I’d be the kind of parent who trailed her child through town. But once I realized Emily had been lying about school, instinct took over.
Emily is fourteen. Her dad, Mark, and I separated years ago. Mark is the kind of man who remembers your favorite ice cream flavor but forgets dentist appointments and permission slips. He has a big heart but very little organization. For years I carried the structure of parenting on my own.
And until recently, I thought Emily had handled the divorce well.
Adolescence, though, has a way of stirring up emotions you think were settled.
On the surface, Emily seemed fine. A little quieter, maybe. More attached to her phone. A bit obsessed with oversized hoodies that hid half her face.
