My daughter used to go to school every morning. Then her teacher called her and said she’d been missing class for a whole week, so I followed her the next morning.

“Emily hasn’t been to school all week,” her teacher told me. It didn’t make sense; I saw my daughter leave every morning. So I followed her. When she got off the bus and into a van instead of walking to school, my heart nearly stopped. As the van drove away, I followed them.
I never imagined I’d be the kind of mother who follows her daughter, but once I realized I’d lied, that’s exactly what I did.

Emily is 14. Her father, Mark, and I separated years ago. He’s the kind of person who remembers your favorite ice cream flavor, but forgets to sign permission slips or schedule dentist appointments. Mark has a big heart, but he’s terrible at organizing, and I just couldn’t handle it all on my own anymore.

I thought Emily had handled the divorce well.

But adolescence has a way of stirring up what one thinks is already settled.

Apparently, Emily seemed to be fine.

She was a little quieter, perhaps more attached to her phone, a little obsessed with the huge hoodies that covered half her face, but nothing that drew attention.

She left for school every morning at 7:30. Her grades were good, and whenever I asked her how school was going, she said it was fine.

Then the school called.
I answered right away. I assumed she had a fever or had forgotten her gym clothes.

“I’m Mrs. Carter, Emily’s tutor. I wanted to know how she is because Emily has been absent all week.”

I almost laughed; it was so unlike my Emily.

“It can’t be.” I pushed the chair back. “She leaves the house every morning. I see her walk out the door.”

There was a long pause.

“No,” Mrs. Carter said. “She hasn’t been to any of her classes since Monday.”

“Monday… okay. Thanks for letting me know. I’ll talk to her.” I ended the call and sat there. My daughter had been pretending to go to school all week… where had she really been?

When Emily arrived home that afternoon, he was waiting for her.

“How’s school, Em?” I asked indifferently.

“The usual,” she said. “I have a ton of math homework, and history is so boring.”

“And what about your friends?”

She stiffened.

“Em?”

Emily rolled her eyes and groaned. “What is this? The Spanish Inquisition?”

She stomped off to her room and I watched her disappear down the hall. She’d lied for four days straight, so confronting her would probably only make her angrier.

I needed another tactic.

Continue on next page