The Secrets My Daughter Left Behind
I always knew my daughter, Jane, had a spontaneous streak, but nothing could have prepared me for what happened that Saturday.
She arrived unannounced, her little boy, Tommy, holding her hand, his blue suitcase trailing behind them. Her smile was there, but it didn’t reach her eyes. A mother knows when something is wrong.
“Mom, I need a favor,” she said the moment she stepped inside.
Tommy, blissfully unaware of the tension in the air, ran off to play. But something about Jane’s voice sent a prickle of unease through me.
I turned to her as she set the suitcase down.
“Of course, sweetheart. What do you need?”
“It’s a work trip. Last minute. I need you to watch Tommy for two weeks. Maybe a little longer.”
I frowned. “How long exactly? And what kind of work trip?”
She let out a small laugh, waving off my concern.
“Mom, you know how it is. Just a new project. I’ll be back before you know it.”
But I wasn’t convinced. The way she avoided my gaze, the way her fingers fidgeted with her purse strap—I knew my daughter was holding something back.
“Jane,” I said softly, stepping closer. “Are you okay? You look exhausted. If something’s wrong, you can tell me.”
For a moment, her eyes met mine, and I saw it—the hesitation, the worry.
But just as quickly, she forced a reassuring smile.
“I’m fine, Mom. Really.”
I didn’t believe her. But I didn’t push.
Instead, I hugged her.
“Alright. But promise me you’ll call if you need anything.”
She hugged me back—briefly, tightly—before pulling away.
“I will, Mom. Thanks.”
Then, just like that, she was gone.
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