I hadn’t seen my daughter in years, so I never expected to find a piece of her life with a stranger. What the stranger said to me almost made the world stop. It had been three years, two months, and 14 days since my daughter Lily disappeared.
I knew because I counted the days. I counted at stoplights and when I woke at 3 a.m., staring at the ceiling, wondering where my daughter slept and whether she was safe. Lily was 18 when she left.
Her father had walked out when she was seven, so it had always been just the two of us. We built our own quiet routines in our small house. Sunday church in the morning, pancakes afterward.
Late talks at the kitchen table when Lily couldn’t sleep. She used to lean her head on my shoulder when we watched old movies on Friday nights. Lily was my whole world.
And for years, it felt as if love were enough to raise a child. Then Lily grew older, and I became stricter. I told myself I was protecting her.
