Every Monday, my daughter Ava suddenly became “too sick” for school. At first, I thought it was just stress or teenage mood swings. But then I caught her sneaking out—and what I discovered that morning changed everything.
That Monday, Ava shuffled into the kitchen, holding her stomach like she was in terrible pain.
“Another stomachache?” I asked, raising an eyebrow. “Ava, this is the eighth Monday in a row. What’s really going on?”
“Nothing’s going on,” she muttered, avoiding my eyes. “I just feel sick.”
I studied her face closely. I work as a nurse, so I’m good at spotting fake symptoms. And as her mother, I could tell she was lying. But lately, I felt like I didn’t even know my own daughter anymore.
“Is someone bullying you? Are you stressed about something?” I pressed.
“No, Mom. I just don’t feel good,” she insisted.
I sighed. We used to be so close. Now it felt like all I did was check her homework, nag her about chores, and remind her to eat something besides junk food. Between extra hospital shifts and saving for her college fund, I barely had time to talk to her.
“Fine,” I said at last, grabbing my keys. “Stay home. But if this keeps happening, we’re going to the doctor.”
I left for work, frustrated, but halfway there I realized—I’d forgotten my ID badge. With a groan, I made a U-turn back toward home.
That’s when I saw her.
At the bus stop. Standing perfectly fine, looking healthier than she had all morning.
My jaw dropped. So she wasn’t sick—she’d been sneaking out!
I waited until the bus arrived, then followed it in my car. My stomach churned with questions. Where was she going? Who was she meeting?
I called my supervisor and said I couldn’t make it to work—“family emergency.”
The bus dropped her off in a busy area filled with coffee shops, bookstores, and boutiques. I parked a little distance away and watched as Ava strolled into a coffee shop.
My heart pounded. She was only fifteen—what if she was meeting an older boy? Someone dangerous?
I hurried up to the shop’s big window and peered inside. Ava was sitting at a corner table, smiling—really smiling, in a way I hadn’t seen in months.
Then I saw who she was smiling at.
And my blood ran cold.
Sitting across from her was Eleanor. My former mother-in-law. A woman I had sworn we’d never see again.
My chest tightened. Eleanor leaned forward and patted Ava’s arm, looking every bit the sweet grandmother she pretended to be.
That was enough for me.
I stormed inside, my voice ringing through the entire café:
“Get away from my daughter!”
Every conversation stopped. Ava’s eyes went wide. Eleanor froze.
“Claire, please,” Eleanor said in a trembling voice. “I just wanted to see my granddaughter. Is that so wrong?”
“Yes!” I snapped, grabbing Ava’s arm. “We’re leaving. Now.”
Ava jerked away from me, horrified. “Mom, what are you doing?”
“Saving you from her.” I glared at Eleanor. “Stay away from us. I mean it.”
Eleanor clutched her chest like a bad actress. “I’m begging you, Claire. Don’t take her away from me again.”
I ignored her and dragged Ava outside.
The moment we were clear of the café, Ava ripped her arm free.
“What is wrong with you?” she shouted. “You just screamed at an old woman in front of everyone like she was dangerous or something!”
“She is dangerous.”
“Grandma Ellie is nice!” Ava snapped.
“She’s not,” I said sharply. “You have no idea what she’s capable of.”
“Then explain it to me!” Ava crossed her arms, her eyes blazing. “Because she’s been nothing but sweet to me.”
“Trust me, that woman is a monster. How did you even find her?”
“She found me,” Ava admitted, pulling out her phone. “On Instagram.”
My stomach dropped as she shoved the screen in my face. Messages filled the screen—sweet, nostalgic, dripping with self-pity. Eleanor had played this game before.
“See? She’s nice,” Ava said. “She just wants to know me. Like I want to know her. If you hadn’t cut her and Dad out of our lives—”
“I did that to keep us safe,” I interrupted.
Ava groaned. “From what? A little old lady who bakes cookies every weekend? A firefighter who literally saves lives every day?”
Her words stung, because I could hear Eleanor’s influence in every syllable.
“So this is why you’ve been faking being sick? To see her?”
“Yes,” Ava said defiantly. “And I want to meet my dad too.”
“Absolutely not!” I snapped. “You don’t understand—”
“And you won’t explain!” she shot back. “Grandma Ellie was right. You’re just controlling. You cut them off out of spite, but I’m not a little kid anymore. I deserve to know my family. You can’t stop me.”
We stood on the sidewalk, staring each other down. My heart ached. If I didn’t tell her the truth now, I was going to lose her.
“Okay,” I said quietly. “I’ll tell you everything. But once you hear it, there’s no going back.”
At home, I sat her down at the kitchen table.
“Your father and I married young,” I began. “He was charming, thoughtful… or so I thought. But when I got pregnant with you, the mask came off. He expected me to cook, clean, and worship him. And if I complained, he turned cruel. Eleanor backed him up, saying ‘good wives don’t complain.’”
Ava frowned. “That doesn’t sound like Grandma Ellie.”
“It gets worse.” I pulled out a folder of documents I’d kept hidden. “He cheated on me—throughout our marriage. When I confronted him, he blamed me. Eleanor told me it was my fault, that I wasn’t enough.”
Ava’s face twisted in disgust. “That’s horrible.”
“I left when you were four. He didn’t fight for custody. Eleanor did.” I spread the papers out. “She told the court I was unfit, told CPS I neglected you, even went to my job and claimed I was unstable. This custody battle lasted eight months. I nearly lost you.”
Ava picked up a restraining order, her hands shaking. “This is all real?”
“Every page,” I said softly.
Tears filled her eyes. “You should’ve told me, Mom. I feel like an idiot.”
Her phone chimed. She looked at the screen, her jaw tightening. “It’s her. She’s asking if you hurt me.”
She looked ready to type, but I grabbed her wrist. “No. Leave it. That’s how she pulls you back in.”
Ava stared at me for a long moment, then shook her head. “No, Mom. Hiding has never worked. We need to confront her—together.”
The next day, we met Eleanor at the same coffee shop.
She stood, arms open. “Sweetheart, I was so worried—”
“Stop,” Ava cut her off coldly. “You lied to me.”
Eleanor faltered. “Sweetheart, I—”
“You manipulated me,” Ava said firmly. “Mom showed me the documents. You tried to destroy her, and you made me think she was the villain.”
Eleanor’s eyes filled with crocodile tears. “I just wanted to know my granddaughter. I’ve missed so much—”
“Because of what you did,” Ava snapped. “I’m blocking your number. Don’t contact me again.”
She turned and walked out, leaving Eleanor speechless.
I lingered just long enough to meet her glare. For years, I’d feared that look. Not anymore.
“Stay away from my daughter,” I said quietly, then followed Ava.
The drive home was quiet, but not tense this time. When we pulled into the driveway, Ava finally spoke.
“I wanted her to be good,” she whispered. “I wanted to believe she really cared about me.”
I reached over and squeezed her hand. “You’ve always been wanted, Ava. I walked through hell to protect you. I’d do it again in a heartbeat.”
For the first time in months, she squeezed back. “I’m sorry I doubted you, Mom. I should have trusted you.”
I smiled sadly. “You shouldn’t have had to. I should’ve told you the truth from the start.”
And for the first time in a long time, I felt like I finally had my daughter back.