With shaking hands I pulled out an old bag from under the bed. Inside were some things: a couple of notebooks, a little box with trinkets, and my daughter’s phone. The very phone my husband had said was “lost.” My heart sank with a terrible premonition.
I turned the phone on — it still worked.
The first thing I did was open the messages. There was a chat with her friend.
Fragments of the chat:
February 15, 10:17 PM
Daughter: I can’t take this anymore 😔
10:18 PM
Friend: What happened? 10:19 PM
Daughter: Dad yelled at me again.
He said if Mom finds out even a single word, he’ll make sure we both regret it…
10:21 PM
Friend: God, you’re scaring me… Did he hit you?
10:22 PM
Daughter: Yes… not the first time. A bruise on my arm, I tell Mom it happened at school, but… I’m scared 😢
10:24 PM
Friend: You have to tell your mom or go to the police, this is way too serious! 10:26 PM
Daughter: He said he’ll kill me if I tell anyone.
I believe him, when he’s angry — he’s terrifying…
10:28 PM
Friend: But you can’t keep all of this inside…
10:29 PM
Daughter: I’m writing to you because I can’t tell anyone else.
If something happens to me, know this — it was him. These lines burned my hands like fire.
Each message carved itself into my mind. I read them over and over, and images filled my head — her frightened eyes, how she had withdrawn more and more in the last months.
I didn’t want to believe back then that something serious was happening to her…
And in that moment I realized: my daughter did not leave on her own.
She became the victim of the one I had believed to be the closest person in my life.
