Her bedroom door stood open.
The room looked wrong.
Empty hangers bumped together in the closet.
Her dresser drawers were half open.
The framed photographs from her desk were gone.
I ran downstairs.
“Where is she?”
Kevin did not look up.
“Who?”
My heart began pounding.
“Sarah.”
He took a bite of toast.
Then said,
“I told her she needed to move out.”
My suitcase slipped from my hand.
It hit the floor.
“You did what?”
“She’s eighteen.”
“Where did she go?”
“I don’t know.”
“You threw our daughter out and you don’t know where she went?”
He sighed.
“Linda.”
“No.”
“Do not Linda me.”
“She’s an adult.”
“She needed to learn.”
“Learn what?”
“That life isn’t free.”
I stared at him.
“She works.”
“Barely.”
“She goes to school.”
“Community college isn’t Harvard.”
I felt rage burn through my chest.
“When did she leave?”
“Yesterday.”
“You let her leave yesterday and didn’t call me?”
“You were working.”
I laughed in disbelief.
“You thought work mattered more than our daughter disappearing?”
“She didn’t disappear.”
“She packed.”
“Where is she?”
“I told you.”
“I don’t know.”
