I had raised Daniela alone since she was six. Her father left after meeting another woman and eventually stopped visiting. For years I worked hard to make sure my daughter didn’t feel like she was missing a family. I worked as a manager at a pharmacy and took on extra shifts to pay for the house, school, and everything else she needed. We weren’t rich, but we never lacked food or a safe place to sleep.
That’s why discovering that Daniela might be hiding something serious from me made me feel like I had failed. I wondered when we stopped talking, when she started seeing me as an enemy, or why she didn’t trust me.
During the following days, I decided to observe her more closely. Daniela made two sandwiches every morning, though she said one was for a classmate. She came home from school with her backpack full and went straight to her room. One afternoon, I found an empty baby formula container in the trash. We didn’t have any babies in our family, and none of her close friends were mothers.
When I showed her the container, her face went pale.
—Where did this come from?
—A friend gave it to me for a school project.
The explanation made no sense.
—Daniela, I need you to tell me the truth.
—I already told you.
—You’re locking the door, food is disappearing, and I heard someone crying inside your room.
—You’re imagining things.
Her answer hurt me more than any confession. Daniela had never spoken to me so coldly. I tried to approach her, but she backed away.
“Don’t go into my room when I’m not there,” she warned. “They’re my things.”
I saw her go upstairs and lock the door again.
That night I called my sister, Patricia. I told her what was happening, and she recommended I check Daniela’s phone. She said that, as her mother, I had the right to know who she was talking to. I wasn’t sure. I had always valued the trust between us, and I was afraid that invading her privacy would completely destroy it.
However, fear was stronger.
