One Tuesday, my daughter Alice called me, trembling: “Daddy? Mommy left.” Laurel had taken her suitcase and disappeared—no note, no warning, just a promise in a letter: “You’ll find out what happened to me in a week.” For seven days, I waited in agony.
Then I saw her on the news, speaking openly about her struggle with anxiety and stress. I had no idea she was drowning. I’d been too busy working to notice.
At a community center event, I found Laurel—lighter, freer, but fragile. She told me she felt invisible, not living, just surviving, and had to leave to save herself.
I promised to change—cut work, support her, and be present. Over months, we rebuilt our family. Alice missed her mom, but slowly Laurel came home.
Love isn’t just about being there; it’s about truly seeing the ones you love before they disappear.
