I was standing outside her room, trying to decide whether to push harder, when the doorbell rang.
A delivery man stood on the porch holding a huge bouquet of peonies and lilies.
“For Ellie,” he said.
The flowers were expensive. Too expensive.
A small card was tucked between the petals.
I pulled it out before I could stop myself.
Hope your legs are sore from last night. You deserved it.
My blood went cold.
Then hot.
Then cold again.
I carried the flowers upstairs and knocked hard on Ellie’s door.
“Open this door. Right now.”
After a long pause, the lock clicked.
She opened the door just enough for me to see her red, swollen eyes.
“These came for you.”
I held up the flowers.
Then the card.
“Who sent this?”
Her face crumpled.
She grabbed the bouquet from me and threw it against the wall.
Flowers scattered across the carpet.
“Ellie,” I whispered, terrified now, “did someone hurt you?”
She covered her face.
“Mom, please.”
“No more please. You came home at four in the morning with money in your purse. These flowers came with that disgusting note. You are clearly scared, and I cannot help you unless you tell me the truth.”
She sat on the edge of her bed, trembling.
For a long moment, she said nothing.
Then I spoke softly.
“If you don’t tell me what happened, I’m calling the police.”
Her head snapped up.
“No. Please don’t.”
“Then help me understand.”
Finally, something in her broke.
“His name is Daniel,” she said. “He goes to my school.”
I sat beside her.
“A few months ago, he started talking to me after class. He knew I was applying to competitive college programs. He knew the application fees were expensive. He knew I wanted to take summer courses.”
She stared at her hands.
“One day, he offered me money to go to prom with him.”
I blinked.
“What?”
“I know how it sounds,” she cried. “But you’ve been working so hard, Mom. I didn’t want to ask you for more money. I thought it was just one night. I thought I could handle it.”
My chest ached.
“So he paid you to be his date?”
She nodded.
“At first, he was nice. Then he started acting like he owned me. If I talked to my friends, he got mad. If I wanted to dance with the group, he said no. He told me he paid me to look pretty beside him, not to embarrass him.”
My hands curled into fists.
“What happened after prom?”
“We were going to an after-party,” she whispered. “In his car. I told him he was acting awful. I said he should be ashamed of himself.”
Her voice shook.
“He got angry. He pulled over and told me to get out.”
I stared at her.
“He left you?”
She nodded.
“My phone was dead. I didn’t know exactly where I was. I walked for a long time until I found a gas station. The man working there let me use the phone to call a taxi.”
Suddenly the card made sense.
Hope your legs are sore.
Not from what I had feared.
From walking.
I pulled my daughter into my arms, and she finally collapsed against me.
“I’m sorry,” she sobbed. “I just wanted to help.”
“You have nothing to be sorry for,” I said, holding her tighter. “Nothing.”
When her tears finally slowed, I looked her in the eyes.
“In one hour, we are going to Daniel’s house.”
