Every Monday morning, my daughter Ava swore she was too sick to go to school. She’d shuffle into the kitchen, groaning like she was in pain, and grab her stomach as if she was about to collapse.
One Monday, she did it again.
“Another stomachache?” I asked, raising an eyebrow. “Ava, this is the eighth Monday in a row. What’s really going on?”
“Nothing’s going on,” Ava muttered, refusing to look me in the eye. “I just feel sick.”
As a nurse, I was good at spotting when people were faking symptoms. And as her mother, I could tell she was lying. But lately, I felt like I didn’t know my daughter at all anymore.
I tried again. “Is someone bullying you at school? Are you stressed about something?”
“No, Mom. I just don’t feel good.”
Her voice was flat, her face blank. I hated it. We used to be so close. Now it felt like all I did was nag her—homework, chores, food. I glanced at the clock. Another long shift at the hospital was waiting for me, and the exhaustion made me snap.
“Fine,” I said, grabbing my keys. “Stay home, but if this keeps happening, you’re seeing a doctor.”
She didn’t argue. Just slumped in a chair, looking pale and fragile. I rushed out the door.
But halfway to work, I realized I’d forgotten my ID badge. Groaning, I made a U-turn. And that’s when I saw her—Ava—standing at the bus stop.
She looked perfectly healthy. Not sick at all.
My heart dropped. I knew she’d been lying, but sneaking out? Where was she going?
When the bus came, she climbed on. Without thinking, I followed in my car, calling my supervisor on the way. “I can’t make it in. Family emergency.”
The bus stopped near a strip of coffee shops, bookstores, and little boutiques. Ava hopped off and walked into one of the coffee shops like she’d done it a hundred times before.
I parked and sat there, my heart pounding. Ava was only fifteen. Old enough to crave independence, but still a child. Was she meeting an older boy? Was someone grooming her?
I forced myself to move. I walked to the big front window and peered inside.
There she was, sitting at a corner table. And she was smiling. Really smiling—the kind of smile I hadn’t seen in months. Relief washed over me… until I saw who was sitting across from her.
My stomach turned to stone.
It was Eleanor. My ex-mother-in-law.
The woman I had sworn we’d never see again.
She reached across the table and patted Ava’s arm with that sweet, grandmotherly smile that had fooled so many people. My blood boiled.
I didn’t think—I stormed inside.
“Get away from my daughter!”
The entire café went silent. Ava’s eyes widened as I marched toward them.
“Claire, please,” Eleanor said, her voice soft, her hand pressed to her chest. “I just wanted to see my granddaughter. Is that so wrong?”
“Yes, it is!” I snapped, grabbing Ava’s arm. “We’re leaving. Now.”
“Mom!” Ava jerked away, her face red with embarrassment. “What are you doing?”
“Saving you from her,” I said through clenched teeth. I turned to Eleanor, my glare sharp enough to cut glass. “Stay away from us.”
Eleanor’s voice trembled with fake sadness. “Claire, I’m begging you—don’t take her away from me again.”
But I didn’t fall for it. I dragged Ava out the door.
The second we stepped outside, Ava ripped her arm free.
“What is wrong with you?” she shouted. “You just screamed at an old lady in front of everyone like she was some kind of monster!”
“She is a monster.”
“Grandma Ellie is nice!”
“She’s not,” I said sharply. “You have no idea what she’s capable of.”
Ava crossed her arms, her face flushed with anger. “Then explain it to me! Because she’s been nothing but sweet to me.”
My chest ached. “Trust me, that woman is dangerous. How did you even find her?”
“She found me,” Ava admitted, pulling out her phone. “On Instagram.”
She scrolled quickly, then shoved the screen in my face.
The messages were full of soft words, sweet nostalgia, and self-pity. Eleanor was a master manipulator, and now she was working her poison on my daughter.
“See?” Ava said. “She just wants to know me. And I want to know her. And Dad, too. If you hadn’t cut them out of our lives—”
“I did that to keep us safe.”
“From what?” Ava groaned. “From a little old lady who bakes cookies every weekend? From a firefighter who literally saves lives every day?”
Her words cut deep, because I could hear Eleanor behind them. I asked quietly, “Is this why you’ve been pretending to be sick every Monday? To meet her?”
“Yes.” Ava’s chin lifted in defiance. “I wanted to know her. And I want to meet my dad, too.”
“Absolutely not!” I barked. “You don’t understand—”
“And you won’t explain,” she snapped. “Grandma Ellie was right. You’re just controlling. You cut them out of my life out of spite. But I’m not a little kid anymore. I deserve to know my family, and you can’t stop me.”
We stood frozen on the sidewalk, neither willing to back down.
Finally, I exhaled. “Okay. I’ll tell you the truth. But once you hear it, there’s no going back.”
The drive home was silent.
At the kitchen table, I began. “Your father swept me off my feet when I was young. He was charming, romantic, perfect. But it was a mask. When I got pregnant with you, everything changed. He demanded I cook, clean, keep quiet, and never complain. And if I did…” I shook my head. “He got cruel. Eleanor always defended him. She told me, ‘Good wives don’t complain.’”
Ava frowned. “I can’t imagine Grandma Ellie saying that. And, okay, housework isn’t fair, but it doesn’t sound—”
“It was worse,” I cut in. I grabbed a folder and spread documents across the table. “When you were four, I found out he’d been cheating—our whole marriage. He blamed me for not being exciting enough. Eleanor told me it was my fault for not meeting his needs.”
“That’s disgusting,” Ava whispered.
“That’s when I left. He didn’t fight for custody, but Eleanor did. She told the court I was unfit, that I’d stolen you. She went to my work, told my bosses I was unstable, even reported me to CPS for neglect.”
I pushed a restraining order toward her. “The custody battle nearly broke me. Eight months of hell. I worked double shifts just to pay lawyers. But I won. And the judge ordered Eleanor to stay away from both of us.”
Ava’s hands shook as she read. “This is all real?”
“Every page,” I said softly.
Her phone buzzed then. She looked at it, then at me. “It’s her. She’s asking if you hurt me.”
Ava’s jaw tightened. “I’m going to tell her off.”
“No,” I said quickly. “Leave her alone. That’s the only way.”
But Ava shook her head. “No, Mom. Hiding didn’t protect us. It just made me sneak around. It’s time we stop running.”
The next day, we went back to the coffee shop—together.
Eleanor was waiting. Her smile widened when she saw Ava, but froze when she saw me.
“Sweetheart,” Eleanor cooed. “I was so worried about you.”
Ava didn’t move into her arms. She glared. “You lied to me.”
Eleanor blinked, feigning innocence. “Sweetheart, that’s not—”
“Manipulation,” Ava interrupted. “You made it sound like Mom was the bad one. But I saw the court documents. I know what you did.”
Eleanor’s face crumpled, fake tears spilling down her cheeks. “I just wanted to know my granddaughter. I’ve missed so much.”
“You missed it because you tried to destroy my mother,” Ava said coldly. “I’m blocking your number. Don’t ever contact me again.”
She walked out without looking back.
I lingered just a second, locking eyes with Eleanor. For years, I’d been afraid of her. Not anymore.
“Stay away from my daughter,” I said quietly, then followed Ava outside.
The car ride home was calm. Ava finally sighed. “I wanted her to be good. I wanted to believe she really wanted me.”
I squeezed her hand. “You’ve always been wanted, Ava. I walked through fire to protect you. I’d do it again in a heartbeat.”
For the first time in months, she squeezed back. “I’m sorry I doubted you, Mom. I should’ve trusted you.”
“You shouldn’t have had to,” I whispered. “I should’ve told you the truth from the start.”