Instead of listening, I let my frustration take control.
“This isn’t a shelter,” I snapped. “You either pay or you leave.”
She stared at me for several seconds. Then she nodded, stood up, and walked to her bedroom without saying another word.
I assumed she was angry and needed time to calm down. I told myself she would eventually understand that I was trying to teach her a lesson.
But the following morning, I discovered how wrong I was.
Her bed was stripped. Half her clothes were missing from the closet, and her favorite hoodie was gone. She had taken her backpack, toothbrush, and whatever else she could carry.
My sixteen-year-old stepdaughter had left home.
At first, I called her dramatic. I convinced myself she was testing our boundaries and would return once she realized how difficult life could be on her own.
Her father called repeatedly and left voicemails, but she never answered.
