At 4:40 on a Monday afternoon, my charge nurse stepped into the treatment room and told me my daughter’s principal was on the hospital line. I felt a surge of worry as I took the call in the staff workroom, my mind racing with all the possible reasons why the principal would be calling me at work.
“Ms. Sorenson? Luke Pryor at Westview Elementary. First, your daughter is here with us. She’s all right,” he said before I could ask, but his words did little to alleviate my concern.
I pressed my free hand against the edge of the desk, trying to steady myself. “Where’s my father?” I asked, trying to keep my tone neutral, but my voice betrayed my anxiety.
“We haven’t been able to reach him. We’ve called the other numbers on her emergency sheet, too,” he replied, and I felt a pang of disappointment and frustration. My father was supposed to have picked up Delaney at 3:10. He had promised her a hamburger and a chocolate milkshake. She had packed a deck of cards so she could teach him a game.
I took a deep breath, trying to process the situation. My phone showed several missed calls from the school. The earliest was at 3:20. Nothing from my father. I felt a knot in my stomach as I realized that my father had not only failed to pick up Delaney but also wasn’t responding to the school’s calls.
Before starting the car, I opened the family message thread, hoping there would be an explanation. A flat tire. A misunderstanding. Anything I could tell Delaney without having to choose every word. But instead, I found a link to a photograph my sister Lindsay had posted twenty minutes earlier. My father stood beside a giraffe enclosure with one of my sister’s four-year-old twins on his shoulders. The other boy was holding lettuce against the fence. The caption read: “Best Papa in the whole world. Zoo day with no rush.”
A Broken Promise
I checked the time on the photograph twice, feeling a mix of emotions: anger, disappointment, and sadness. How could my father prioritize a fun day at the zoo with my sister’s kids over his promise to Delaney? I put my phone away and drove to Westview Elementary, my mind racing with thoughts of what I would say to my father and how I would explain the situation to Delaney.
Westview Elementary was a low brick building with a flagpole by the entrance and flower beds the fourth graders planted every spring. At five o’clock, the front drive was empty. Delaney sat on a bench outside the office, within sight of the secretary’s desk. Her backpack was still on both shoulders. Beside her was half a turkey sandwich, folded carefully into its wax paper.
“Hi, Mom,” she said brightly enough that I almost missed what it cost her. I knelt in front of her, trying to gauge her emotions. “Why do you still have your sandwich?” I asked, trying to sound casual.
“I saved some at lunch. Then I thought I should keep it,” she replied, looking toward the glass doors. “In case it took a long time for Papa to come,” she added, her voice barely above a whisper. I felt a pang of sadness and regret, knowing that Delaney had been waiting for my father, wondering when he would show up. And then, just as I was about to hug her and tell her everything would be okay, my phone buzzed with an incoming call from my mother.
I hesitated for a moment, wondering whether to answer it, but something about my mother’s timing seemed off. I declined the call and turned my attention back to Delaney. “Let’s get you home, sweetie. We’ll talk about this later,” I said, trying to reassure her. But as we walked to the car, I couldn’t shake off the feeling that this was far from over. And then, just as we were about to drive away, I saw my father’s car pulling into the parking lot, a sheepish grin spreading across his face. My heart sank, and I felt my anger rising to the surface. What was he going to say to justify his actions? And then, everything went black, and I was left with only one thought: He’s going to try to lie his way out of this, and I won’t let him.
