I caved and allowed her to come home, asking to please have her father call me before making any final decisions or arrangements. Not only did he never call me, but he booked her on a flight home for the next day. The guy who has never paid a dime in child support suddenly has money for a next-day fare. He couldn’t boot her fast enough, apparently. My heart broke for her right then and there.
My mother and I went to pick her up the next day, so emotional and full of hope. When I finally saw her, I was shocked at her appearance. She had put on about 25 pounds, had her now short hair in a weird spiked haircut, was wearing punk clothing and heavy black makeup, and generally looked like a street kid. I try not to judge by appearance or clothing, but she was startling. This was not the daughter I sent to live with her father, and she was making some statement or another. Bringing her home to the house was going to be horrible.
My daughter was shunned at the house. My boyfriend, his kids, even her sister wouldn’t talk to her. They were angry with her for leaving and angry that she thought she could just come home – just like that. For the next month, things went from bad to worse. She started out so happy to be home, but soon the weight of this terrible treatment began to affect her. She spent more and more time in her room, starting sneaking pounds and pounds of junk food and eating alone and cramming the wrappers in drawers, under her mattress and in her boots. I spend a lot of time yelling for everyone to knock it off and to understand that she was struggling and confused and not to hold a grudge. They just wouldn’t stop their behavior and my defense of her escalated.
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