Every Woman My Widowed Father Dated Vanished by Morning—Then My Best Friend Received a Threat That Exposed the Person Watching Them All
Every woman my father dated seemed eager to see him again.
Then, before the following morning ended, she vanished.
No explanation.
No goodbye.
No second date.
After the sixth woman disappeared in exactly the same way, I asked my best friend to go out with him and tell me what was really happening.
The date went beautifully.
My father was kind.
Respectful.
Funny.
He asked to see her again.
She accepted.
By the next morning, my best friend had blocked my number and sent me one chilling message:
Do not contact me again. Please.
When she finally agreed to meet me, she showed me a photograph taken outside the restaurant.
Someone had followed her.
And the person threatening her knew a family secret that only a handful of people had ever heard.
That was when I realized the women had not been rejecting my father.
Someone close to our family had been frightening them away.
Twelve Years of Silence
My mother, Celia Morgan, p.a.s.s.e.d away twelve years ago.
I was old enough to understand what loss meant.
But I was not old enough to understand what it could do to the person left behind.
Before Mom was gone, my father, Thomas, filled every room he entered.
He sang while making coffee.
He told jokes so badly that he usually began laughing before reaching the ending.
Music played constantly inside our home.
Old soul records on Sunday mornings.
Jazz while he cooked.
Classic rock whenever he repaired something in the garage.
Mom used to say Dad was incapable of experiencing silence without trying to improve it.
After her farewell service, the house became painfully quiet.
The record player gathered dust.
Dad stopped singing.
He ate dinner in front of the television without actually watching it.
Sometimes I came home from college and found him sitting in the dark living room with one lamp burning beside Mom’s empty chair.
