My Daughter Left Me with Her Fiancé’s Baby—Then They Vanished Without a Trace

My Daughter and Her Fiancé Left Me His 6-Month-Old Baby—Then They Disappeared

My daughter brought her fiancé and his 6-month-old baby with her when she returned from a five-year absence.

When I woke up, they were both gone, and I had just begun to process the strange encounter. The only message next to the crib is, “Sorry.” However, the nightmare didn’t end there.

It had been five years since I last saw my daughter. Stilted phone calls for five years, and wondering why Elena had entirely distanced herself after graduation.

I had raised her by myself, with just the two of us and the outside world, and I had somehow lost her in the process. We were farther apart than the miles between her city and mine.

I almost dropped the phone when she called to say she was coming to visit.

“Darren and I are getting married and he wants to meet you,” she said.

Two months before, she had begun dating Darren.

Despite my inner alarm, I remained silent. I didn’t want to run the risk of arguing with her and having her decide not to come.

I thoroughly cleaned my small two-bedroom home over the course of three days.

I got up at five on the morning of their arrival to begin making Elena’s favorite dish since she was seven years old: chicken pot pie.

My heart jumped into my throat when the doorbell rang. I gasped in surprise when I opened the door.

Elena was standing there without a luggage or flowers in her hands. A baby was in her arms.

A man, who I assumed was Darren, was standing behind Elena. His smile was as forced as I imagined mine would, and he had a diaper bag slung over one shoulder.

I opened my mouth, but nothing came out. I grabbed instinctively for the infant, my hands trembling a little.

“Whose…” I muttered at last.

“This is Chloe,” Elena murmured, her brittle brightness still present. “The daughter of Darren. Six months ago, his wife passed away.

I responded, “Oh,” since I was at a loss for words. “I’m so sorry for your loss.”

With sad eyes, Darren nodded.

As I moved aside to make room for them, my thoughts were racing. Darren was neither a father nor a widower, as Elena had never disclosed.

The awkward small conversation filled the afternoon.

While Elena filled the voids with tales about her work, Darren remained silent and courteously answered my queries without offering much assistance.

While Darren and I wiped the table after supper, Elena bathed Chloe in the kitchen sink.

I heard my daughter’s quiet mutterings of encouragement as I observed her tender hands holding the baby’s head high.

Elena was in the kitchen brewing tea later that evening after they had put Chloe to sleep in a portable crib in their room.

“Elena, dear,” I said cautiously, “there’s a lot to process. You didn’t say that Darren was a widower.

She stirred honey into her tea while keeping her back to me. “I didn’t think it mattered.”

“It matters, of course. How long have you known him—two months? Are you truly prepared to care for someone else’s child?

Elena tensed her shoulders. “I know him better than you do. I adore him. I also adore her.

I whispered, “Love isn’t always enough,” “Raising a child, even with two parents who planned for it, is the hardest job in the world.”

“You would know,” was her retort. She turned, her eyes glaring, her jaw clenched. “Mom, it has been a long day. Good night.

She scooped up her drink and brushed past me before I could say anything more.

Long after she had gone upstairs, I stood in the kitchen feeling powerless, as if I were watching my daughter cross the street and was unable to yell.

The following morning, Chloe was fussing, so I got up. As I padded downstairs to make coffee, I heard only her voice.

As Chloe’s cries became louder and more demanding, a knot formed in my stomach. I up the stairs once more and silently pushed open the door to the guest room.

Elena and Darren had left.

I rushed over to the portable crib to see how Chloe was doing. It was time to change her diaper. On the bed was the diaper bag. There was a piece of paper next to it with the word “Sorry” written on it.

As I glanced from the note to the infant and back again, my heart pounded.

My daughter had left. She had abandoned me. Once more. With a child that wasn’t even her own, this time.

“What have you done, Elena?” To the empty room, I muttered.

I carried Chloe downstairs after changing her diaper. I made her a bottle of formula after discovering a container in the bag.

I kept trying Elena’s cell phone while I was feeding her. It went directly to voicemail each time.

Since neither Elena nor Darren had contacted me by nightfall, I had no choice but to call social services.

Lydia, the social worker who arrived, was considerate yet realistic. She seemed to ask a ton of other questions in addition to taking down all the information I knew about Darren, which wasn’t much.

As Lydia grabbed Chloe, she stated, “We’ll put the baby in emergency foster care while we investigate.”

My phone called with an unfamiliar number two days later. It came from the shelter for children. They wanted to know more about Chloe’s mother.

“All I know is that she died six months ago,” I responded.

A long pause ensued. Then the shelter woman said something that completely took me by surprise.

She remarked, “That can’t be right,” “We located Chloe’s mom. She checked herself into a mental health hospital on her own volition.

The remainder of the discussion was a haze. The shelter worker mentioned something about overloaded shelters and arranging temporary placement in a foster home when I asked what would happen to the infant now.

That night, I was unable to sleep.

Elena’s face appeared each time I closed my eyes. How could my young daughter have participated in such a horrible act? She had shown Chloe such tenderness and concern. What was different?

The automated message informed me that the number was no longer operational when I attempted to call her again. She would sever all connections.

I called the shelter again after a week of restless nights to find out the name of the mental health facility where Chloe’s mother was being housed.

When I explained why I wanted to meet the woman, the woman who took the call was unexpectedly helpful, even though I didn’t really expect them to offer it to me.

The hospital was a contemporary structure with lots of windows and a garden that could be seen from the parking area.

Jenna, Chloe’s mother, was sitting in the common area by the window. The nurse’s eyes widened in surprise as she introduced me.

“I’m not here to upset you,” I added hastily as I sat across from her. “I just want to understand what happened, and to help, if you’ll let me.”

Jenna’s expression fell flat. “Darren assured me that he would be alright caring for Chloe by himself while I was in here. I made my own reservation. I had to. My parents’ untimely deaths in an accident and my postpartum depression were too much to handle. And now this.

She lost it. Her body trembled with sobs, and I automatically stretched out to console her. I felt a sudden burst of protective rage.

“And you—you’re the mother of this woman? They left my baby with you, this Elena with whom he’s reportedly been having an affair?”

I gave a nod. “That’s the reason I’m here. I don’t know how my kid could have done this or why she did it. Her phone number is no longer active, and I It seems unlikely that I will ever see her again. I can’t just leave this, though. I’d like to look after Chloe until you’re well enough to do it yourself, if you don’t mind.”

Tears came to Jenna’s eyes. “Why would you help me?”

Simply put, “Because it’s the right thing to do,” I said. “And because I understand what it’s like to feel alone.”

I petitioned for Chloe’s temporary custody three days later. Both when the judge granted my request and when I brought Chloe into my house, I started crying.

Over the course of the following year, Jenna and I developed an inexplicable closeness.

Over tea, we told each other stories. When Chloe was finally permitted to go outdoors, I took her for a walk around the hospital grounds. At times, we even giggled.

One April afternoon, we sat on a bench and watched Chloe totter after a squirrel while the cherry blossoms were dropping.

Whispering, “I feel… like me again,” Jenna whispered.

I grinned. “I’m glad.”

“The doctors say I can go home next month.” Her eyes were steady and clear as she gazed at me. “I’m ready to be Chloe’s mom again.”

I felt both gutted and proud. I had prepared for this day and knew it would arrive, but nonetheless…

Despite the pain in my chest, I said, “She’ll be so happy to have you home,” with meaning.

My heart was both swollen and broken as I stood on my doorstep waving farewell the day Chloe went home with her mother.

Jenna had gotten a part-time work at a bookshop and found a tiny apartment nearby.

Jenna turned around with Chloe in her arms as they arrived at the automobile.

She called and said, “You’ll always be family to us,”

She meant it, too.

They now come every Sunday, and Chloe refers to me as “Nana.”

When I least expect it, the dull throb of Elena’s absence bursts up. I’m still baffled as to how my daughter could have been involved in this plot or whether Darren was able to control her in the same way that he did Jenna.

I might never find out.

However, losing Elena gave me something unexpected: a granddaughter who was never mine but will always be, as well as a daughter of the heart.