Being a single mother was hard enough, but being a single mother to a teenager about to graduate from high school was a different story. I learned that the hard way when I accidentally grabbed my daughter’s purse, thinking it was mine. Inside were items that made my heart race and made me drive home anxiously. It was already late for work, as usual. Coffee in hand, I grabbed the purse from the counter and ran out of the house. I got to the car and put the purse on the passenger seat and started driving, not realizing that something was wrong. The purse was heavier than normal, and my heart skipped a beat when I opened it.

I stared at the purse for a moment as I drove, hoping that I was somehow imagining things. But no, it wasn’t mine; it was Allison’s. My daughter, Allison, received the same purse as mine as a birthday present. I had been eyeing one exactly like mine for years, but I never let her use it, telling her it was too expensive for a teenager. And yet, now my seventeen-year-old daughter had one: an identical red purse, pristine. I remembered her being so excited, happily declaring, “All my friends chipped in and bought it for me!” “Great,” I muttered to myself, realizing I had to rummage through the purse to make sure it really wasn’t mine before reversing the car and running inside.

I pulled over to the side and opened it, rummaging through it. Then, something strange caught my eye. Among the usual teenage paraphernalia, like lip gloss, headphones, and a phone charger, was something out of place… a key. But it wasn’t just any key, it was a hotel room key. My hand stopped in midair and my breath caught.

Next to it, tucked neatly into a side pocket, was something even more disturbing: a fake ID with Allison’s picture staring back at me! “What the hell?” I whispered, feeling a wave of panic wash over me. It wasn’t the kind of thing I expected to find in my daughter’s purse. Allison had always been the responsible one, the straight-A student, the one who stayed home on Saturday nights to study or hang out with her best friend, Chloe. So what the hell was she doing with a hotel key and a fake ID? Without a second thought, I started the car and immediately headed to the local hotel. My mind was buzzing with possibilities, none of them good. Was I in trouble? Was I snooping? And what kind of trouble would require a hotel room and a fake ID?

By the time I got to the hotel, I was shaking. I was gripping the steering wheel so tightly that my knuckles had turned white. I never thought I would have to do something like this: show up at a hotel and seek answers about my daughter. Realizing I was going to be late for work, I decided to call, using my only daughter as an excuse for my absence that day.