Every woman my father dated seemed thrilled to see him again, only to vanish before dawn. When my best friend agreed to help me understand why, a terrifying message proved it was never a coincidence.
My father lost my mother twelve years ago.
I was old enough to understand what death meant, but far too young to understand what it could do to the person left behind.
After the funeral, he became a different man.
Before Mom passed away, he brought life to every room.
He sang while preparing the coffee.
He would tell awful jokes at the table and laugh even before he got to the punchline.
There was always music playing somewhere in the house.
After his departure, silence descended upon everything.
For years, he refused to date anyone.
His family members encouraged him to meet someone.
His friends would invite him to dinner, and there always seemed to be a single woman sitting next to him.
He declined all invitations.
One day, I told him that Mom would never have wanted him to spend the rest of his life alone.
He looked at me with an expression I have never forgotten.
"I'm not alone, Lola," he said. "I have you."
That response hurt him more than I let on.
Then, almost without warning, something changed.
He signed up on dating apps.
I discovered it one Saturday afternoon when I stopped by his house.
He was sitting at the kitchen table, holding his phone with both hands.
His reading glasses rested low on his nose, and he was smiling at the screen.
I hadn't seen that smile in years.
"What are you looking at?" I asked.
He quickly locked the phone.
"Nothing."
I raised an eyebrow.
He lasted less than ten seconds before giving up.
"I created a profile."
"A dating profile?"
He nodded, suddenly looking embarrassed.
Before he could explain, I hugged him.
He remained stiff at first, then he returned my embrace.
"I think Mom would approve," I told her.
"I hope so," he murmured.
Soon after, he began to meet wonderful women.
He would talk to me about it before each appointment.
One of them worked in a library.
Another owned a local bakery.
A third of them spent their weekends volunteering at an animal shelter.
Each time, he seemed genuinely hopeful.
However, none of them ever stayed.
Initially, I assumed they simply weren't meant to get along.
Romantic encounters were complicated.
Two people could have a pleasant evening together while realizing there was no future.
That's what I told myself every time another woman stopped replying.
Then I noticed something impossible to ignore.
All the relationships ended in exactly the same way.
The meeting always went perfectly.
Then my father would call me and describe the restaurant, their conversation, and the little moments that had made him laugh.
He never seemed proud.
He seemed relieved.
They always planned to see each other again.
The next morning, she had disappeared.
No phone calls.
No message.
No explanation was given.
The first time, Dad assumed she was busy.
The second time, he thought he had misinterpreted her interest.
In the third episode, he turned on himself.
"Perhaps I talk too much about your mother," he said.
"You almost never talk about her during our dates."
"Perhaps I'm too old-fashioned."
"You held the door open for him. That's not a crime."
He gave a tired smile, but my reassuring words never really reached him.
Every rejection broke her heart.
"I don't understand," he murmured.
"They all seemed so happy."
