My daughter Emma suddenly started locking her bedroom door and pulling away from me. One night, I quietly kept the door from closing and waited. When I stepped inside, I found her laughing with a boy named Caleb — and my past came rushing back.

It started small. She stopped sharing about her day. The locked door became a wall between us. I missed our late-night talks, the way she used to sit on the counter telling me everything.
One evening, I slipped a tissue in the latch and waited until the house was quiet. I crept in and saw Caleb sitting on her bed. “Get out,” I said sharply. Emma’s eyes filled with hurt. “It’s just Caleb. We were talking.”
I forbade her from seeing him. She didn’t understand why. The next morning, guilt hit hard. I made her favorite breakfast, but her room was empty. She had run to Caleb’s house.