I’m Robert, 65, and I raised my daughter Amber alone after her mom died when she was five.
I worked three jobs, barely slept, and prayed for her every day.
She finally grew up, but I never stopped worrying. I warned her about her fiancé Louis countless times:
“Amber, he’s not a good man. Watch how he treats people. Don’t marry him.”
One day, I saw it myself — Louis laughing too close to a cashier, flirting. I told Amber.
“Dad… you’re just trying to TURN ME AGAINST HIM!” she snapped.
“No, Amber! Look at him!” I said, trembling.
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“I DON’T CARE! YOU’RE JUST TRYING TO CONTROL ME!” she yelled.
Months later, she came dressed up, asking for my blessing. I looked her in the eye.
“Amber, I will never give my blessing to a marriage with him. He’s CRUEL and UNTRUSTWORTHY.”
Louis whispered, “Don’t listen to the old man.”
Her eyes filled with tears. Then she did it:
“This is MY LIFE, Dad. LEAVE! NOW!”
I begged her to reconsider: “Amber… please, I only want what’s best for you. You don’t know what he’s capable of!”
“No! You don’t understand! THIS IS MOM’S HOUSE! SHE’D WANT IT FOR ME! LEAVE, DAD!”
Even as she spoke, part of me prayed silently: God, bless her. Protect her. Give her wisdom and happiness.
I left with nothing but a heavy heart. I rented a small apartment, worked long hours, and slowly rebuilt my life. I learned she gave birth to a son, and I tried to contact her, but she BLOCKED ME.
Years later, riding the subway, I FROZE — there she was, pregnant, curled up on the filthy floor, coat torn, hair matted.
“OH MY GOODNESS! Amber?” I exclaimed.
Her eyes flew open. “Dad?” Panic flooded her face.
I knelt beside her. “Amber… WHAT’S GOING ON?! Where’s your son?!”
She broke down instantly, sobs racking her body.
“Dad… he’s gone. Louis took him. He said if I ever left, I’d never see my boy again. And now—now I’m pregnant again. I have nowhere to go.”
I felt my knees weaken. For years, I had prayed for this moment — not her suffering, but the chance to hold her again, to protect her when the world had chewed her up.
I gathered her in my arms right there on that subway floor.
“Amber… listen to me. We will get your son back. You and this baby will never be alone again. I promise you.”
Her hands clung to me like a child’s. For the first time in years, she whispered the word I thought I’d never hear again:
“Dad… help me.”