I thought my teenage daughter was simply borrowing clothes — until I followed her after school and saw which door she knocked on. I tried to stop her, but when she turned on me and called me a liar, everything I believed about my family began to fracture.
For three weeks, my daughter kept coming home wearing things that weren’t hers.
At first, I convinced myself I was overthinking it.
The day she walked in wearing a shirt I knew didn’t belong to her, I finally asked.
“Julia spilled juice on me.” Ellie shrugged.
“That doesn’t explain where you got the shirt you’re wearing,” I called after her as she headed down the hall.
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