Trading My Daughter For Her Own

A year of drifting across the ocean, of late-night board meetings and sterile hotel rooms, and then—the screen of my phone flickered to life. It was a selfie from my daughter.

"Daddy, I miss you so much."

I looked at her face, her bottom lip tucked in a way that signaled she was holding back tears. My heart ached; I was already typing a message to tell her I’d be home soon, that I’d make it up to her. But then, my thumb hovered over the screen. Something caught my eye near the collar of her shirt. A faint, jagged red line.