[ WP ] There is a stranger in your daughter 's room . It 's your daughter .

It was a constant battle between having her door permanently opened or permanently closed. My wife wanted it closed, she ’ d said it was a constant reminder that she was gone if she could look into Emily ’ s room and see that she wasn ’ t there. If the door were closed, at least she could imagine Emily was behind the door still. I wanted it open, though I had no real reason behind this, other than it just made more sense to have it open. 
 
 Throughout the week as either of us passed by Emily ’ s room and the door wasn ’ t to our liking we ’ d either open it in my case or shut it in my wife ’ s case. Either way the room was being aired our properly with our constant opening and closing of the door. Her room had remained the same as she left it, bed made, shoes tucked in a corner, papers stacked neatly on her desk. On the rare occasion my wife did go into Emily ’ s bedroom it was to dust and take down spider webs in the corners of the ceiling. I never went in, just the thought of going into Emily ’ s bedroom without her in there made me weak in my knees. 
 
 Emily was our only child, having lost two in prior miscarriages before Emily ’ s birth. She was truly our miracle baby, and we ’ d done everything we could to shield her from the dangers of life, to provide her with the best money could buy, and to be the most loving and understanding parents possible. That still wasn ’ t enough. It has been 4 ½ years since Emily ran away, leaving only a note on the kitchen cabinet and a cryptic Facebook post. She ’ d run off with a fellow classmate, Adam Rodgers. They ’ d gone to chase the California coast, hoping to sail away into the sun. 
 
 It had devastated me and her mother. There were days my wife couldn ’ t get out of bed, forcing me to be both the strong hold and provider. She eventually pulled herself up over the years and learned how to smile again, laughing was another matter. She felt that she couldn ’ t allow herself to be too happy, not with a daughter off God knows where. 
 
 Our faith struggled during these past four years. Both of us gradually declined in our attendance to the local Episcopalian church, while we were thankful for the prayers, deep down inside we were angry, at God and ourselves. 
 
 It was a routine Tuesday night, my wife had put on a roast in the crock pot and I ’ d made sure to bring home a gallon of Bluebell ’ s finest. We sat the table together and talked about the mundane, my day at work and her efforts at home to “ keep up with the housework ”. As we sat across from one another, preparing to bow our heads for a moment of prayer, we were startled by glass breaking from down the hallway. 
 
 Instinctively I hushed my wife and stood to grab a knife from the kitchen counter. I motioned for my wife to call 911 and to move into the garage. As I inched down the hallway near Emily ’ s room it occurred to me that I was actually quite frightened, and while I was able to be the protector and strong hold for my wife in the case of our missing daughter, I felt weak knowing that I was going to face an intruder. I was older now, my knees were bad, and this knife wasn ’ t much reassurance. 
 
 As I slowly approached the room, slowly turning the corner of the door, there she stood, hair ragged, shoes torn and clothes too small. Emily. 
 
 “ Emily? ” I whispered. 
 
 Spinning around with a grin on her face “ Daddy, ” she ran to me and jumped into my arms. 
 
 I dropped the knife and hugged her. She smelled of soot and rotten vegetables. She was exceptionally skinny, her breath of alcohol and her skin harsh and rough. 
 
 “ Daddy, where have you been?! I ’ ve been all over the world, the world daddy and I ’ m back again, I ’ m back home and I ’ m ready for the world again, the cruel mean ole world, ” she giggled and hopped around, pulling clothes out of her closet and chest of drawers. 
 
 “ This would be so beautiful on me daddy, don ’ t think? I could be a princess, a princess of the world daddy, ” as she placed different items up to her skin, around her head on her face. 
 
 I turned to see my wife standing at the entrance of the bedroom, her mouth agape, and her body trembling. Tears flooded down her cheeks, she struggled to speak. 
 
 “ Mommy! Mommy where have you been, I ’ ve been over the world, all over the world. ” Emily started up again. 
 
 I stood watching, as Emily ran to her mother and my wife placed up her hands stopping her before Emily could hug her. She stepped backwards and walked down the hall. I could hear from the conversation that she was calling the police. I pulled Emily back and hugged her, and just held her, as I listened to my wife. 
 
 “ Yes, 1917 Woodrow Lane, my daughter needs assistance, her mental state is diminished and we need an ambulance, now. ” 
 
 I held Emily and cried. 

