Dad matched with her two days later.
I hated the deception.
But part of me was relieved that the plan worked.
They met at a small Italian restaurant in the fictional district of North Bellmore.
I spent the entire evening staring at my telephone.
At 10:32 p.m., Hannah called.
“Your father is wonderful.”
Relief rushed through me.
“Nothing strange happened?”
“Nothing.”
She laughed.
“He told the worst joke I have heard in years.”
“That sounds like him.”
“He was thoughtful, funny, and completely respectful. We spoke for almost three hours.”
“Did he mention another date?”
“He asked whether I wanted dinner next Friday.”
“What did you say?”
“Yes.”
For the first time in weeks, I slept without imagining something terrible about my father.
The next morning, Hannah disappeared too.
I called before work.
No answer.
I called again during lunch.
The call went directly to voicemail.
Messages remained undelivered.
By evening, fear had replaced confusion.
