Friday night began like any other, promising the same taxing, nerve-racking routine of husband-wife conflict. Quinn arrived home from work and, without a word or even the usual hug for her daughter, dismissed the nanny, Mrs. Jean. Mrs. Jean, a kind elderly woman, cast a long, concerned look at Abbey as she left. Quinn proceeded straight to her bedroom—what had become her private domain. Ashley had been sleeping on the couch for months.

From the doorway, a little girl watched in stunned silence as her mother took a suitcase from the wardrobe, placed it on the bed, and opened it. Without a moment’s hesitation, she began grabbing her clothes from the cupboard and drawers, stuffing them into the bag. It was a cold and deliberate action. When the suitcase was packed to its straining capacity, Quinn dragged it from the bedroom, out of the house, and to her car.

She returned one last time, her eyes, devoid of any warmth, settling on Abbey. “When your father comes home,” she said, her voice flat and emotionless, “whether it’s this evening or tomorrow morning, tell him I’m gone. He’ll receive the divorce papers soon enough.” With that, she turned and walked out, shutting the front door behind her. A few moments later, Abbey heard the final, cruel sound of the car pulling away. That was the last she ever saw of her mother.

Abbey’s minimal experience of maternal love did little to cushion the blow. The act of total abandonment shattered her heart into a million tiny, jagged pieces. Uncontrollable, heart-wrenching sobs tore from her throat, but nobody was there to hear them. Nobody was there to comfort her. Her mother was gone, and while she didn’t know for how long, a terrible, gut-deep certainty told her it was forever.

True to form, her dad came staggering in early the following morning, just as the sun’s first light began to peek over the horizon. Abbey, who hadn’t slept, heard the door open. She ran down the hall and threw her little arms around his legs, agonizing sobs shaking her small frame. Ashley, still in a drunken haze, tried to untangle himself, but something in her cries was different. This was no ordinary tantrum. Picking her up, he felt her arms tighten around his neck as she buried her face in his shoulder. He carried her to the lounge and collapsed onto the big winged-back chair.

She calmed down enough to tell him what had happened, her words a jumbled mixture of sobs and speech. He felt a white-hot rage, but for his hurting daughter, he swallowed the expletives. Instead, in a calm, soothing voice, he said, “Hush, my baby, hush. Don’t cry. Daddy will take care of you.” She looked up, and seeing the tears welling in his own eyes, she hugged him even tighter. For a moment, father and daughter found the shared comfort in each other’s embrace.

Overcome by exhaustion, Abbey eventually drifted into a deep, troubled sleep. Carefully, Ashley stood and carried her to her bedroom, laying her gently on the bed. He kissed her lightly on the cheek, whispering, “I love you, dear Abbey. Together, we will get through this.”