“Two Years Have Passed. Since Then, My Daughter Hasn’t Called or Sent a Message”: She Doesn’t Want to See Me, and I’m Turning 70 Soon

Claire is one of those neighbors you can’t help but adore. At 68, she has a youthful spirit and a warm smile that makes you feel at home. She lives alone in a quaint little house at the end of our street. Every now and then, I drop by with some cookies or a slice of cake, and we sit down for tea. Our conversations are always delightful; Claire has a knack for storytelling, especially when it comes to her travels around the world.

One sunny afternoon, as we sat on her porch sipping chamomile tea, Claire seemed more pensive than usual. I could tell something was weighing on her mind. After a few moments of silence, she looked at me and said, “You know, Eric, there’s something I’ve never told you about my family.”

I nodded, encouraging her to continue.

“I have a daughter,” she began, her voice tinged with sadness. “Her name is Zoey. She’s 35 now. We used to be so close, but it’s been two years since I’ve heard from her. No calls, no messages—nothing.”

I was taken aback. Claire had never mentioned Zoey before. “What happened?” I asked gently.

Claire sighed deeply. “It’s a long story. Zoey and I had a falling out over something trivial. At least, it seemed trivial to me at the time. She wanted to move to New York for a job opportunity, and I was worried about her being so far away. We argued, and she accused me of not supporting her dreams. I thought she’d cool off and we’d make up, but she never did.”

Tears welled up in Claire’s eyes as she continued. “I tried reaching out to her multiple times—calls, texts, even letters—but she never responded. It’s like she vanished from my life completely.”

I felt a pang of sympathy for Claire. “Have you thought about visiting her in New York?” I asked.

“I did,” Claire replied, wiping away a tear. “I went to her apartment once, but she wasn’t there. I left a note with my contact information, hoping she’d get in touch. But she never did.”

The pain in Claire’s voice was palpable. “I’m not getting any younger,” she said softly. “I’ll be 70 soon, and the thought of spending my remaining years without any contact with my only child is unbearable.”

I reached out and held Claire’s hand. “I’m so sorry you’re going through this,” I said sincerely.

Claire managed a weak smile. “Thank you, Eric. It helps to talk about it, even if it doesn’t change anything.”

As the sun began to set, casting a golden glow over the porch, we sat in silence for a while, each lost in our own thoughts. I couldn’t help but feel a deep sense of sorrow for Claire. She had so much love to give, yet the person she wanted to share it with the most was out of reach.

Over the next few weeks, I made it a point to visit Claire more often. We continued our tea sessions and shared stories, but the shadow of Zoey’s absence always lingered in the background.

One day, as we were discussing our favorite books, Claire said something that stayed with me. “You know, Eric,” she said thoughtfully, “life is too short to hold grudges. I just wish Zoey could see that before it’s too late.”

I nodded in agreement, feeling the weight of her words.

As time went on, Claire’s health began to decline. She became more frail and tired easily. Despite this, she never lost her warmth or her love for storytelling.

One evening, as I was leaving her house after another heartfelt conversation, Claire handed me an envelope. “If anything happens to me,” she said softly, “please make sure Zoey gets this.”

I promised I would.

A few months later, Claire passed away peacefully in her sleep. True to my word, I tracked down Zoey’s address in New York and sent her the envelope.

I never heard back from Zoey, but I hope that one day she’ll read her mother’s letter and understand the depth of Claire’s love for her.