Every Woman My Widowed Father Dated Vanished Overnight—So I Asked My Best Friend to Go Out With Him.
That night, I called my best friend, Hannah Reed.
Hannah and I had known each other since college.
She possessed the rare ability to charm everyone in a room while silently noticing every inconsistency.
She worked in human resources and interviewed people for a living.
If Dad behaved strangely during dates, Hannah would recognize it.
“Go out with him once,” I said.
She laughed.
“You cannot be serious.”
“I am.”
Her laughter stopped.
“Maya, that is your father.”
“I know.”
“And he has met me.”
“Only a few times.”
“That does not improve this idea.”
I explained the six women.
The apparently successful dates.
The sudden disappearances.
Hannah remained silent for a long moment.
“You want me to investigate him.”
“I want you to tell me what happens after the date.”
“What am I supposed to say when he recognizes me?”
“He may recognize your face, but he will not remember your name. Tell him we matched through the app.”
“This is dishonest.”
“I know.”
“It could damage our friendship.”
“It won’t.”
“It could damage your relationship with your father.”
That possibility frightened me.
But I had watched Dad losing confidence with every rejection.
“I need to know.”
Hannah groaned.
“This is the worst favor you have ever requested.”
“You helped me move twice.”
“This is worse.”
Eventually, she agreed.
The Seventh Date
Hannah created a dating profile using her middle name, Elise.
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.
Then one message arrived.
Do not contact me again. Please.
I stared at the words.
That was not Hannah.
Hannah had argued with me through every disagreement since college.
She did not vanish.
She confronted.
I drove to her apartment.
Her car was in the parking lot.
Lights glowed behind her windows.
But no one answered.
I knocked until my knuckles hurt.
“Hannah!”
A neighbor stepped into the hallway.
“Is everything okay?”
“I don’t know.”
I sat in my car outside the building for nearly an hour, watching the windows.
No curtain moved.
The next afternoon, Hannah called.
Her voice sounded unsteady.
“I cannot explain this over the telephone.”
“When can we meet?”
“Tomorrow morning.”
I barely slept.
The Message
I met Hannah outside her office.
She looked exhausted.
Her face was pale.
