That was what I kept telling myself whenever another woman stopped replying.
Then I noticed something impossible to ignore.
Every relationship ended exactly the same way.
The date always went wonderfully.
Afterward, my father would call me and describe the restaurant, their conversation, and the little moments that made her laugh.
He never sounded proud.
He sounded relieved.
They always made plans for another date.
By the following morning, she was gone.
No phone calls.
No messages.
No explanation.
The first time, Dad assumed she had become busy.
The second, he believed he had misread her interest.
By the third, he blamed himself.
“Maybe I talk about your mother too much,” he said.
“You barely mention her on dates.”
“Maybe I am too old-fashioned.”
“You held a door open for her. That is not a crime.”
He managed a tired smile, but my reassurance never truly reached him.
Each rejection broke his heart.
“I don’t understand,” he’d whisper.
“They all seemed so happy.”
Watching him lose confidence was painful.
With every disappointment, he drifted closer to the quiet man he’d become after Mom died.
He stopped singing again.
He checked his phone constantly.
He reread old conversations as though the answer might suddenly appear.
The fourth woman disappeared after saying she wanted him to meet her sister.
The fifth vanished after making weekend plans.
When the sixth did exactly the same thing, I knew something was wrong.
Six women could lose interest.
That much was possible.
But six women wouldn’t all disappear the morning after promising another date.
I asked my father whether anything unusual had happened during those evenings.
He looked genuinely confused.
“No. Why?”
“Did you argue with them?”
“Of course not.”
“Did you say anything that could have frightened them?”
His expression tightened.
“What kind of man do you think I am?”
“That is not what I meant.”
He turned toward the sink and began rinsing a mug that was already clean.
I knew I had hurt him.
“I just want to understand,” I said.
“So do I.”
That evening, I called my best friend Rachel and asked her for a favor.
We had known each other since college.
Rachel was painfully honest.
She could charm an entire room, yet she could also spot a lie before most people finished telling it.
If my father was doing something wrong, she would notice.
“Go on one date with him.”
She laughed.
“You’ve got to be kidding.”
“I’m serious.”
Her laughter faded.
“Lola, that is your father.”
“I know.”
“And he knows me.”
“He has only met you a few times.”
“That does not make this less strange.”
I explained everything.
I told her about the six women, the successful dates, and how each one disappeared overnight.
Rachel stayed silent for several moments.
“So you want me to investigate him?”
“I want you to tell me what happens.”
“And what exactly am I supposed to say when he recognizes me?”
“Tell him we met through the app. He might remember your face, but he will not remember your name.”
Rachel groaned.
“This is a terrible idea.”
“Probably.”
“It could ruin my friendship with you.”
“It will not.”
“It could ruin your relationship with your father.”
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