Carmen María Montiel - Stolen Identity

Especially mad at me. He filled their heads with hate toward me. He told them it was my fault. I was breaking the family apart, like they did not see what had happened. But they are children and easy to manipulate.

This was on a Sunday. By Monday, she was very rebellious. It was Labor Day, and she said she was going out after dinner. It was nearly 10 p.m. I told her no because it was a school night and it was late.

“But I don’t have school tomorrow,” she said.

“I don’t care. It is a school night and too late. Only prostitutes go out at 10 p.m.”

“Well, I am moving in with Dad. He said he would let me do whatever I want!”

“Please don’t do that.”

“I can do whatever I want, Daddy said.”

She became some other person. She had that look her father got. It felt like the devil. Her eyes were different. I was still very weak from what happened with my husband. I did not have any dignity left and begged her not to leave me. I went on my knees and begged her. But she left anyway, feeling all mythic and powerful.

I knew her father would not watch over her, especially at this difficult stage in adolescence. After all, he had never watched over them. Everything was always “him” first. So much so that once we got out of the car to see a house across the street.

It was just him, our son Juan Diego, and me. We parked in a place where the road was uneven. I was in heels and had to walk carefully. As always, Alejandro did not even care that I could fall. He started walking across the street, not paying any attention to Juan Diego following him. I started yelling at him to pay attention to Juan Diego because I could not run to keep up. Alejandro crossed the street with Juan Diego behind him, and the worst almost happened. A car came and nearly ran over my son. If it was not for the guard in the parking lot, Juan Diego would have not been saved.

It was left for me to always care for my children. I always knew they were my responsibility. I love them so much that they have never been too much for me.

Alejandro was now living in a hotel. There was no space for her. While here in our house, she has her own bedroom and all the space she needed. She was a senior, and we had so much to do: applications for college, the SAT, graduation.

I always had to be on top of her making sure she studied or finished her homework. I texted and called her every day to say “good morning” and “good night.” For weeks she did not reply.

Within two days, we were in court working on the worst temporary orders a woman can have with the most expensive lawyers in town. I am convinced Alejandro had bought them off.

Alejandro walked into court saying: “Alexandra does not want anything to do with her mother. She does not want to see her again. Therefore, I am keeping her.”

The papers were drawn up, and Alexandra was his to keep. I did not even have the right to visit with her. She was not answering my calls or my texts, but I kept trying every day in the morning and right before bed. My house was gloom!!!

Alexandra’s sister and brother missed her a lot. I missed her a lot. I missed my first baby! Kamee hardly ever saw her at school. They are on different floors, and Juan Diego is in another building.

On a flight back from Colorado, I wrote her. I poured my heart out. After two days, I got the worst answer ever. It was so hurtful and made no sense. It did not even look like her writing. She writes beautifully, but this was poorly written. It looked more like something Alejandro would write in his five-year-old style.

Within a few weeks, she started answering my texts. She was sick. Ah!!! A sick girl needs her mummy. Alejandro left for work and did not give her medicine or food. There she was in a hotel one-bedroom apartment alone. I offered to take her chicken soup, but she refused. Of course, her father had forbidden her to let me in into his hotel room. Anyway, the important thing was… she was talking to me.

From there on she sent me her paintings, via text… WOW, what incredible pieces they were. She started to get out of the car when she came to drop off or pick up her brother and sister. I enjoyed seeing her. But I noticed how she was deteriorating. She was not taking care of herself. She looked dirty with greasy hair. It looked like she was losing her beautiful hair. She did have such a beautiful mane. But she was volatile. She could be in a good mood one minute and suddenly be mad. It was so hard to deal with her, to talk to her. She was like her dad at times. She would walk in happy saying hello to all, be sweet to my mother, and suddenly in a split second, get mad and walk out. She had no respect for anything, just like her father. She was becoming him!

I checked her Twitter and Facebook accounts. She was not making much use of Facebook, but doing a lot on Twitter. And that is where I started to see that something was wrong. She was tweeting about marijuana and using words I did not know. With the help of my sister, we went online and searched for these words. They were all drug related. Words that of course I did not know. I saved all of the tweets and sent them to my family lawyer. I told them I needed to get my daughter back. Something was terribly wrong. Little did I know.

On Friday, October 18, 2013, she called and said she was sick. She had nausea and was vomiting. I got worried. I thought she was pregnant. She knew where I was coming from and said, “ ¡Mami! I am not pregnant.” Of course, she knew what was wrong with her.

On Sunday, two days later, she came home to drop off Kamee and Juan Diego. She was so dirty. It hurt me to see her like that. She stayed for a short time and then left.

Then came Monday. The school called me at around 2 p.m., asking about her whereabouts. I said she should be at school, but they informed me she was not. I told the school, “I don’t know if you know, but she is not living with me; she is with her father.”

They said, “Yes, we know, but her father is not answering. The problem is she has missed so many days at school that it is getting into the danger zone. She can lose the year.”

I hung up, and called and texted her. She did not answer. Finally, she did answer and asked, “ Mami , what happened?” in a sleepy voice.

“Where are you?”

“Home.”

“Home??? Aren’t you supposed to be at school?”

“I am sick.”

“Sick again? You were sick last Friday.”

“Well, I am sick.”

“Why didn’t your father call the school and let them know you were sick?”

“I guess he did not realize I was still here.”

“What? He does not know if you are home or not?”

“Come on, Mami! ”

We finished the conversation and hung up. Frustrated and desperate, I called my lawyer and explained what the school had just told me. My lawyer said they were going to subpoena her attendance records. So, the wheels were in motion to get my daughter back.

I knew my daughter was not doing well. But at the same time, I did not want to force her to come back. I wanted for her to come back willingly.

Tuesday was a quiet day. I did not hear from her or the school. Like they say with children, silence is not good, right? Or is it no news is good news?

On Wednesday, Alexandra called me at around 3 p.m. “Mommmm” She has this way of saying Mami when she needs me. That melts my heart still.

“ ¡Hola, mi amor! ” (Hey, Baby!)

“Mommmmm, I have to tell you something. You know they take the dogs to school…”

The dogs? I know what that means, and it is trouble. The school randomly and unannounced brought in drug dogs to search through the school and student cars. I interrupted her:

“The dogs? You got expelled, Alexandra?”