Tonight, I watched my daughter step out of her boyfriend’s car. She smiled, waved, and turned toward the house. He didn’t wait. No pause. No glance in the rearview mirror. Just drove off like she was a pit stop on his way to somewhere more important.
I stood behind the curtain, heart heavy with something I couldn’t quite name. Maybe disappointment. Maybe fear. Maybe just the ache of watching a moment that felt wrong in all the quiet ways.
Where I come from, you wait. You watch. You make sure they’re inside, safe, before you drive away. That was the rule. Not because it was written down, but because it meant something. It meant respect. Care. Presence. It meant you weren’t just dropping someone off—you were showing up for them, even in the small moments.
I don’t know this boy well. Maybe he’s kind. Maybe he’s thoughtful in other ways. But tonight, he missed a chance to show it. And my daughter—bright, strong, full of grace—deserves someone who sees her all the way to the door. Someone who understands that love isn’t just grand gestures. It’s the pause. The wait. The quiet proof that you care enough to stay until she’s safe.
I’m not trying to judge. I’m just remembering. Remembering how we used to walk each other home. How we’d sit in the car until the porch light flicked on. How we’d wave back, even if the night was cold and the engine was running. It wasn’t about rules—it was about heart.
Maybe I’m old school. Maybe the world moves faster now. But I still believe in the kind of love that lingers. That watches. That waits.
Because when you love someone, you don’t just drive off.
