I handed her the emergency pad I always keep on me, and she hurried to the restroom.
A few minutes later, a flight attendant approached and said gently, “Sir, your daughter… she’s asking for you.”
My heart dropped. I unbuckled quickly and made my way to the back of the plane. The attendant gestured toward the lavatory, and I knocked softly.
“It’s me, sweetheart.”
“Dad… I think I bled through my pants,” her voice trembled behind the door. “It’s really bad. I don’t want to come out.”
She sounded like she was holding back tears. It broke me. She’s only thirteen, and this was just her second period—of course it had to happen on a crowded plane to Milwaukee, with no change of clothes.
I quietly explained the situation to the flight attendant—her name tag read Soraya. Without hesitation, she nodded and disappeared. A moment later, she returned with a crew sweatshirt and whispered, “She can wrap this around her waist.”
I slipped it under the bathroom door.
She opened it just a crack to take it, her eyes red and her cheeks burning with embarrassment. A few minutes later, she came out, sweatshirt tied around her hips.
“I ruined my jeans,” she murmured.
“No, sweetie,” I told her. “You just took another step into growing up.” I put an arm around her, and she leaned into my side.
Soraya gave her a warm smile and discreetly handed her a small pouch. “For later,” she said. It had pads, wipes, and even a little chocolate bar inside.
Back in our seats, my daughter—Tallis—rested her head on my shoulder.
“Thanks, Dad.”
We didn’t talk much the rest of the flight, but she held my hand the entire time.
The next morning, as we got ready for my cousin’s wedding, Tallis seemed quiet. She kept tugging at her dress and avoiding the mirror.
“Want to talk about it?” I asked gently.
“I just feel… gross. What if I leak again? What if someone notices?”
I knelt in front of her and looked into her eyes.
“You’re not gross. You’re human. And I promise, no one’s looking for leaks—they’re all just trying to keep their own Spanx from rolling down and their mascara from running.”
That got a tiny smile out of her.
At the wedding, everything was going smoothly—until one of the teenage cousins, Esmé, walked over with a smug look.
“You brought your daughter to a real wedding? Isn’t she, like, a baby?”
Tallis stiffened beside me. Esmé was also thirteen, but she clearly had an attitude and a phone full of influencer advice.
Before I could respond, Tallis beat me to it.
“I’m not a baby,” she said calmly. “I’m just not insecure enough to fake being an adult.”
Esmé blinked, caught off guard.