When I was a little girl, my mother taught me a quiet trick—something that felt almost magical at the time. She told me that if I was ever in trouble and couldn’t speak freely, I could use a secret “code word.” One harmless word, slipped into an ordinary conversation, would mean I need help. Please come get me.
It was our silent lifeline.
Years later, when I became a parent myself, I passed that lesson on to my daughter, Lily. I imagined she’d use it to escape awkward sleepovers, uncomfortable birthday parties, or situations where she just wanted to come home without explaining why. I never believed she’d need it for anything serious.
And certainly not so soon.
Yesterday began like any other quiet morning. I was finishing my coffee, scrolling absentmindedly through emails, when my phone rang. It was my ex-husband, Mark. We’d managed to stay civil since the divorce—for Lily’s sake—but the air between us was always tight.
“Hey, Jenna,” he said. His voice sounded hesitant, unsure. “Lily wants to talk to you. She’s been asking since earlier.”
That alone made my stomach tighten. Lily loved her weekends with her dad. She rarely called me while she was there.
“Of course,” I said, keeping my voice light. “Put her on.”
“Hi, Mom!” Lily chirped.
Her voice was cheerful—too cheerful. It had that careful brightness children use when they know someone is listening.
“Hey, sweetheart,” I said gently. “How’s your weekend going? Having fun?”
“Yeah! We went to the park yesterday,” she said quickly. “And I drew a picture this morning. I drew a dog, and a tree, and… I really wish I had a blueberry marker so I could make blueberries.”
Everything inside me stopped.
Blueberries.
That was our word.
The code word that meant I don’t feel safe. Please come get me right now.
My heart slammed against my ribs, but I forced myself to stay calm. If she was using it, that meant someone might be listening.
“That sounds lovely, honey,” I said evenly. “I’ll come pick you up, okay? Let’s get ready for that thing tomorrow.”
“Okay,” she said softly. Relief crept into her voice.
“Is there anything else you want to tell me?”
“Nope,” she replied. “That’s all.”
“I love you.”
“Love you too, Mom.”
The moment the call ended, I grabbed my keys and left.
When I arrived at Mark’s place, I knocked—and a woman I didn’t recognize opened the door. She wore a tight smile that didn’t reach her eyes.
“Yes?” she asked.
“I’m here for Lily,” I said. “Is Mark home?”
“He stepped out for errands,” she replied coolly. “I’m Vanessa—Mark’s girlfriend.”
My pulse jumped. Girlfriend? Mark hadn’t mentioned anyone living with him. But I didn’t argue.
“I just remembered Lily has an early appointment tomorrow,” I said smoothly. “I need to take her home.”
Vanessa studied me for a moment, arms crossed, clearly suspicious. Then she stepped aside. “She’s inside.”
Lily was curled up on the couch, clutching her coloring book. When she looked up and saw me, her face changed instantly—relief washing over her like a wave.
“Ready to go, sweetheart?” I asked.
She nodded and walked straight to me without a word, gripping her book as if it were the only solid thing in the room.
Once we were in the car and the doors were locked, I turned to her. “Are you okay, baby?”
She nodded.
Then she broke.
Tears poured down her face as she whispered, “Vanessa is mean. She says I’m annoying when Daddy’s gone. She tells me not to talk. She makes me stay in my room.”
My hands tightened around the steering wheel.
“She said Daddy won’t believe me,” Lily continued. “She said I should keep quiet or I’d be in trouble.”
I pulled over, turned toward her, and took her hands in mine. “You did exactly the right thing,” I said firmly. “I’m so proud of you. You never did anything wrong.”
That night, after Lily fell asleep clutching her stuffed elephant, I called Mark.
“Yes,” I said when he answered. “I took Lily. And I’ll do it again if I have to. She used our code word today.”
Silence.
“Code word?” he asked.
“The word I taught her in case she ever felt unsafe,” I said. “She used it because Vanessa has been emotionally abusive to her.”
“That… I didn’t know,” he muttered.
“She was terrified,” I said. “And you need to understand—this isn’t about you or me. It’s about Lily.”
“I’ll handle it,” he said quietly. “I promise.”
After we hung up, I sat in the dark, shaken but grateful.
Grateful that Lily remembered the word.
Grateful that I had taught it to her.
That night, I decided she was getting a phone. I’d worried about screens before, about too much access, too much noise. But now I understood—connection can be protection.
If you’re a parent, guardian, or someone who loves a child, please hear this: give them a code word.
Make it unique.
Make it memorable.
Practice it together.
It’s such a small thing.
But one ordinary word—blueberries—gave my daughter a voice when she couldn’t speak freely.
And that made all the difference.