“WHERE DID SHE GO?”
Kevin barely reacted.
“I told you. I don’t know.”
That night, I sat on Sarah’s bed and called her repeatedly.
Voicemail.
Again.
Voicemail.
Again.
Nothing.
I thought about leaving Kevin.
I even packed a bag.
Then reality settled over me.
The mortgage was in his name.
He controlled our primary checking account.
My paycheck barely covered groceries, much less rent and a deposit somewhere else.
And one thought kept me in that house.
What if Sarah came back?
What if she returned and found me gone?
So I stayed.
God help me, I stayed.
But I searched.
I contacted every friend whose name I could remember.
I called hospitals.
Shelters.
Former classmates.
I filed a missing-person report.
Detective Alvarez listened patiently.
“She’s eighteen, ma’am. Legally, she’s an adult. If she doesn’t want to be located, our options are limited.”
“She wouldn’t disappear without telling me.”
“I understand.”
“No, you don’t.”
My voice broke.
“She’s my only child.”
He promised to keep the report open.
For three weeks, Sarah’s phone continued ringing.
Then one afternoon, it stopped.
