I lifted the basket and carried her inside.
Five years earlier, my daughter had vanished at sixteen.
One moment, she was slamming cabinet doors because her father, Paul, had forbidden her from seeing a boy named Andy. The next moment, she was gone—so completely gone that it felt as if the world itself had swallowed her whole.
The police searched. Neighbors helped. Her photograph was taped to grocery store windows, gas stations, and every church bulletin board in town.
Nothing came back.
Not a single real lead. Not one answer.
Paul blamed me at first in private. Then he started doing it in front of others.
“You should have known,” he told me the week after she disappeared.
“I didn’t know she was leaving, Paul.”
“Yeah, you never know anything until it’s too late, Jodi.”
And after that, he said worse things—enough that, eventually, I started believing them.
By the third year, he had moved in with a woman named Amber, leaving me alone in the same silent house, Jennifer’s bedroom door still shut at the end of the hall.
We were still married on paper. I just never had the strength to finish what he had started.
And now… there was a baby in my kitchen.w
