Chapter 1 - WHERE IS YOUR DAUGHTER?
My sister called me at 2:17 on a Tuesday afternoon.
I remember the exact time because I was standing beneath a conference-room clock, listening to a department director explain why our quarterly staffing numbers were somehow both unacceptable and nobody’s responsibility.
My phone buzzed.
NATALIE.
I almost silenced it.
Then she called again.
My sister never called twice unless something was wrong or she wanted money.
I stepped into the hallway.
“What?”
Her breathing came fast.
“Megan, is Sophie with you?”
Everything inside me stopped.
“What?”
“Is Sophie with you?”
“No.”
My voice came out too loud.
Two people at the copier turned.
“She’s with Mom.”
Silence.
I pressed the phone tighter against my ear.
“Natalie.”
“I know.”
“What do you mean you know?”
“We can’t find her.”
The hallway tilted.
“What do you mean you can’t find her?”
“She left.”
My knees went weak.
“Sophie is eight.”
“I know.”
“What do you mean she left?”
Natalie started talking so quickly I could barely follow.
Mom had laundry.
Sophie had been told to help.
Connor and Madison were watching television.
Sophie complained the baskets were too heavy.
Mom told her everybody contributed.
Connor called her a baby.
Madison called her a freeloader.
Sophie cried.
Mom got angry.
Then my mother pointed toward the door and told my daughter:
“Lazy children don’t deserve shelter.”
I grabbed the wall.
“What happened next?”
“She went outside.”
“You let her?”
“I thought she was staying on the porch.”
“Where is Mom?”
“She’s here.”
“Put her on.”
“Megan—”
“PUT HER ON.”
A rustle.
Then Linda Foster’s voice.
I had heard my mother angry, tired, grieving, drunk once at my father’s funeral, and delighted when she won a church raffle.
I had never heard her sound less concerned about a missing child.
“Megan, calm down.”
My vision went red.
“Where is Sophie?”
“She’s making a point.”
“She is eight.”
“She was at the end of the driveway.”
“When?”
“Earlier.”
“How much earlier?”
My mother hesitated.
“How much earlier?”
“Maybe noon.”
It was after two.
I could not feel my fingers.
“You threw my eight-year-old daughter outside and waited two hours before calling me?”
“I did not throw her outside.”
“What did you do?”
“She refused to help.”
“Linda.”
I almost never called her by her first name.
That frightened even me.
“What did you do?”
“She needed to cool off.”
“Did you lock her out?”
“No.”
“Did you tell her she couldn’t come back?”
“I told her she could return when she was ready to behave.”
I closed my eyes.
“Call 911.”
“Megan.”
“NOW.”
“This does not require police.”
“My daughter is missing.”
“She’s probably hiding.”
“Search every room. Yard. Shed. Street. Call 911. Then separate Connor and Madison.”
“What?”
“Do not let those children coordinate their answers.”
Natalie interrupted.
“Megan—”
“Did you hear me?”
“Yes.”
“I’m leaving work.”
I ended the call.
Then dropped my keys.
Twice.
My hands would not close around them.
My supervisor, Angela, stepped out of the conference room.
“Megan?”
“My daughter’s missing.”
Nothing else mattered.
She took my shoulders.
“Go.”
I ran.
Every red light on the drive toward my mother’s house felt criminal.
I called Sophie’s tablet.
No answer.
Her watch.
Straight to voicemail.
My mother’s house was twenty-two minutes from the hospital administration building where I worked.
I made it in seventeen.
Two police cars were outside.
Linda stood on the porch with her arms folded.
Not crying.
Not searching.
I slammed my door.
“Where is she?”
Mom frowned.
“You need to lower your voice.”
I almost laughed.
“Where is my child?”
An officer approached.
“Ms. Foster?”
“Yes.”
“Officer Grant. We’ve started checking surrounding streets. We need an updated photograph.”
I shoved my phone toward him.
Sophie last weekend.
Brown ponytail.
Missing front tooth.
Purple T-shirt.
Eight years old and smaller than everybody thought.
Behind him, Natalie stood in the doorway.
Connor and Madison were on the couch.
Neither looked at me.
“What direction?” I demanded.
Connor’s head lifted.
“Mom said you already told police.”
“I’m asking you.”
Mom said:
“Don’t interrogate him.”
I turned.
“Stop.”
She actually stopped.
Connor looked toward the floor.
“She went to the corner.”
“Then?”
“I don’t know.”
Madison whispered:
“She turned where the gas station is.”
My heart pounded.
“Which gas station?”
“The one by the highway.”
I ran back to my car.
Mom followed.
“Megan, she’ll come back when she gets scared enough.”
I turned so sharply she stepped backward.
“She is already scared.”
For the first time, something moved across her face.
Not fear.
Shame.
I drove the route twice.
Gas station.
Strip mall.
Behind the pharmacy.
Trash enclosure.
Bus stop.
I shouted Sophie’s name until my throat burned.
Nothing.
Then my phone rang.
Unknown number.
I answered without breathing.
“Hello?”
“Is this Megan Foster?”
“Yes.”
“My name’s Eric. I work at the Speedway on County Road Seven. I’ve got a little girl here who says you’re her mom.”
My entire body folded over the steering wheel.
“Is she safe?”
“Yes. She’s safe.”
I started crying.
“She walked in crying maybe fifteen minutes ago. She knew your number.”
“Tell her I’m coming.”
“She keeps asking if you’re angry.”
My heart broke.
“Tell her no.”
I put the car in drive.
“Tell her I’m not angry. Tell her she did exactly the right thing.”
Five minutes later, I ran through the gas station doors.
Sophie was sitting behind the counter in the employee area with a bottle of water between both hands.
She saw me.
“Mommy!”
She ran.
I dropped to my knees.
Her arms locked around my neck.
“I’m sorry.”
“No.”
“I left.”
“You found a safe adult.”
“Grandma said—”
“I don’t care what Grandma said.”
I held her face.
“You did exactly right.”
Her cheeks were cold.
Tears had dried in streaks.
No obvious injuries.
Thank God.
“Am I allowed home?”
I stopped.
“What?”
“Can I come home?”
“Of course.”
She stared at me.
“Why would you ask that?”
The door opened behind us.
Natalie stepped inside with Connor and Madison.
Sophie’s eyes moved past me.
Then returned.
“Grandma said you were tired of my attitude.”
My stomach dropped.
“She said you agreed I had to earn my shelter.”
“That is a lie.”
Sophie tightened her arms around me.
Then asked the question that made my sister freeze in the doorway.
“Then why did Aunt Natalie tell Grandma I needed to earn my place?”
I looked up.
May you like
Natalie’s face lost every bit of color.
And suddenly I knew this had started long before that afternoon.
