” There are losses that rearrange the world. Deaths that change the way you see everything, grief that tears everything down, Pain that transports you to an entirely different universe, even while everyone else thinks nothing has really changed.”

– Quote by Megan Divine.

Prologue

“They found her,” The whisper escapes my lips the moment the cruiser in my driveway comes into view.

Panic spikes and my foot hovers over the gas pedal as I fight a desperate urge to just keep driving. She has been missing for a month.  But I need to know the truth, no matter how much it hurts-even if it destroys me.

I pull into the driveway and slam the car into park.

I sit frozen, unable to breathe.  My white-knuckled fingers are locked around the steering wheel, ignoring my brain’s frantic commands to let go.  Then, a sudden knock on the window breaks the spell.

The officer outside looks genuinely concerned. He pulls unsuccessfully on the handle.” Ms. Alaoma, are you okay? Ma’am, please unlock the door. We need to talk.”

My breath catches. Panic claws at my throat. But then he says the exact words I have begged God to hear every single day. “She is alive.”

I turned to look at him, finally releasing a breath I didn’t realize I was holding.

“Yes, Ms. Alaoma,” he repeats through the glass, his voice softening. “We found her. She is alive. Let me take you to her.”

I hit the unlock button and stumble out of the car. The world tilts. Everything goes dark around the edges, and my knees buckle. He catches me before I hit the asphalt. The dam breaks, and I sob into his uniform as he holds me steady.

“You really found her?”, I whisper, looking up at him, begging him with my eyes to let it be true.

“Yes ma’am. I’ll take you to her now,” he says, ushering me toward the passenger side of his patrol car. “She was admitted to Loyola Hospital this morning.”

The drive takes less than fifteen minutes, but it feels like an eternity.

When I rush into the ICU, my heart shatters. My daughter is unrecognizable-reduced to skin and bones, her fragile body broken and mottled with deep bruises.

The attending physician steps forward, holding a chart filled with horrific details and final prognosis of her condition. He opens his mouth to speak, but I cut him off.

“Please! Give me a minute-let me kiss and hold my daughter.” I demand. My voice is sharp, vibrating with a lethal mix of fury and grief as I take in the horror of what they have done to my child.

I ignore the medical staff and sink to my knees by the bedside.

“Baby, I am here… I love you so much.” I whispered against her brow, my fingers gently caressing her scalp.  It was a rhythm we knew by heart, a comfort I’d give her a thousand times before as she recounted her day or drifted off to sleep. “Who did this to you, my love? Please wake up. Stay with me. You are safe now… Mommy is here.”

My daughter’s current state will forever haunt me: the sharp angles of the collarbones, the pronounced ridges of her spine. I can’t look away from her sunken, shadowed eyes, and translucent skin – nor could I escape the smell of starvation clinging to the air.

“This is more than I can bear.”

“But when I close my eyes, I still see who she was: my vibrant, beautiful girl, so full of warmth and light. My why.  My reason.  My everything.

” It’s not your time,” I whisper, clutching her fingers. “Please don’t leave me.”  

“Ms. Alaoma?”, the doctor says, placing a gentle hand on my shoulder, “Is there anyone we should call? Her father perhaps?”

“She’s all I have left in this world,” I murmur, barely audible even to myself. “There is no one else.”

Gathering what breath I have left, I rise to face him. I do not let go of my daughter’s hand.

“Doctor,” I ask, looking right into his eyes. “Where was my daughter found?”

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