“We don’t know.”
“Did she take her bag?”
“No. Her clothes are here. Her toothbrush. Her sleeping bag.”
My mind caught on the one thing that mattered.
“Her phone?”
There was a pause.
“It’s missing.”
Searching the Lake
I grabbed my keys and drove to the campground.
When I arrived, adults were calling Lucy’s name near the water. Their voices carried across the lake, desperate and useless. Zoe sat beside the tents with red eyes.
I ran straight to her.
“Where is she?”
Zoe shook her head.
“She said she wanted to lie down. I went after her, but she was gone.”
“Did she say anything else?”
“No.”
“Did you see anyone with her?”
“No.”
“You swear?”
Her chin trembled.
“I swear.”
So I believed her.
For weeks, people searched the lake, the road, and the cabins. I searched Lucy’s room after the police had already looked, hating myself for every private thing I touched.
Then I noticed the scratches around my dresser lock.
My stomach dropped.
I opened the drawer.
The folder was gone.
Lucy had known.
Still, even then, I could not let myself believe she had left me to grieve on purpose.
For illustrative purposes only
One Year Later
One year passed.
On the anniversary, someone knocked on my door.
When I opened it, Zoe stood on the porch, pale and worn. She looked older than she should have, as if the year had taken something from her too.
She pulled out a cracked phone.
“Lucy’s?”
She nodded.
My chest tightened so hard I could barely breathe.
“If my daughter is alive, say that first.”
Zoe’s face crumpled.
“Lucy is alive. She’s safe.”
“Where is she?”
“Please,” Zoe said. “She asked me to show you the photo first.”
My grief turned instantly into anger.
“My daughter has been gone for a year. I’m done with secrets.”
Zoe held out the phone.
“Look at the last photo. Lucy wanted you to know the truth about that day. But she’s scared you’ll hate her.”
I unlocked the phone.
The gallery opened.
At first, the photo looked like Lucy walking away from the beach in her gray hoodie.
Zoe pointed.
“Zoom in.”
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