***
For weeks I chased ghosts.
I contacted every friend Sarah had ever mentioned. I called shelters two states over and hospitals.
I filed a missing persons report with Detective Alvarez, who was kind and honest and didn’t lie to me about the odds.
“She’s an adult, ma’am. If she doesn’t want to be found, there’s only so much we can do.”
“She wouldn’t do this. Not without telling me.”
“I hear you. I’ll keep the file open.”
I filed a missing persons report.
My daughter’s phone went silent in the third week after hundreds of unanswered calls. That was the part that finished something inside me.
It was as if my only child had fallen off the face of the earth.
***
One evening, I made myself ask.
“Kevin. The account my dad left for Sarah’s college. Is it still there?”
My husband didn’t look up or tense. He didn’t do anything a guilty man does.
That finished something inside me.
“It’s fine, Maur. I moved it into a Certificate of Deposit (CD) a few months back.”
“You moved it?”
“For safekeeping. Sarah’s 18, Maureen. Your father wouldn’t have wanted her burning through it on some boyfriend. I put it under my name so it’s protected until she’s ready.”
“Under your name?”
“Paperwork’s in the briefcase. I’ll show you in the morning.”
“I moved it.”
He did, too. A printed statement, letterhead I half recognized, and a balance that looked about right from what I remembered.
“See? Same money. Better shelter.”
“Okay,” I said.
I hated that I said “okay.” I said it anyway because I was so tired I could barely see the numbers.
***
Lola caught me crying in the break room a week later.
