My mother-in-law was a vindictive, wealthy woman who had vanished a year ago after a scorched-earth legal battle. I tried to tell myself it was just a child’s projection, a way to channel her grief into anger toward me.
I picked up David’s picture from the counter.
“What is happening to our daughter, David?”
***
The answer came the next morning in the form of a phone call from the school.
“Sarah?” Mrs. Bennett’s voice was hushed.
“I’m calling because Emilia was caught in the cafeteria again. She was stuffing entire bags of leftover rolls and meat into her backpack.
She told the lunch lady she hadn’t eaten in three days.”
My stomach dropped.
The dread I had felt the night before turned into a cold, hard knot of terror.
I knew then that I couldn’t wait any longer. I had to follow the breadcrumbs.
Literally.
I parked my car two blocks from the school that afternoon.
When the bell rang, I didn’t see a grieving child. I saw a girl on a mission, clutching a heavy plastic bag, heading straight for the dark, forbidden line of the woods behind the playground.
At that moment, I didn’t realize: I wasn’t just following my daughter.
I was walking into a trap I didn’t even know had been set.
The woods behind the school were a skeletal maze of gray trunks and damp, rotting leaves.
I stayed far back.
