I was staring at my daughter’s vacant bed in her room and my pulse was racing. My gorgeous thirteen-year-old daughter, Amber, had vanished from sight a week prior. She had blonde hair and freckles. As a father, it was the most difficult thing I had ever gone through. Every second without her was agony I was unable to break free from, and every moment seemed to last forever. The days passed slowly, with me holding out hope that she would return to me at the next call or knock on the door.
Amber was not the kind to flee. That’s what all parents say, I know, but it’s true. I felt a strong connection and intimate bond with Amber. She was a happy, well-behaved child who constantly made me proud. It was unthinkable that she would simply walk away without saying anything. My worry intensified, gnawing at my heart as each day went by without any sign of her. I had no doubt that she had suffered a terrible event.
The Sack
Though it felt like a fruitless endeavor, the police played their role. Despite their assurances that they were doing everything within their power, their pitiful shrugs and pitying glances did little to alleviate my suffering. I was completely lost, alone, and desperate.
One evening, I was crying outside in desperation and frustration when I saw a homeless woman going through a dumpster not too far away. My heart stopped seeing what she had thrown over her shoulder. The backpack of Amber! I could identify the unicorn patch she had sewed on herself and knew it was hers.
