My daughter never returned home after prom—eleven months later, something I accidentally discovered hidden inside my son’s beanbag chair turned my face completely pale.

to drag her home.”

“I need to see my daughter.”

“Then don’t arrive like the reason she left.”

I hated him for saying it.

I loved him for saying it.

I sat with the torn beanbag beside me and the letters around my knees.

“Tell me how not to scare her,” I said.

Liam wiped his face. “Start by not making the first sentence about you.”

“I need to see my daughter.continue reading …