Stomach sinking, Whitney ran around the rest of the apartment, checking all the other rooms.

Empty. Every single one.

Exhaling, she yanked her phone out and pressed on Amelia’s contact information. Voice mail again. She tried the Find My Friends app but her location still wasn’t showing up.

It was like she’d disappeared.

Vanished into thin air.

“Oh, my God. My baby!”

The phone rang. Her pulse spiked.

Natalie again. “Did you find her?”

“No, and I’m starting to worry a little bit.”

“Where are you?” Natalie’s voice was firm, authoritative. Whitney had heard her use that same voice in business meetings.

“Home.”

“Okay. I’m on my way over.”

“All right.” She nodded as if Natalie could see her and then numbly hung up the phone. Silence was thick in the air, wrapping around her neck like two large hands strangling her.

My daughter’s gone. Again.

4

WHEN I TELL YOU what happened, it will be easy to blame me. To say it was all my fault. My doing. But that’s not fair. We all make our own choices, sure. But we don’t live in a bubble. People influence us. Shape us into who we ultimately become. For me, that person was Millie.

I’ve often wondered where I would be now if we’d never met. Would I have made similar mistakes? Hurt as many people? Would it all have turned out differently?

The questions swirl in my mind, day and night.

It’s futile, though. This line of thinking.

I can’t change what happened.

Sometimes I go back to when it started. The day Millie literally crashed into my life. It was the first day at my new high school. I was walking down the hallway, eyes whipping from my schedule to the classroom doors, desperately trying to find my next class in time. I wasn’t paying attention, and neither was she. That’s why we collided.

When I replay this moment in my mind, I imagine walking away then. Keeping my head down. Ignoring her. But that’s not what I did.

Instead, I brushed my hair from my face and looked up at the person I’d walked into. She had dark hair, pale skin, nervous energy.

She was pretty. Really pretty. I wished I could look like her.

Her gaze took in the schedule I held between my fingers, and she asked if I was new.

I said something sarcastic, like, “How can you tell?”

A group of girls walked past. Former friends of Millie’s, as I’d learn later. They glared at her, and I watched her neck swell as she swallowed hard. But she recovered quickly, smiling at me and snatching the schedule from my hands.