I did not ask how anyone could have allowed this to happen.
I simply held my child.
The woman beside Melissa introduced herself as Dr. Elaine Foster, a rehabilitation psychologist.
She suggested we move to a private family room.
Melissa sat across from me on a sofa, twisting a tissue between her fingers.
I studied every part of her face.
The small line above her eyebrow from falling off a bicycle when she was nine.
The faint dimple on her left cheek.
Even the habit of rubbing her thumb against the side of her index finger when she was anxious.
No photograph could have prepared me for seeing those ordinary details again.
“I don’t understand,” I finally said.
Melissa looked toward Dr. Foster.
The doctor answered gently.
“There are still parts we’re trying to understand too.”
“Seven years?”
“Yes.”
“How does a person disappear for seven years?”
Melissa lowered her eyes.
