I thought my daughter had disappeared. Every student from her school trip to Italy walked through the airport arrivals doors except her and her best friend. Then their teacher handed me a faded teddy bear, and I knew something had gone terribly wrong.
I grabbed Mrs. Gable by the shoulders. “Where is my daughter?” The question came out louder than I intended, but by then I no longer cared.
Around us, families were hugging their children, collecting luggage, and making plans for late dinners after long flights.
A few feet away, Stan’s mother stood frozen beside her husband, staring at the head teacher with the same desperation I felt.
The little color she had drained further as she reached slowly into her carry-on bag.
At first, I thought she was pulling out paperwork, a passport, a list, something that would explain why Miranda hadn’t walked through those arrival doors.
Instead, she removed a sealed plastic bag with a faded teddy bear inside, and my knees nearly gave out.
Barnaby.
For a second, I couldn’t hear anything around me, not the announcements, not the conversations, not even my own breathing. Just one thought.
Three hours earlier, none of us had been worried.
My daughter had just graduated high school, and after years of exams, applications, and endless discussions about the future, she and her classmates had spent ten days traveling through Italy, Rome, Florence, and Venice.
The trip had been all she talked about for months, and I’d hated the idea of her being so far away.
Miranda was 18, legally an adult, but to me, she was still the little girl who climbed into my bed during thunderstorms, who carried Barnaby everywhere, who lost her father when she was nine years old.
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