I remind myself of that while entering the ballroom-sized foyer of my parents’ palatial home. Elegantly dressed guestsmingle and chat as they make their way into the main room, and laughter and clinking glasses fill the air.
This annual event raises money for missing women and the fight against the trafficking industry. It is a cause that hits close to home for me, and I struggle to breathe when I realize how many other families are facing the same level of heartache.
Sensing my struggle, Grayson joins me by the door to the room where the gala is being held. His presence is a comforting anchor in the sea of emotions swirling inside me. I struggle every time I come back here. But it is harder this time around because I’ve not told anyone that I’m pregnant.
Despite my age and maturity, my mother won’t take the news well.
Although Grayson is here as my support person, he’s also on the job as a federal agent. He keeps a close eye on proceedings, ensuring the safety of those in attendance while also scrutinizing their reason for being here.
As hard as it is to admit this, not everyone in this room is a saint. More often than not, criminals infiltrate charity organizations like this with the intention of hiding their wolfish insides with a sheep’s hide.
As Grayson and I make our way through the crowd, both socializing and analyzing, I feel the eyes of many guests on me. My baby bump is impossible to hide, and although they try to conceal it, I can see the shock and curiosity in their expressions.
It reminds me of the way Jordan looked at me in the baby store. However, they don’t suspect that I can’t afford to have a child at this stage in my life. They’re merely perplexed as to why I waited until now.
Mercifully, Grayson plays the role of doting father-to-be perfectly. With his arm around my waist, and his smile warm and reassuring, their gawks shift from curious to envious in less than a nanosecond. Some even go green with envy.
Forty minutes later, we find our table near the front of the room, mere steps from the stage, which will allow us to conduct in-depth surveillance of the room.
“Thank you,” I whisper to Grayson when he pulls out my chair for me. We’re seated at a table with other guest speakers. I’ve met most of them before, but two are new.
My hand shakes when I pull out the speech I jotted down during our long commute. I have to write down what I plan to say, or nothing but air bubbles will come out of my mouth.
The pain of my sister’s kidnapping is still raw, as if it only happened yesterday, and I struggle to share how much she means to me when surrounded by strangers. But I have to do this. This is for her, Kendall, and for all the other missing women who no longer have a voice.
The millions of dollars tonight’s event will raise will help so many women and their families who have been through or are going through this horrifying and growing pandemic.
As the evening progresses, the tension bubbling in my stomach grows. The time for my speech is drawing near, and the reminder deepens my dread. My eyes meet Grayson’s gaze, and he gives my hand a reassuring squeeze under the table, even with someone across the room demanding most of his focus.
Finally, the event I am dreading arrives. The host of the gala introduces me, and I stand on shaky legs.
As I approach the podium, the room falls into silence. You could hear a pin drop.
With a large microphone and teleprompter hiding half my face, I scan the faces of the guests while taking a deep breath, needing it to find the strength to speak.
“Good evening,” I begin, my voice trembling slightly. “Thank you all for being here tonight. Your support means the world to my family and me, and to all the families who are missing their mothers, sisters, aunts, and nieces.”
I pause, scanning the room with the eyes of both a victim’s family member and an agent. I’m seeking any signs of smugness, deceit, or nervousness. Even a wayward face scratch can give away someone’s true intentions.
When nothing obvious stands out, I continue. “This cause is very personal to me. My sister, Kendall, was kidnapped thirteen years ago. Not a day goes by that I don’t think about her.”
Several women wipe away tears, yet one standing at the rear suppresses a grin behind her freshly topped glass of chardonnay.
While taking a mental note of her height, age, and features, I say, “The pain of Kendall’s absence is something I wouldn’t wish on anyone. It tore a hole in my family, and that hole will never be filled until Kendall is home and safe.” Sympathy stirs in the eyes of the guests, and it gives me the strength to continue. “But we will never achieve that without you.” I peer down the camera lens as Grayson moves for the lady at the back of the group, his hunch as potent as mine. “To the people who took my sister, I have one message…” This is where I’d usually appeal to their subconscious, to the heart they may have grown between Kendall’s abduction and now, but I try something different today. Hormones are making me either courageous or stupid. Fingers crossed it is the former. “I’m going to find you, and when I do, I won’t stop until you experience the same hurt, pain, and anguish you forced onto my family. I won’t solely keep my focus on you, though. I will make sure your family suffers the same pain my family has?—”
The microphone is ripped away before I can finalize my threat, and I am ushered off stage by a big, burly bouncer who has no clue I’m more deadly than my pregnant state announces.
A handful of guests applaud my stance, though not everyone is so supportive. My parents glare at me, their expressions a mix of shock and condemnation.
Their disapproval grows when their eyes lower to my baby bump.
“Macy.” My mother’s voice is cold and distant, even with her arms spread like she’s welcoming me home with open arms. “What are you doing here?”
I stare at her in bewilderment. “I’m here to support the cause as I have every event since Kendall’s abduction, like almost everyone else in this room.”
My father’s eyes narrow into thin slits, his expression hard. “You shouldn’t be here in your condition. It’s inappropriate. If I had known you were...that… I wouldn’t have accepted your offer to be a guest speaker.”
Anger rises inside me, but I force myself to stay calm. “I have every right to be here.” It isn’t a mission I win when I shout, “This is important to me.” My words are loud and ruckus-inspiring, hinting at the fury flooding my veins.
