“I didn’t,” I say out loud to the empty car. My voice cracks. “I didn’t. I never did.”
I searched. I broke myself searching. I died and kept going.
I grip the wheel harder.
What if she’s not okay? What if this is just another mistake? Another cruel coincidence? Another little girl with the wrong eyes and the wrong smile and the wrong?—
My chest seizes. I glance at the photo again. It’s her. Itisher. I would know her anywhere.
The house numbers blur as I get closer.
My heart is trying to escape my ribs. I don’t know what I’m going to do when I see her.
Do I run?
Do I fall?
Do I touch her?
Do I wait for permission?
Do I say her name?
What if she doesn’t answer?
God.
What if she calls someone else “Dad”? The thought nearly makes me pull over. I force myself to breathe.
In. Out.
In. Out.
You can fall apart later. You can die later. You can break later. Get there. Just get there.
I turn onto the long driveway attached to a farmhouse.
This is it.
My pulse is in my ears.
My vision sharpens and narrows, and everything feels unreal, like I’m underwater or dreaming or about to wake up screaming.
Police cars. Two of them. Parked outside the house.
My heart leaps into my throat. Hope detonates in my chest so violently, it hurts.
They’re here. They found her.
She’s here.
I barely remember stopping the car. Barely remember getting out. My legs feel like they might give.
I look at the house. The windows are dark. The porch is empty. The door is closed. Locked. No movement. No sound.
No little girl.
No Ivy.
