Sundays used to be my favorite—pancakes, loud music, Nana singing in the kitchen. Then ten years ago, she vanished. No clues. No goodbye. Everyone told me to move on. I never did.
Last Sunday at a flea market, I found her gold graduation bracelet—the one engraved, “For Nana, from Mom and Dad.” The vendor said a tall, slim young woman with big curly hair sold it that morning. That was my daughter.
I bought it. My husband, Felix, got angry, said I was chasing ghosts.
The next morning, police filled our yard. The bracelet matched evidence from Nana’s case. The vendor was under watch for stolen goods. Then an officer asked Felix how he knew the bracelet had ever left the house.
A tip had claimed Nana came home the night she disappeared.
Under pressure, Felix confessed: she had come home. She’d discovered he was having an affair and moving money. She planned to tell me. He threatened her, saying I’d be in danger if she did. Afraid, she ran.
He was arrested for fraud and obstruction.
For ten years, I thought my daughter was taken. The truth was buried in my own home. Now I know: she didn’t vanish without a reason.
And wherever she is, she doesn’t have to run anymore.