our daughter.
My phone was still pressed to my ear.
“You told me she was gone,” I whispered.
“Melissa, I can explain.”
“You let me believe she had been kidnapped.”
“Please come home.”
“You watched me cry for her every night for a year.”
“I did this for Cynthia.”
I nearly screamed.
“For her?”
“You have to let me explain why.”
I stared at the drawing.
“Where is my daughter?”
“Come home and we’ll talk. I’ll take you to her. I swear.”
“No. Tell me where she is now.”
“Melissa,
