My four-year-old daughter went missing from kindergarten, and no one ever found her. Twenty-one years later, on the day she was born, I received a letter that opened with the words: “Dear Mom, you don’t know what really happened.”
Twenty-one years after my daughter vanished from a kindergarten playground, I told myself I had learned how to live with the absence. The room she used to sleep in stayed untouched—lavender walls, little shoes by the door, a trace of strawberry shampoo that never quite faded. I didn’t have the heart to change anything. Catherine…
