Page 4 of Stolen Dreams

“Who wants panca—” The word dies on my tongue as I enter an empty, still tidy living room. “Bri? Tucker?”

No response. No sound. Nothing.

“Fuck!”

I race back into the bedroom, grab my phone off the charger, and open my text history with Brianna. Tapping on her picture, I glance down to see her location, but there’s no map. My pulse whooshes in my ears as I scroll down, thinking maybe my phone updated and the map moved.

But there is nothing.

Closing the contact info, I type out a message and hit send.

Did you take T out for breakfast without me? lol

Red flag one: I can’t see Brianna’s location.

Red flag two: the text bubble is green instead of blue.

Red flag three: there’s no indication the message has been delivered like usual.

This is not happening.

I tap on her profile picture again, tap the phone icon, and bounce in place as it rings in my ear. The call connects.

“We’re sorry, the person you are trying to reach is no longer reachable at this number. Please try again later.”

No, no, no.

“Where the fuck are you, Bri?” I all but yell as I storm to the bedroom and open the blinds.

I dash to the closet, my eyes immediately dropping to the floor. Tucker’s three pairs of shoes are missing. The small supply of diapers we keep while potty training him is gone. My gaze drifts up to the hangers, several of Brianna’s empty.

How the hell did I not hear her emptying the closet?

My limbs start to shake. My vision blurs. White noise fills my ears as I gasp for air that won’t seem to come.

I bolt for the dresser and open the drawers reserved for Tucker. Empty.

Pressing the heal of my palm to the center of my chest, a sob rips from my throat. Sharp pain ricochets through my legs as my knees smack the floor.

“What d-did you do, Bri?”

Hands trembling, I tap the phone icon, dial the number no one ever wants to call and lift the phone to my ear.

“9-1-1, this is a recorded line. Please state your emergency.”

I inhale a shaky breath as tears roll down my cheeks. “My son has been taken.”

ONE

KAYA

Present

The endof the school year is always the hardest yet most rewarding time. Farewell hugs go on for days. So do the teary eyes and choked-up words. But when the kids share their gratitude at having me in their lives, incomparable joy fills my soul.

Those small sparks of appreciation remind me of why I chose this career path. To help guide children when they feel lost or out of place. To listen to their happiness and heartache, especially when they feel no one else cares. To give them a voice when they often feel silenced.

Constantly bombarded with expectations while trying to figure out who you are, it’s hard to be a kid. Add in the ever-changing influences online, peer pressure, trends, and feeling the need to grow up years ahead of your time, it’s a wonder why more kids haven’t totally lost it yet.

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