Page 127 of Finders Keepers

Every space I check amplifies my terror.

“Has anyone seen a little girl? Blonde hair, pink shirt? She’s only five!” I’m practically screaming now, my hands shaking so badly I can barely push chairs aside as I run to check the bathroom, throwing open the door. “Sophie! Baby, are you in here?”

The other customers are starting to look concerned, some standing to help search. The staff comes out from behind the counter, the teen boy’s face etched with worry as he starts checking behind the service area.

“The door!” someone calls out, pointing toward the entrance. “Did anyone see the door open? Did anyone go out?”

My phone is in my hand before I realize I’ve grabbed it, dialing 911 frantically, missing the numbers twice before getting it right. My baby, my Sophie, where is my baby?

I run outside into the afternoon sun, scanning the road in both directions. “Sophie!” I scream, my voice cracking with desperation. Pedestrians window shopping swivel their heads in my direction, but I don’t care how hysterical I sound.

“911, what’s your emergency?” The operator’s calm voice feels like a mockery of the panic consuming me.

“My daughter,” I choke out, my heart hammering against my ribs. “She’s gone. She was just here at the table, I only turned away for a minute. She’s five years old, blonde hair in two braids, wearing jeans and pink horse shirt and—” My voice breaks as a horrible thought crashes through me like a tidal wave. “Oh God. Matt. It has to be Matt.”

The operator is saying something about sending officers immediately, asking for more details on my location, but my mind is spinning so fast I can barely focus. My body is shaking as I give the ice cream shop’s address and cross streets. I answer her remaining questions in a daze and hang up. Black spots dance at the edges of my vision as panic closes my throat, I feel like I’m about to hyperventilate or pass out right in the middle of the street, I can’t breathe.

With trembling fingers, I hit Gavin’s number on speed dial, praying he’ll answer quickly.

“Hey beautiful,” his warm voice answers on the second ring.

“Gavin,” I sob, the tears spilling over. “Sophie’s gone. She’s gone. We’re at the ice cream shop and I just turned away for a minute to order you a smoothie and now she’s gone! I think Matt took her—” My words tumble out in a desperate rush.

“I’m on my way,” he cuts me off, his voice sharp with urgency. I hear keys jangling, a door slamming, he says something to the receptionist, but I can’t make out the exact words through the roaring in my ears. “Stay there. I’m only a few minutes away. Are the police coming?”

“Yes,” I whisper, scanning the street again, hoping desperately to see my little girl. “Gavin, what if—”

“We’ll find her.” I hear his truck engine roar to life. “Keep talking to me, Bailey. I’m almost there.”

I go back into the ice cream shop and sink into the chair where just minutes ago Sophie and I were playing Guess Who? My whole world has disappeared in the blink of an eye, and all I can do is stare at the empty seat across from me, praying this is just a nightmare I’ll wake up from.

My hands won’t stop shaking as I clutch my phone tighter, Gavin’s steady voice on the other end of the line the only thing keeping me from completely falling apart. The ice cream shop has erupted into chaos, employees and customers searching every corner, calling Sophie’s name. But I know. I know in my gut she’s not here anymore.

“I can see the shop,” Gavin says. “I’m pulling up now.”

Seconds later, he bursts through the door, his eyes find me immediately. I launch myself into his arms, and he holds me tight against his chest.

“The police aren’t here yet?” he asks, and I shake my head against him. “Okay, tell me exactly what happened.”

I pull back, wiping at my face. “We were playing Guess Who. I went to order you a smoothie, I could see her the whole time, Gavin. She was getting the game ready for us to play again. When I turned back around, she was just… gone.”

His jaw tightens. “And you think Matt?”

“Who else would take her?” My voice cracks.

Blue and red lights flash through the windows as two police cars pull into the parking lot. Officers stride in, their faces serious as they approach us.

“Mrs. Monroe?” one asks, and I nod. “I’m Officer Lyons. Can you tell us exactly what happened?”

I repeat the story again, my words tumbling out faster and faster as I describe Sophie’s clothes, her hair, everything I can think of that might help them find her.

“And you suspect the father might be involved?” The officer asks, jotting notes in his pad.

“Yes. Matt Monroe. He’s been… unstable since he received divorce papers.” I swallow hard.

“Do you have any recent photos of Sophie?”

I pull out my phone and show them pictures from just a little while ago, Sophie sitting on top of Buttercup, holding the reins and horn as she smiled at the camera.

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