I sat alone on the stone ledge for what felt like hours, unnoticed by the busy park around me. My mom had said she’d be back in a minute, but it had been almost an hour. She’d left her purse behind and told me not to talk to strangers, so I waited, nervously looking at my shoes. I tried calling her, but her phone was in the purse, and she wasn’t answering.

When a police officer approached, I hesitated, not wanting to cause trouble. But when I mentioned my mom had gone to “get something,” her expression shifted, concern in her eyes. She asked for details, including the color of the car. I told her it was blue, bright like the sky. More officers arrived, and soon the park was buzzing with activity.

Then came the news: They found her car, abandoned, a few blocks away. Panic set in as they took me to the station. Hours passed, but there was no sign of my mom. Then, Detective Reyes delivered the devastating news—my mom was gone.

Days later, the police discovered signs that suggested she’d been taken. Someone had hurt her. The investigation intensified, leading to a suspect. The man was convicted, but the pain of losing my mom never left.

Despite the sorrow, I was adopted by Sarah, a kind woman who helped me heal. As I grew older, I learned that even in the darkest times, love endures. My mom’s love stayed with me, lighting my way through the years. Healing takes time, but kindness and love can carry you through.