The last time I saw my daughter Livia before prom, she stood on our porch in a pale blue dress beside her twin brother, Liam, insisting she was old enough to make her own choices. I told her to stay away from Mitchell, a boy I didn’t trust, but she left angry, asking for one night where I would simply trust her. Hours later, I received the call that she had stepped outside the prom and never returned, and in that moment, I was certain Mitchell had taken her.
For months, I lived inside that belief. Police searched, but eventually said Livia had contacted them and did not want to be found. I refused to accept it. I convinced myself she had been manipulated, while Liam grew quieter and more distant. My home became a place of silence, grief, and suspicion, and I held onto the idea that someone else had stolen my daughter from me.
