by Bianca Bonilla
When I went to check the time, I got an incoming call from my sister. Right from when I
picked up the phone, I thought I was going to go deaf. Emily kept screaming and I could
hear the tears in her voice. I tried calming her down, but nothing seemed to work. Whatever I
said, she wasn’t listening. I rubbed my hand over my face and shut my eyes tightly.
When I told her to shut up, she went silent. I asked her once more about what was wrong. And
when the words came sobbing out of her mouth, my eyes went wide, the room was spinning, and
her voice was faint.
The phone fell from my hands and as my brain was trying to register everything at once, I
ran. The stabbing sensation that went to my heart and through my body is a pain I never thought
I would ever feel. Not in all the years I’ve walked this earth. My daughter was kidnapped.
I didn’t have time to think or process. My only thought is to get my daughter back and to
have her in my arms again. The beating against my chest wouldn’t slow down as I ran to my car.
I didn’t stop as the screaming voices behind me told me to slow down.
I sped down the calm streets with only one thought clouding my mind. I pray to all the
Gods on earth that the person who took my daughter was not who I thought they were.
When I reached the school, I couldn’t see much of anything. This is now a crime scene.
Red and blue lights flashed everywhere but it’s silent. Officers scattered across the entrance and
the parking lot. Even the news crews were around speaking of a five year old girl being taken or
reported missing. My blood is boiling and my fists were clenched tightly. Before I could act
on impulse, I was being pulled away by my sister. It took a few minutes to recollect myself. I
turned to her and asked her if anyone saw anything or if the teachers and parents have seen
anyone. No luck came from anywhere.
The sinking feeling in my gut went deeper. They say the first forty-eight hours are
critical, and if the person or child is not found it is likely they are dead. I couldn’t let that
I was soon forced to go home and that was dangerous for me. My mind is a current
war zone, a never ending battle with my own thoughts. When I got home, I noticed a letter
placed in my room. I ripped the top part open and took the letter in my hands. I noticed the
handwriting immediately. No name was written but I knew. The energy coursing through my
veins felt uncontrollable. The sound of his voice haunting my mind.
Long before Natalie was born, I was in a bad place. I did things I’m not proud of but
I got out when she was born. I knew what I had to do and I’m willing to do anything to get her
back. Finding her is my top priority.
I stood in front of the house I hoped I never had to come back to. The quietness that
loomed over left an unsettling feeling in me as I stepped inside. Shutting the door, I looked up
and there he stood with a grin plastered on his face. Natalie was nowhere in sight. My hands
balled into fists.
“Where is she, Kyle? She has nothing to do with this.”
“Oh, but she does little brother. Your daughter killed the only woman I ever loved,” he
says. He had a sick smile on his face.
“You need help. You can’t keep holding onto the past.”
“I’m going to be with her again.”
He wasn’t listening to me and I could no longer help him. There was nothing I could do
to stop him. He wouldn’t hurt Natalie, but he would hurt me. I just stared at him as he turned
around to face death in its face. My body shook at the thought. I backed towards the door and
opened it. The Florida sun hitting my face as the sound of a gunshot echoed through the air.
I stopped when I heard her sweet voice not realizing the blood spilling from my torso, only
the sound of my beloved daughter.
My eyes darted to the small girl running towards me. I dropped to my knees as tears
streamed down my face. I engulfed her into a tight embrace.
About the Author:
Bianca Bonilla is an inspiring author who puts all her time and energy into her writing. In her free time, you can catch her reading or volunteering. Finding Her is her first published piece.