I glance around at Ella’s house, my house, the yards, the sleeping neighborhood. Nothing seems out of the ordinary. Perhaps I’m just being paranoid.
As I climb up the tree to get to her window, though, the paranoid feeling only intensifies. When I duck into the room, worry, panic, and fear consumes me.
Her bed is empty.
“No.” I run through the house in a panic but can’t find her anywhere.
I call her phone. Nothing. Go back to her room, but she’s still not there.
The closer I look, the more I realize that she might not be coming back. Some of her stuff is gone. Clothes are scattered everywhere. The duffel bag in her closet isn’t there. And her sketchbook is missing
It hits me like a blow to the chest, cutting so deeply, I think my heart actually cracks.
I fight to breathe.
Ella is gone.
Without me.
And she might not be coming back.