I stand up as I hear a booming knock from my front door, my legs are weak but I still manage to walk over. “Hello?” I croaked. As soon as I opened the door my Mother, Zara, came pushing in to my apartment. Before I could close the door behind her she embraced me in to a tight hug, she stroked my jet black hair.
“It’s okay Chloe, I know how terrible this must be for you.” She said in a heartsick voice. My skin tensed, I hate being touched when I’m upset, it just makes my emotions stronger. But it’s not like I can tell my own Mother not to hug me.
“Have you called the police yet?” She asked. I pulled myself out of her arms and took a few steps back. My Mother’s eyes looked behind me, I think she realized the broken photo on the floor behind me. I was hoping that she wouldn’t say anything, I have always had problems with negative emotions making me violent, but I have found ways to calm myself in those moments. My Mother knowing that I broke that good streak of not braking things made me nervous. She might force me to talk to a shrink again. I don’t need to talk to someone, I don’t need to sit there telling a random person about all of my problems. I know I am old enough now that my Mother can not physically force me to do something, but she is very good at twisting around other peoples’ words and convincing them to do things for her. And I hate upsetting her.
“N-no..” I said quietly. My Mother sighed and garbed her phone from her pocket and – I assume – she dialed 911.
“And for goodness sakes Chloe, clean up that broken frame.” She said before putting the phone to her ear. Something in me broke as her words left her mouth. I went and swept up the broken glass into a garbage bag and gently placed the photo of me and Grace on the Kitchen counter. I couldn’t help but stare st the photo, Grace was so happy. She always loved her curly hair, where I hated mine and always tried to straiten it. In the photo Grace’s almond skin shone in the bright sun. I remember that day as if it were yesterday. Her birthday party was held at the park just around the corner from our Mother’s house. It was a big park with play equipment for younger kids and wide open fields for people to lay down and have picnics. I also remember how happy she was that day, she could finally get a job, get her drivers license even! Grace was happy she was almost grown up, she had felt as if her life was just starting. Little did she now that her life had already started so many precious years ago.
“The police are on there way, at first they thought I was bluffing. Damn officers.” My Mother walked over to me, she tried to hold my hand making me let go of the photo.
“Sweetie, the past is in the past, you need to let go of it.” She said, taking both my hands and turning me to look at her.
“But she is alive, Grace is alive!” A tear fell down my dark cheek.
“We don’t know that.” She said with a sigh. She want’s to give up on Grace, again?
“You can’t just give up on her again! I won’t let you! She is alive! You can’t just give up on that little spark of hope mom! You just can’t! Not like last time.” I pulled away from her, my eyes flooding with tears once again. How could she give up hope when we’re so close to finding Grace? How could she not care about finding her daughter that has been gone for so many years? Just how!?