That’s when I realized my husband had let me mourn a child he knew was still alive.
And that’s when I called 911.
My daughter disappeared during her weekly fishing trip.
Everyone used to laugh when Sophie fell in love with fishing.
She was 12, all scraped knees, sharp elbows, and a ponytail that never stayed tight. She could sit beside a lake for hours, watching a bobber like it owed her money. »That’s a boy’s hobby, Soph, » my sister, Denise, teased one Saturday while Sophie packed snacks.
Sophie zipped the lunch bag and grinned. « Not if Daddy teaches you. Then it’s bonding. »
Mark tapped the brim of her pink fishing cap. « That’s right, kiddo. »
« That’s a boy’s hobby, Soph. »
Continue on the next page:
