I remember that Tuesday morning as being ordinary, which somehow makes everything worse.
Adele came downstairs with her backpack, complaining about spending half the night preparing for a math test. As usual, Heather, our mom, handed her a lunchbox she’d packed.
Adele barely said goodbye as she picked up a piece of toast and headed out the door.
She never made it to school.
I was only eight at the time.
At my age, I didn’t understand how something like that could happen. But despite being so young, I remember what came after.
Our parents didn’t sleep much for days. They drove through the city streets late into the night, searching for her everywhere. Our parents even asked Adele’s friends if they knew anything.
My sister’s photo ended up in store windows and on street poles.
