My sister came home without my five-year-old daughter and laughed when she told me she had forgotten her at the store.
My mother told me not to overreact.
I did not scream.
I grabbed my keys.
At 6:18 that evening, Megan dropped my keys into the ceramic bowl beside Mom’s front door as casually as if she had just come back from picking up milk.
She was still looking at her phone, smiling at something on the screen.
Mom was in the living room adjusting the throw pillows before her birthday dinner, and I was carrying plates toward the dining room when I noticed something that should have been obvious the second Megan walked in.
Lily was not with her.
I looked past Megan toward the driveway.
No pink sweater.
No small backpack.
No five-year-old voice asking whether she could have dessert before dinner.
I asked, “Where’s Lily?”
Megan finally looked up from her phone.
For a second, she stared toward the driveway too, almost like she expected Lily to appear there on her own.
Then she gave a little laugh.
“Oh,” she said. “I forgot your little girl at the store.”
I remember the exact way she said it because my mind refused to accept the words at first.
Forgot.
Your little girl.
At the store.
Mom straightened another pillow and sighed before I could even answer.
“Don’t overreact,” she said.
I turned toward her.
Mom told me children wandered away all the time and that Megan had probably assumed Lily was with someone else.
Megan was already looking back at her phone.
I asked which store.
“Oakridge Market,” she said.
Then I asked when she had last seen Lily.
Megan shrugged and said she did not know exactly.
That was enough.
I picked up my purse, grabbed the keys from the bowl, and ran outside.
My hands were shaking so badly that I missed the ignition the first time.
The inside of the car was hot from sitting in the driveway, and dusty air blasted through the vents when I started the engine.
I called Oakridge Market before I reached the end of Mom’s street.
No answer.
I called again before the first traffic light.
Still nothing.
Megan had left for the store with Lily sometime around four twenty that afternoon because Mom needed a few more groceries for her birthday dinner.
I had expected them back well before six.
By the time Megan walked through the door alone, nearly two hours had passed.
I kept doing the math even though I did not want to.
Two hours was enough time for a five-year-old to get scared.
Enough time for her to walk outside looking for us.
Enough time for a stranger to notice she was alone.
I pressed harder on the gas without realizing it until I saw the speedometer and forced myself to slow down.
I needed to reach Lily.
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