“It’s Willow!” she gasps, out of breath. “I can’t find her anywhere—and no one else has seen her. I think she’s wandered off. She’s… she’s gone!”
Chapter 8
Amerie
Willow is gone.
The words split my world in two—before and after I heard them. I rush toward Chelsea, suddenly feeling sick to my stomach.
“What do you mean?” I ask. “She was just at the bouncy castle. Where did she go?”
“I’m not sure. I asked the other kids, and they said she popped over to the water fountain. But she’s not there, Amerie. I’ve looked everywhere. No one’s seen her.”
“Oh my god. Willow! WILLOW!”
I spin on my heel, screaming in every direction. Declan’s rushed over too, an equally frantic expression on his face.
“What the hell’s going on? Where is she? Amerie, where’s Willow?”
“Chelsea says she wasn’t at the bouncy castle! She can’t find her anywhere.”
“You said you were keeping an eye on her! How long’s she been gone?” he asks in a growl.
Chelsea lifts her hands helplessly, eyes brimming with tears. “I don’t know. Five minutes? She was with the others one secondand then… she headed toward the drinking fountain, but then she wasn’t there. I’ve looked everywhere, I swear.”
“Alright, keep your wits about you. We need to check the loos, the trees, behind the tents. She couldn’t have gotten far.”
By now, some of the other parents and teachers have approached, volunteering to help in the search. All children have been recalled from the various play stations and gathered at the picnic tables, their little faces worried and curious.
But I hardly notice. I’m so deep in panic that the only thing on my mind is finding Willow. I push Emmett in the stroller and wander the park grounds, calling her name.
“Willow!” I scream, throat aching and voice hoarse.
My heart pounds so violently that it echoes in my ears, drowning out the chatter of worried parents and the occasional burst of a whistle from one of the teachers trying to keep order.
I wheel Emmett’s stroller past the row of picnic tables, veering toward the open lawn dotted with benches and shaded by low-hanging sycamore trees.
The party’s atmosphere has done a 180; what had been light and fun just minutes ago now feels grim and heavy. Parents fan out across the grass and dirt pathways, their eyes scanning beneath slides and roundabouts, while a few have started calling Willow’s name too.
Off in the distance, I spot Declan scouring the car park, one arm raised as if shielding his eyes from the sun. He’s checking between cars, ducking to peer under each one. Even from this far, I can tell he’s swearing under his breath. His jaw’s set tight. He’s panicked. He’s as desperate as I am.
“Willow!” I shout again. “WILLOW, WHERE ARE YOU?”
I pivot down a gravel path lined by shrubs, pushing Emmett’s stroller harder than I should be. The wheels bump and rattle over uneven patches. My temples begin to throb, the pain dullat first, then sharpening with every step. A hot pressure builds behind my eyes like something about to burst.
I pick up the pace, speed-walking.
The park’s terrain seems endless, too open and too crowded all at once—trees, strollers, stranger’s faces I don’t recognize. I try to stay focused. But my mouth feels bone-dry, like I’ve swallowed cotton. My tongue sticks to the roof of my mouth and every breath tastes metallic. I swallow, and it doesn’t help. The inside of my head pulses like it’s being squeezed from all sides.
My limbs grow sluggish, like I’m wading through mud. My feet drag with every step as the stroller handle slips in my damp grip.
Something’s wrong.
I glance down just in time to see the edge of my vision blur. It’s like the air’s gone soft around me, melting at the corners.
Beep-beep-beep!
My glucose monitor makes me jump, demanding my attention.
