4. It Has Been 3 Weeks Since She's Been Missing...

It has been three weeks since we last saw our daughter face to face. We spoke to a detective from the area she was in before they moved on or went dark, and she asked us to file a formal missing persons report with the police in our district. We called 911, and once again, officers were dispatched to our house. I wondered what the neighbors thought was going on over here. I didn’t care, of course. I still don’t. And none have asked, to date. They can think what they like, and if they care to ask I will tell them. No one seems to want to get involved, though, as if this is contagious, and if they get too many details their kids will go missing as well.

That’s not fair of me. They are probably busy, giving us privacy, and enjoying what they should enjoy, possibly an exciting time for their children who are off to college in the fall.

I received a lengthy, scathing text message from whomever had control of Abby’s phone. Even if she typed it, it didn’t sound like her one iota. Not her verbiage, style of texting, punctuation, none of it. And I should know, she and I had been texting back and forth for years and years. She warned me to back off, stop with the false claims and police involvement, among other lengthy, grammatically incorrect snake spitting. I will risk lasting wrath to find out if she is safe or if she is being held under duress, or being trafficked, or, as the police detective who called us that day said, she was groomed. This is not uncommon, she said. It has all the markings of grooming.

If that’s the most of it, I’ll take it.

Two years later, I would change my mind about that. Grooming is serious. Dangerous. Progressive, like a disease.

I was becoming increasingly angry with the man who, at the very least, groomed her and convinced her to give up her future to live with him in a one bedroom shithole; to blow off two planned vacations with different sides of her family who love her, vacations she was very much looking forward to; and worst of all, to not go to college. Oh yes, and there’s the bit about not speaking to anyone she has ever known and loved, but at this point, we thought that she would come around.

But all of this this is why I was convinced this was not HER texting.

A mere month and a half before she left home, she and I drove in her jeep up to the university for Admitted Students day.

We had a marvelous time on that road trip. It was mostly to convince students who were undecided to come see and hear about all the school had to offer, and hopefully choose this school. She had already chosen it, and was accepted and enrolled, but she wanted to go visit again. I was happy to oblige. We always had fun on our mother-daughter road trips, and this adventure was no exception.

After spending the day in the college town and touring the school again, this time including residence halls to decide where she might like to apply to live, and the Psychology building where she would be taking her major classes to become a therapist (the irony of her chosen major is not lost on me), we stayed overnight, planning to wind down through the countryside for a day and spend the night in a quaint Inn downtown before heading to the city to meet up with my sister and Abby’s cousin for two days of fun and exploring.

She was always in the moment, on that trip, not distracted by her phone, or anyone that was not there in person with us. She was delighted to have the company of her cousin, my niece. The girls were born on the same day, and grew up spending holidays and entire summers together at our family's shared lake camp in the mountains with their grandmother and other family and friends. It was a magical childhood for both of them. Everything was…so much better than 'normal'. I truly loved my life with her, and she deeply loved her family - especially my sister, my mother, my neice and myself. We were all women who bonded with one another, really deeply.

But, now her cousin was cut off, like everyone else.

She shut off her social media, no phone calls allowed, per her stern instructions to the few people who were allowed to contact her were that she would only communicate via texting.

I sent probing texts, while someone was still answering, and received very strange answers. I sent her a picture of the playbill from the time we, along with my sister and her cousin, met up in NYC to see one of the final performances of Phantom of the Opera. I bought her a Phantom keychain that day, and then we all palled around New York, having a blast, and yammering on excitedly about the performance. She had wanted to see that show since her late father declared it was his favorite music and played it for her when they were together.

Me: “Remember this awesome day?”

Answer from her phone: “Oh YEAH! Haha that’s that thing on my keychain! The Phantom thing!”

WTF.

I sent a few more like this, testing the waters. I asked if she had been in touch with her assigned college roommate, Naomi (not her real name). The response:

“yea I been talking to her”

And then my turn on the chopping block rolled in. I was sent a text telling me to cease and desist with any and all further communication. Every fiber of my being seethed with doubt and concern that tightened my throat.

This was not her.

NEXT ENTRY: CONFUSION, QUESTIONS, AND SELF BLAME