Every forty seconds, a child goes missing in the United States.
By the time the sentence has been said aloud, it has already happened twice.
Eighty seconds ago, Bailey Ramirez was the person who went missing.
Looking back, I should have seen it co...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
Monday, December 17, 2018
Home.
For the first time since Navia's birth, I was home.
Pulling into the driveway was eerily reminiscent of pulling into the Vineyards of Italy. Constantine modeled her house after most of the Italian château's we'd visited when we were younger. If you were native to the subdivision in which the house sat, you would almost think you weren't in Georgia at all.
The freshly cut rose bushes lined both sides of the driveway as we arrived in front of the black cobblestone door. Like every year before, Constantine already had the Christmas tree wreaths up. This year they were both black; each one slightly covering the Windows of the door. The house was a sandy earth-toned color.
Two balconies sat under windows on the left and right-hand sides. One belonged to Constantine's closet in the other belonged to my stepfather's closet. The house itself wasn't even a house. It was a luxurious mansion that sprawled across more space than I cared to think about. Even though the neighbors couldn't see our house, Constantine made sure that if one of us was arriving at night the driveway was lit. Tonight, the lights were left on for Kara and me.
"Are you ready?" Kara asked as she turned the car off.
I shook my head. "When am I ever going to be ready to face her?"
Kara handed the keys to the butler as we both made our entrance into the house. The foyer of Constantine's house was simpler than one would expect. On each wall rested mirrors that faced each other. Under them, both sat small grey ottomans that were used for sitting to take your shoes off.
A black table sat in the middle on top of a white rug. Growing up we'd called it the picture table because on it sat a collection of family photos that had been framed. On the outside, you'd think that it was the display of a mother's love and affection for her children. But for anybody who lived inside our house, we all knew it was propaganda for whatever election Constantine was a part of.
Above the table hung the chandelier that Luna and I had broken at least twice in our childhood. Luna always had a flair for throwing things across it and seeing if we could get caught. Most of the time we got caught before we could strike it to the ground. I was convinced that's why Constantine set the table under the chandelier after my tenth birthday.
She was tired of us breaking the glass on her perfect marble floors. There was an open walkway on the second floor that could be seen from the doorway. On opposite sides of a gigantic painting were the entrances to two hallways that separated the east and west wings from each other.
Kara and I both took off our shoes before making our way around the left corner into the kitchen. Anytime that it was dark enough for the streetlights to come on, the rule was it was time for dinner. Most nights growing up, the industrial-sized kitchen was full of personal chefs that had been cooking on the two separate islands that sat in the middle of the floor.
