My mother-in-law slapped her forehead like something just occurred to her. "The only place we haven't checked is that old cellar at the edge of the neighborhood. That little brat wouldn't have crawled in there, would she?"
The group jogged toward the cellar.
The moment the wooden cover lifted, a phone flashlight cut through the pitch-black darkness.
My daughter's cartoon down jacket.
"Maya—is that Maya?"
A tiny body lay beneath the jacket. My heart seized.
No. It couldn't be.
This wasn't my daughter.
Austin strode forward and picked up the smartwatch—crushed, like someone had stomped on it.
He arranged his face into grief.
"It's Maya. How did she end up in here?"
Even knowing that wasn't my daughter under those clothes, tears still streamed down my face.
"Zoey, this was an accident. She must have been hiding so we couldn't find her and got stuck."
Austin held me as I crumpled, playing the devastated wife.
I lifted my gaze to meet his. "How do you know that's our daughter?"
He froze. "That jacket—I dressed her in it myself this morning. And I bought her that smartwatch."
"If it's not her, who else could it be?"
Good question. I was wondering the same thing.
Ten kids went out to play. Nine came home.