The unearthed toys meant she’d been there. But her body had not been found. Surely that meant she was alive? The night she had been taken from her bed, her favourite playthings went missing as well. I always imagined them comforting her, reminding her of home, giving her hope. My beautiful curly-haired daughter. A sob escaped me from deep inside. We had to find her, we had to! Bob’s arms pulled me to his chest. “It’s not over yet. We will find our little girl.” But it was already too late. She had been sold to the highest bidder.
© Colline Kook-Chun, 2017
(This post was inspired by Friday Fictioneers hosted by Rochelle. The challenge asks for bloggers to write a story in 100 words or less in response to the photo prompt.)