Zuria
Two days.
It had been two long, sleepless days since I last held my son in my arms. Since I heard his little laugh. Since I kissed his forehead and whispered promises into his ear—promises I was now terrified I might never keep. Two days of silence where his giggles should've been. My heart hadn't stopped racing since then, the ache behind my ribs like an ever-tightening vice, squeezing harder with every second that passed.
I walked briskly down another unfamiliar street, head swiveling side to side as my eyes scanned every corner, every shadow. My fingers clutched the photograph I'd been carrying, the edges frayed and soft from overuse. I lifted it to a passerby—a woman with a kind face, walking her dog.
"Please," I croaked, voice hoarse and cracked. "Have you seen this child?"
She barely glanced at the photo before shaking her head sympathetically. "Sorry, no."
