Mrs. Pratt sat on the edge of her couch with her friend Priscilla. She was visibly worried. She had called Reina's phone exactly seventy-two times—there was no response to any of the calls. Her eyes were heavy and swollen from crying.
"At the rate you're going, you would fall sick, Sarah," her friend, Priscilla said.
"At the rate I'm going? My daughter is missing! There's no news at all. Her friend knows nothing, she went to the police, and so far, there's no information about my daughter. I'm left with her answering machine—that's the only way I get to hear my daughter's voice. Do you have any idea how it feels to call my daughter's phone and listen to her message over and over again?
"'Hi, this is Reina. Do leave a message. If it's worth it, I'll get back to you. Haha,'" she mimicked
