Selena paced around her living room for the thirtieth time that day trying her daughter’s number, beads of perspiration forming on her forehead, and dripping down to her shoulder blades, despite the AC.
“The number you’re trying to call is not available but you can leave a message after the beep.” The machine said and there was a long beep after. “Chloe! You are so dead, if you’re doing this on purpose.” She yells into the phone that was the thirteenth message she had sent just that day alone.
Selena throws her phone on the table and slumps on the sofa, thinking about all the possible places Chloe could have been.
“Mom, calm down.” Leona advised, a certain concern etched in her voice, as she brought a glass of cold water, Selena collected it but didn’t drink. “Tell me Leona, Chloe has
