They say they understand. But they don't. How could they? How can anyone understand the pain of a missing child unless their own child is missing?

They tell me don't panic, that it will be okay. But it's not okay! My daughter is missing! Nothing will be okay until my daughter is safe in my arms once more.

The policeman pulls me aside and begins asking me questions. I struggle to pull my mind together, to focus. "I'm sorry, say that again?"

"When was the last time that you saw your daughter?"

"Well, I put her to bed last night, as always. I read her a story, I tucked her in, I kissed her goodnight, and then I went downstairs to finish up some paperwork. A couple hours later, I went to bed myself." I should have checked on her once more. This is all my fault. I had looked at the closed door, and thought about it, but simply walked on by. How could I have just walked on by?

"Ma'am? Ma'am, when did you first realize that she was missing?"

"It was, ah, this morning, when I went to get her up for breakfast. Usually, she wakes up on her own, but this morning, she wasn't up. I went into her room, and her bed was empty. At first, I thought she might be playing hide-and-seek. She loves that game. But, then I, I didn't find her. She wasn't in her room. She wasn't upstairs. She wasn't anywhere in the house. I looked everywhere. But I couldn't find her…" I choke back a sob and bury my face in my hands.

"And did you check outside the house as well?" The officer continues his questions, impassively.

I fumble for a tissue and blow my nose. "I…yes, after I knew for certain that she wasn't inside. The door was locked, though, and she can't reach the deadbolt. I don't know how she would have gotten outside…"

"You say that the door was locked? Is there any other way that she could have gotten outside? An open window, perhaps?"

The idea of my precious daughter accidentally falling from a window is horrifying, but thankfully, I'm certain it couldn't have happened. "I never open the windows. They were all shut."

"Could she have opened one?"

"No, she's…she's not even two." A trickle of annoyance begins to seep in. How much dexterity does he think a toddler has? Shouldn't he be asking more relevant questions?

The policeman is scribbling something on his pad. "You have an alarm system, is that correct?"

"Yes."

"And did you have it on last night?"

"Yes, I turned it on just before I went to bed."

"So, there were a couple of hours between when you last saw your daughter and when you turned on the alarm."

I nod. "Yes, that's right."

"Did the alarm ever go off during the night?"

I shake my head. "No, and the dog never barked either. She's very good at barking at strangers approaching."

The policeman checks his pad and mumbles, "No sign of forced entry, either…hmmm…Mrs. Gibbs, does your husband still have a key to the house?"

"What? No…he, he gave them back when the divorce was finalized, back in February."

"And how would you describe your separation? Any hard feelings between you?"

The feeling of annoyance returns, stronger. "It was a divorce. Hard feelings are inevitable."

"And how close was he was your daughter?"

"He, he was a good dad, I guess…wait," I gape at the policeman. "Are you suggesting that Jeff kidnapped her?"

"Just trying to cover all possible avenues, ma'am."

"No. Not possible." I shake my head. "It was me he had problems with, not Mary. He loved her! And he sees her every other weekend. And he pays child support without complaint." A small niggle of doubt tugs at me, but I push it away. I had known Jeff for eight years. There's no way that he could be capable of such a thing, divorce or no.

"And how would you describe your own feelings towards your daughter?"

I have decided that I don't like this policeman at all. "I love her as much as any mother ever loves her daughter. What are you implying?"

"Nothing at all, ma'am. I'm just gathering facts."

"Do you have any children?"

"No, ma'am."

That explains a lot. "Then you don't understand the kind of love that a parent (any parent) has for their child. Everything you do has the well-being of your child in mind, and you would move heaven and earth if their safety was ever endangered. So don't you dare suggest that I would ever have done anything to harm my daughter!"

He merely nods and scribbles, and I'm suddenly feeling so, so tired. "Is there anything else that you need? Or can you and the rest of the force start putting my tax dollars to good use and find my daughter?"

He stands. "We'll be in touch, ma'am. If you hear anything, let us know."

Once he and the others are gone, and everything is quiet once more, I hunch forward, resting my forehead on the table. But I can't sit there long. I am desperate to do something. I want to turn the entire city upside down and inside out until I find her. But I don't even know where to start to look. And a part of me is terrified to leave the house in case she comes back or someone calls with news.

I make a cup of coffee, so at least my hands are moving. It takes no thought, though, and my mind runs in frantic circles, wondering, worrying. I sip the coffee and it's bitter. I forgot to add the sugar. I pour some in and the next sip is too sweet. I take a few more swallows anyway. My stomach is too upset to drink any more than that, and I put the cup down.

I walk upstairs to her room. Her favorite toys are all here, scattered on the floor. I don't see her favorite blanket, though. I search for it, but it isn't here. It's a very small comfort that wherever she is, she has something to keep her warm. I wonder what else is missing. As far as I can tell, her clothes are all here. That makes my mind turn to fears I would rather not face. If she truly has been…kidnapped…did her captor take no extra clothes because she would soon be returned, or…because she never would be?

The latter alternative leads to thoughts too horrible to contemplate. Tears begin to flow again, and I have to force my mind back to the task at hand. A couple of toys might be missing, but I'm not sure exactly which ones. Her mobile is definitely gone, though. Why would her captor have taken that? This makes no sense to me, but then, nothing in this whole scenario does. Why would anyone take my little Mary? I can't afford an exorbitant ransom, I have no secrets to be blackmailed out of, I'm not related to anybody important (I don't think), so why?

I'm not sure if it's worse, the idea that she somehow managed to wander off on her own. Then the blame is all on me, for a failure as her mother to keep her safe and protected. She could be anywhere by now and I have…no…idea…at all.

The sharp ring of the phone startles me. I spring towards it, then hesitate at the last second. What if it's bad news? It rings again and I grab it off the hook. Any news is better than these unknown fears.

"Hello?"

"Catherine! I was just contacted by the police about Mary! Why didn't you call me? Are you alright?" It's my sister, Suzanne. Not the police. I don't know if I'm disappointed or relieved.

"I'm fine, Susie." She snorts in disbelief and I'm not surprised. I don't believe me either. "I, I guess I'm still in shock. I still can't believe that she's really not here, not hiding somewhere to jump out and giggle when I least expect it…" My eyes fill with tears again. I'm going to melt into a puddle at this rate.

I dry the tears with a tissue and try to focus on Susie's voice. "What was that?"

"I said I'm coming down to stay with you for a while. You can't even think straight, not that I blame you. Have you even eaten today?"

I think back. "No? I had some coffee…"

She tsks at me. "You need to be strong, for Mary's sake. I'll head down as soon as I pack a few things. I should be there by dinner, okay? Do you mind if I bring Cleopatra?"

"Who?"

"My cat. You remember, I got her a few months ago? She's a lovely speckled brown…Anyway, she's very well-behaved, don't worry. Now, I need to go pack, and you should keep the phone line open in case someone calls with information, okay? And don't forget to eat something."

"Okay." It feels nice to have Susie taking charge. She'll know what to do.

I make my way to the kitchen. Toast, that's easy, I can do toast. With peanut butter and mayonnaise…no, wait, those don't go together. Honey, that would go better.

I don't even know how I made it through the rest of the day. I know I kept checking upstairs, hoping Mary had somehow magically returned. I know I paced back and forth in front of the phone, willing for it to ring, for the police to say that they had found her, and that everything was alright. At some point, I bring Coconut into the house, even though she's an outdoor dog. It makes me feel safer, and gives me someone to hug.

The doorbell rings and Coconut barks at the same moment. I jump up from the couch and carefully peek through the curtains to see who it is. Relief floods me when I recognize the person.

I run to the front door and fling it open, throwing my arms around her. "Oh, Susie, I'm so glad you're here! It's been so awful, I don't know what to do!"

She pats me awkwardly with one hand and I suddenly realize that she is still carrying her bags. "I'm sorry, I…here, let me help you."

"That's alright. Let me get my things inside, and then you can tell me what you've done so far, and we'll figure out what to do next."

I pour out the story as soon as she sits down. "How could I have let this happen? What did I do? What should I have done?"

She hugs me close and rubs my back. "It's not your fault."

"The police think it is," I mutter. "No one could come in, so I'm the only suspect left!"

"Now, now," she soothes. "They're just doing their job. Unfortunately, they're not required to be polite about it. But I'm sure that they will find her."

I suddenly stiffen. "Did you hear that?" We both hold our breath, listening. Was that a thump, and a giggle, or was that my imagination? I look at Susie, and by mutual consent, we slide off the couch and make our way to the stairs. We pause, and I don't hear anything else. But what if…just what if…

Slowly, slowly, we climb the stairs, and slowly, slowly, walk down the hall to Mary's door. It's mostly closed, enough that we can't really see inside. Slowly, I push it open. And there…

I gasp and feel almost faint. There, in the middle of the floor, staring at the closet, is Mary. I'm not hallucinating, am I? I won't know for sure until I've felt her warm in my arms once more. I move forward hesitantly, and just before I reach her, she turns and looks at me. "Mama?" she says, lip quivering, in her little toddler voice, and it's like music to my ears.

"Oh, Mary!" I scoop her up, and she's real, she's really here, in my arms again. I can hardly see past the tears streaming from my eyes.

When I finally pull her back and really look at her, she's crying, too. But she's not looking at me, she's pointing to the closet. "Kitty!" she says, followed by a long stream of toddler babble that I don't understand. I look in the closet, but there's no cat in there. Not even a toy one.

I remember Susie's cat is downstairs, still in her carrier. "Come on, sweetie, I know where there's a kitty."

I take her to see Cleopatra, but that's not the kitty she wants. I don't understand. What cat is she talking about? She babbles and runs and waves her arms and looks behind every piece of furniture as if expecting the mysterious kitty to appear.

Susie makes dinner for the three of us. I can't bear to take my eyes off Mary for even a second. I notice that she is still in the same clothes I put her to bed in last night (so long ago, it feels), except one of her little white socks is missing. Her hair is still up in its little pigtails. It's as if she was never gone, except she was. And that's what I can't understand the most. Where did she go? How did she get back? How does a toddler disappear from a second-story room without a trace and reappear just as inexplicably?

Susie had checked the window, but it was locked from the inside, as before. We were both in view of the front door and the staircase, no one came in or went up.

When I call the police and tell them what happened, I can tell that they don't believe me. Some of them drop not-so-subtle hints and warnings about fines for people who pull pranks on the police, or who just want attention. I think the fact that I never alerted the media is the only thing that prevents them from following through.

Mary still babbles about "Kitty" and draws pictures of large creatures covered in blue. I always thought her pictures were spectacularly realistic, but these are like nothing that I have ever seen before. I don't know where she is getting her ideas from.

She also seems to have developed a strange fascination with closets. She is always pulling them open and shouting, "Boo!" but seems disappointed by the standard presence of clothes and shoes. I don't know what she's looking for.

I'm so incredibly thankful that she was returned to me safely. But the questions still plague me: What happened to Mary? Where did she go?