It felt like the universe shattered into silence; every sound, every movement, every breath felt wrong.

I’m not even sure how I made it home. The whole drive is a blur. I was on the phone with my mom, then my husband, and then the police.

In between phone calls, I desperately pleaded with God not to take her away, for it not to be true. I held on to the hope that everyone was wrong and she was fine. I audibly prayed and begged until my voice became raspy.

My girl isn’t gone.
There’s just no way.
This isn’t real.

When I finally arrived home, my husband was waiting in the open garage for me. JT is the kindest, most loving, and caring partner. He might not be the father of my babies, but he loves them just the same because they are part of me.

My twin daughters and my son were all in their 20s when we met. He never had children, so he calls them his “prebuilt” kids. (He’s an adorable and nerdy middle-aged gamer.)

I fell into his arms, my legs unsteady.

Through his own tears, he said, “When do you want to fly out?”