The argument escalated faster than either of us expected.
Frustrated, I told her,
“Then maybe ask your grandparents if they know better than I do.”
The words left my mouth before I realized how cruel they sounded.
Emily grabbed her coat and stormed outside.
Nora hurried after her.
“I’ll bring her home,” she promised.
I watched them disappear down the sidewalk.
It was the last time I saw Emily for ten years.
Half an hour later, Nora returned alone.
She stood on my porch soaked, shaking, and covered in mud.
“Where’s Emily?”
“I… I don’t know.”
Police searched everywhere.
The woods.
The river.
Every road leaving town.
Emily had vanished.
Because Nora was the last person seen with her, everyone blamed her.
Even my own brother insisted she knew more than she admitted.
Maybe she did.
But when I looked at Nora, I didn’t see guilt.
I saw a frightened twelve-year-old who had lost the only real friend she’d ever had.
The town never forgave her.
Children avoided her.
Someone spray-painted LIAR across our mailbox.
Nora quietly packed her backpack one afternoon.
“I can leave,” she whispered.
“No,” I told her.
“This town doesn’t get to throw away another child.”
Months later, Nora’s grandmother could no longer care for her because of severe dementia.
Social services planned to place Nora in foster care.
I couldn’t let that happen.
Emily had loved Nora like a sister.
