“Stay where I can see you,” Elena had called out, already distracted by a text from her sister asking when they’d be home.
She looked down at her phone for maybe two minutes. Three at most. When she looked up, Sofía was gone.
At first, Elena wasn’t worried. The beach was crowded—Sofía had probably just wandered farther than she’d meant to, chasing a crab or following another kid. Elena stood up, shading her eyes against the glare of the sun on the water, scanning the shoreline.
“Sofía!” she called. “Sofía, where are you?”
No answer. No little girl in a yellow dress running back with her hands full of shells and her braids flying behind her.
Elena started walking, then jogging, then running along the beach, calling her daughter’s name. Other families looked up, startled. A man helped her search near the rocks. A woman checked the public restrooms. The lifeguards on duty immediately radioed for backup.
When Javier came back with three ice cream cones, he found his wife sobbing in the arms of a lifeguard while police officers began cordoning off sections of the beach.
The hours that followed were a nightmare Elena couldn’t wake up from. Search teams combed the shoreline. Helicopters circled overhead. News vans appeared. Someone set up a table with coffee and donuts for the searchers, which felt absurd—how could anyone eat when a child was missing?
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