My mother came back from the beach laughing without my six-year-old daughter, saying she had “forgotten” her like a towel.

Left her. As if Mia were a water bottle. A beach bag. A folding chair. As if she had not begged to wear her purple swimsuit that morning and kissed my cheek before leaving. Beachvacation packages

I grabbed my keys so tightly the metal dug into my palm. Mom rolled her eyes.

“You always make everything dramatic.”

Chloe muttered, “She’s probably with a lifeguard or something.”

Dad just stared at the floor.

The drive back to the beach felt endless. Dark clouds had swallowed the sky over the ocean, and the parking lot was almost empty when I arrived. I ran barefoot across the cold sand, shouting Mia’s name until my throat hurt. LanguageResources