I remember pulling her against my chest.
I remember yelling for help.
Most of all, I remember her tiny face turning toward my uniform as if she already knew me. I remember her tiny fingers clutching my shirt.
Please take care of her. Her name is Hope.
What came after was security, police, nurses, social workers, and questions I couldn’t answer.
I hadn’t seen anyone leave or spoken to anyone. I didn’t recognize the handwriting.
Later, an investigator mentioned security was trying to identify two women seen near the restroom. Neither was ever found.
Hope was taken into temporary care.
And I should have gone home and moved on with my life.
Hope was taken into temporary care.
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