Maya was surrounded by kids, snacks pressed into her hands from every direction.
Her cheeks flushed pink. She was beaming.
"Maya, come to Mommy. It's warm inside."
She waved her little hand. "No! Maya wants to play hide-and-seek with the big brothers and sisters."
She'd always been fragile. Afraid she'd trip and hurt herself, I started to refuse.
Austin's oldest sister, Leah, tugged my arm. "Zoey, you baby her too much. City kids are always getting sick because they never play outside."
His second sister, Jessica, chimed in. "Don't worry. They're all family. No one would dare bully Maya."
His youngest sister, Daisy, pointed at a boy about Maya's age. "Tommy, you're the big brother—take good care of little sister Maya."
The boy grabbed my daughter's hand and ran off.
I'd been an only child my whole life. I'd never known this—siblings looking out for each other, cousins playing together.
Seeing Maya so happy, I let her go.
By lunchtime, all the other kids had come back.
Only my daughter was missing. Her phone watch showed no location.
My heart slammed against my ribs. I tore through the entire village with my husband's family.
In the cellar at the south end of town, we found her. Her whole body was black and purple.
I ran straight for the police station.
But my husband's family dragged me back.
Austin's voice was flat, indifferent—and my heart stopped cold.
Ignoring their attempts to stop me, I fought to call the police—but they locked me in the same cellar where my daughter died.
I suffocated. Buried alive.
"Mom, when are we going to Grandma's house? Dad said Tommy's gonna take me to play hide-and-seek."
Those three words hit me like lightning. Every hair on my body stood on end.
Austin smiled at my daughter. "Don't worry, Maya. We'll be at Grandma's in an hour. You can play hide-and-seek with Tommy when we get there."
The car sped along while my mind raced. I couldn't read Austin's expression, couldn't tell if he knew what was coming. But this time, I would not let my daughter play that game.
After Maya fell asleep, I scrolled through my WeChat contacts. There—she lived nearby. She could help. I snapped a photo of my daughter and sent it. When the reply came back confirmed, the weight crushing my chest finally eased.
The car stopped, just like before. Austin's entire family was already waiting at the door. That group of kids stood there holding snacks, waiting for my daughter.