Mrs. Protich wondered if she had been too busy with work and neglected her daughter’s upbringing. When did her daughter become so vain?
Who were these friends she mentioned? How did she confidently promise to take them to the seaside house?
Mrs. Protich felt a wave of sadness and disappointment. She wasn’t the good mother Winifred Dawson claimed she was.
She had neglected her daughter’s education, and she didn’t even know when it happened. She only knew about her daughter’s recent activities through phone calls, but she had no idea what was really on her mind.
Most of the time, her daughter called just to ask for money-whether it was for living expenses, clothes, shoes, skincare products, or art supplies. Whatever she wanted, as a mother, she tried to provide.
Mrs. Protich often thought about how she insisted on taking her daughter with her after the divorce. She could give up everything else, but not her child. Her daughter was a part of her, so she always tried to give her the best.
There’s a saying that daughters should be raised in wealth so they wouldn’t be easily deceived by money when they go out into the world.
She worked hard all these years to give her daughter a good future. Her daughter grew from a small bundle in her arms to an eighteen-year-old taller than her, beautiful and graceful. But somehow, she developed a spoiled personality. Due to work, Mrs. Protich rarely saw her daughter; one was at school while the other was at work, and they gradually drifted apart.
If she didn’t call first, her daughter would never call to check on her unless she needed money.
Mrs. Protich sighed heavily, feeling both sad and disappointed. With a heavy heart, she left home and went to the nearest mobile phone store. It wasn’t even eight o’clock yet because she had been worried about Winifred Dawson and hadn’t eaten.
Usually, she finished eating before seven, then took a walk and tidied up before bed. But now, with so much on her mind, food lost its flavor; even if she cooked, she couldn’t eat.
At eight o’clock, the store was empty except for the owner playing on his phone. Hearing someone enter, he looked up at Mrs. Protich.
“Hello, how can I help you?”
Mrs. Protich walked in nervously and placed her phone on the counter. “I’ve been trying to call someone but can’t get through. My phone says the other party is busy. What’s going on? Is my phone broken?”
“Let me see,” said the owner, taking the phone. “Which number?”
“This one,” Mrs. Protich pointed.
The owner dialed it and found that indeed, the other party was busy.
“It’s not your phone that’s the problem; it’s possible that they’ve blocked you or are in an area with poor signal,” he explained while calling his own number from her phone to prove it worked.
The phone rang. “See? It goes through when I call myself.”
“Blocked me? That can’t be,” Mrs. Protich frowned as she took back her phone.
The owner patiently said, “I also mentioned another possibility-they might be in a place with poor signal.”
“If they’re in a place with poor signal, can they still send me texts?”
“No.”
“But they sent me a text at seven o’clock,” Mrs. Protich showed him the message.
The owner checked and noticed something odd-the texts were sent precisely at seven every day for several days without any replies afterward.
“These are scheduled messages.”
“Can text messages be scheduled?”
“If you have the technology for it, yes. Look at these messages; they’re all sent at seven o’clock every day for many days straight-clearly scheduled.”
She had noticed but hadn’t thought much of it; she assumed Winifred Dawson only had time at seven and sent messages daily to avoid worrying her mother.
Mrs. Protich’s face turned pale as realization dawned-Winifred Dawson had been missing for at least ten days based on the messages.
The owner saw her distress and asked gently, “Ma’am, who is this contact?”
Mrs. Protich shook her head and hoarsely said, “Thank you. How much do I owe you?”
“No charge; I didn’t fix anything-just answered some questions.”
“Thank you…” Mrs. Protich forced a smile that didn’t reach her eyes as she left the store with growing anxiety.
Under the dark night sky, tears streamed down Mrs. Protich’s face as she wondered where Winifred Dawson was and if she was okay-was she scared of the dark? Was she sunburned? Was she hungry or cold? Was anyone hurting her?
The more she thought about it, the sadder she became-why had they lost contact? Why did Winifred schedule those messages?
Did Winifred anticipate this situation and schedule texts to avoid worrying her mother? How many messages had she prepared? Didn’t she realize this would make her mother worry even more once discovered?
Heartbroken and speechless with tears flowing freely, Mrs. Protich regretted not stopping Winifred from leaving home after her miscarriage when rest was crucial.
If only Winifred hadn’t gone out; there wouldn’t be this missing person situation now where even her whereabouts were unknown.
Standing under a streetlight, Mrs. Protich remembered that night when Winifred walked from light into darkness under car headlights.
As people and cars passed by on the roadside, a car stopped next to her.
Thinking someone was just parking temporarily, Mrs. Protich stepped aside but then heard a door open and instinctively looked over.
Henry stepped out of the car; seeing him felt like grabbing onto a lifeline amidst despair.