Our Daughter Died, My Husband Was Devastated

Maybe it was my heartbreak, but somehow he looked frightened.

His hold on my wrist suddenly loosened.

I was a mess, scouring through the trash like a lunatic.

Collapsed on the ground, people's stares cutting through me like I was some sort of apparition.

Robert finally snapped to, realizing what was happening.

He squatted down in front of me, eyeing the black trash bag in my grip, then back at me.

His face twisted with concern, he stammered, "Jane, you've lost it, haven't you? If you're sick, get help. This can't be Nia!"

"Even if you resent me, you shouldn't damn our daughter like that."

"Are you even listening to me?!"

He shoved me down, yanked the bag from my hands, and held it aloft.

But he couldn't bring himself to drop it.

I watched his hands tremble, unable to stay still.

A junior officer who had fetched my meds rushed over, pulling me to my feet.

He turned a stern gaze on Robert, "Mr. Salome, you're Nia's father, correct? Mrs. Salome mentioned you were supposed to pick Nia up the night she went missing. We need to talk."

Robert's complexion turned ashen. He tried to reach out to steady me, shaking.

"I don't understand... Jane... how this could have happened, how... this could be our daughter."

He paused, his voice faltering.

I pushed his hand away, my voice cold, "Are you actually saying that this heap of trash, trampled and tossed by you, isn't our daughter?"