A few days ago, while I was grocery shopping, a little girl named Lia climbed into my cart and told me she couldn’t find her mom.
After waiting for 20 minutes with no sign of her mother, Lia looked anxious and said, “Please, don’t take me back. I’m scared.”
Something wasn’t right. Though my sister thought it was best to call social services, I couldn’t shake the feeling that Lia needed more help. After learning where she lived, I drove to her house, determined to find out the truth.
When I arrived, the house looked normal, but there was an unsettling feeling. I watched as social services arrived and spoke to Lia’s mother, who greeted them with a smile that didn’t reach her eyes. After a few minutes, the social workers left without Lia. That’s when I knew something was wrong.
I approached the house and asked Lia’s mother if she was okay, but she brushed me off. Then I heard a faint cry from inside, followed by a muffled “No!” My gut told me something was terribly wrong. I called a detective friend, and soon, he arrived with backup.
After a tense exchange with Lia’s mother, they were allowed inside, and moments later, they emerged with Lia, who was visibly shaken. It turned out her “perfect” home was hiding a nightmare. Lia was placed in emergency foster care, and I couldn’t stop thinking about her. I promised myself I would do everything I could to make sure she finds the safe, loving home she deserves.
