Ernestine pulls me into her embrace. We cry together for a long, long time.
Eventually, we pull ourselves together. It feels like we’ve bonded. In a soft voice, Ernestine tells me about the story of how Rose was taken.
“…The police wouldn’t do anything to look for her. They told me she must’ve skipped town, but I knew she didn’t. She would never leave her baby girl behind. I was able to talk with people who worked at the bar with her, and they knew the guy she left work with that day. He was apparently a known trafficker—not known to us, of course. From there, the trail went cold. I didn’t know if she was in New York, if she was overseas, if she was dead. I thought I’d never know. So in a way, you coming here has been a gift.”
“The worst gift ever,” I mutter.
Ernestine shakes her head.
