For ten years, I had kept one promise.
I would never stop looking for my daughter.
Not even when everyone else told me to.
Not when the police finally closed her case.
Not when neighbors stopped asking questions.
Not when people began speaking about Hannah in the past tense.
And certainly not when my own husband told me that I needed to accept that she was never coming home.
Hannah was eleven years old when she disappeared.
She was my only child.
And she had been the kind of girl who filled every room she entered.
She laughed loudly.
She sang while brushing her teeth.
