My Stupid Dress


Today we tell this story in the first-person voice for a change. Because it’s that kind of story that needs intimacy.


I was just going to dash upstairs to pick something up from the shop. It was one of the many Saturdays when I liked to dress up in a dress short enough to float just above my knees and also make a modest-enough impression on my mother-in-law. I’d then don my Carolina Herrera sunglasses, which between you and me are fake, but what is real anymore?

To complete this ensemble was Bee, my daughter. At five years, she was already devastatingly beautiful, like me, naturally. Of course, she took a bit after her father – mostly his modesty but that’s pretty much it. I’d dress her up to the nines. I’m those extra mothers who insist on tying a ribbon on their child’s head. I didn’t care. And also because I’m a responsible mother, I’d seat her at the back in her own seat, belted back left like the diva she is and we’d have a conversation as we drove to the mall. I’m that girl.

All the pleasures that’ve come my way in life have never been because I was smart or more hardworking or more connected. It’s been because of my confidence. I’m lazy but I’m confident. I’m confidently lazy. Or lazily confident. I never ever admit that I can’t do something. I have never changed the oil in my car but I’m sure I can learn how to do it in a day. I painted our bedroom myself. I learned archery after once watching a period movie that I can’t recall now. I once reversed a massive lorry from a carwash. I walked up to the driver and told him I’d never driven a lorry before; ‘Could I move it for you?’ He said, let me reverse it and then you can drive it to the gate. I said, no, let ME reverse it. And I did. Of course the driver was shitting bricks. I go online for complicated recipes and cook something exotic.

Do you want to know how I met my husband? He was dating my friend and then they broke up because my friend was crazy. No, literally, she used to throw ashtrays at him and chase him with a sword around the house. She once had people remove his rear car wheels at his regular watering hole. Finally, he said, “F*ck it, you are too loco for me,” and canned her. It was way back in 2008, I think. I know because it was after the post-election violence, which fit what transpired after because when my friend heard I was dating her ex, she wanted to gut me like a fish. The reason why I went for him was actually because she wounded my pride. She once said I’d never date a man like him, that I’d be “punching above my weight.” [Yes, she liked violent expressions as well]. So I met him and I dated him then because I’m extra, I married him. Of course, I love him. Nice guy.

Anyway, the mall.

The plan, like I said, was to rush upstairs to a shop and fetch a dress I was having adjusted. It was literally going to be pick up and leave. I told Bee, “Baby, stay here okay? I’m coming back in two minutes.” She was having her ice cream. There were waiters. My shopping from the supermarket was at the foot of my table. I was just going to pick and leave.

When I came back she was not there.

But her ice cream cup was there, so was my shopping bag and the book I had been reading, turned on its belly, was still there. I didn’t even panic. Not yet. But I was about to go batshit crazy. I stood at my table and calmly surveyed the scenery, which now in hindsight was a sign of shock, not even calmness. Then when I was satisfied my baby wasn’t at the table I calmly strode over to the counter and asked the waitress who had served me, “Where is my baby?” She asked, “What baby?” I wanted to slap her across the face. Twice.  I said, “Bee, my baby. She has a red ribbon on her head.” She looked dazed for a minute before saying, “Oh, I think it’s her who was serving you,” then she called out to the waitress who was serving me, “Laura, ebu kuja usaidie huyu client wako please.” Laura came over. She had very big lips. I swear I didn’t recall her serving me. She had lips you can’t forget, they are not only on her face, they are on your face, so to speak. Guys, pay attention to the people who serve you.

Laura had a wide smile, which is what you use big lips for. I said, “Where is my baby?”, looking at my table. She turned, following my gaze, and then was silent for a second. She started mumbling things, saying she thought she was with me, and things. I told her, “I left her right there to go upstairs for a minute, where is my baby?” People were staring, the staff were looking at me, and I recall the room getting hot and I couldn’t breathe. I realised that I wasn’t using my normal voice, I was screaming and going completely apeshit, shouting that I wanted my baby right the hell now! Where have you guys taken my baby? I will burn down this whole joint if you don’t produce my baby now!  I was also crying. The manager, a stout man with a baby face, came and tried to calm me down. I slapped his hand away from my shoulder. I said I wanted my baby! Where is my baby! I was led to the back office where, huddled around his computer, we studied the CCTV cameras where we saw my baby immediately get off her leather booth and follow me out as soon as I left. I started wailing watching this. I was shouting, “Oh my God! Oh my God! Stop Bee! Stop Bee! DON’T LEAVE! DON’T LEAVE!” As if what we were watching was happening in real-time and she could hear me.

Then I fainted.

Like I said, I can be extra.

That was my first time to faint, by the way. I’d never had a chance to faint in my life even though I had countless opportunities to faint. Like in University when I walked into my boyfriend’s hostel and found him removing a girl’s trousers. That was my perfect opportunity to faint. Instead, I wasted it by saying, “Oops, sorry,” then walked out of the room like a zombie. Good thing I didn’t faint then because it later turned out I was the side chick and not that tramp whose trousers he was removing.

When I came to, I was lying on the floor with a wet cloth over my head, my feet propped up on a cushion. An old fan whirled above me from the ceiling and the manager sat on a chair with another lady, looking at me strangely. Anyway, when I was strong enough to sit down, my husband arrived and I told him that Bee had disappeared.  “She just walked out of the restaurant,” I cried, blowing my nose with a very small serviette from a box on the desk. It’s hard to be a lady when you have just lost your daughter and you can’t even find a decent serviette to blow your nose with. My husband was speechless. He’s the type that boils over slowly, like an oven. I’m a bomb.

Anyway, we scoured the mall. We looked at the CCTVs that were working, most weren’t. There were too many blind spots. This was before the crazies blew up things in the name of religion. My daughter vanished just like that. I felt like I was in a horror movie for which I wasn’t going to be nominated for an Oscar. I felt like I was in a nightmare and I begged to open my eyes and walk into my baby’s bedroom and find her asleep there, with her big cheeks and beautiful eyelashes.

When we went back home we had a row. Proper man and wife row. My husband, saying it in many ways, accused me of losing our daughter. “How can you, a right-thinking human being, leave a 5-year old unattended in a restaurant because you want to go pick up your stupid dress from a shop upstairs?” I took particular exception to his usage of the word, “right-thinking”, it was loaded with sarcasm like French fries are loaded with calories. He barked at me long and hard. We shouted at each other. He kept poking at my guilt like you would a dying fire. I was angrier with myself. And scared. Very scared of what could be happening to my Bee.

I kept calling the cops whose numbers I had taken while at the station. I kept calling them at all hours of that night, begging them to look everywhere for my baby, as my husband lay in bed with his back to me, the lights off. Me crying nonstop. Him looking away. His back stiff with rejection and accusation. We didn’t sleep a wink that night. We fought intermittently through the night, at some point I ceded. I couldn’t fight him anymore. He was right. I had been foolish. I made a stupid error in judgement, I left a five-year-old kid in a cafe alone to pick up my stupid dress. As dawn came with its harsh light, I embraced the error of my ways and when I ceded, when I no longer argued, when the anger left my body and the pain set in, pain and guilt and the kind of fear you can’t imagine if you haven’t lost your only child set in, he kept punching me with words, punching holes in my heart, wounding me over and over.

Just before six, when I was exhausted and desperate, he suddenly got out of bed and went into the bathroom to take a bath. It was strange, it being a Sunday. He is the kind of guy who showers in five minutes flat and dresses up in another five minutes and then he’s out of the house, but this morning the shower ran and ran and ran and I thought, ‘Oh God, what if he’s hanged himself in the bathroom? He can’t leave me alone in this world with this pain. If he’s hanged himself, I’m going to cut him down and use the same rope to hang myself.’ So I went and stood outside the bathroom door, listening for movement. Then I heard the sobs. He was crying like a child. I knew I had to go find my baby and bring her to him. I left the house. I drove out.

The roads were empty. I saw a car in a ditch, a casualty of the previous night’s drinking.  I looked out for any unattended five-year-old children walking by the side of the road. A girl with a red ribbon. I found myself outside the mall. I parked outside. My car was the only car there. My car and electric poles and some trees. I stared at the closed entrance hoping my baby would be seated on the staircase, waiting for me. I started wailing. Really wailing, like Luos wail at their funerals. A guard with a weathered face came to my door. He had on a hat. I rolled down my window. I was a mess. My nose was running. I had a headache. My eyes were red. My face felt puffy. I must have looked like an old drug addict with the flu. The guard was so concerned. I told him I lost my baby here yesterday. “Umemuona?” I asked. I showed him her pictures from my phone. I kept scrolling through my gallery, showing him her pictures; I went back to pictures of her when she was born. As if he could recognise her when she was an hour old with matted hair. He kept saying, ‘Pole madam, sijamuona. Pole madam, atapatikana’. I gave him my number and made him promise that if he saw her anywhere, on the road, in a matatu, he would call me immediately. She has a red ribbon on her head, I repeated, in case he forgets.

Then I drove back home slowly, scanning the roadside for her. Crying. Praying. I kept negotiating with God. I told Him, take one of my kidneys, in exchange for her safe return. Or take my eyesight. I don’t care if I never see her again, but I want to hold her and never let go of her. I told Him that if he didn’t want to take anything from me then he should put the most horrible disease in me. Something that would bring me excruciating pain. I was sure that nothing would beat the pain I was feeling at that moment. I was negotiating with God.

When I got home my husband was seated on the balcony drinking. At 8am! He never drinks at home unless we are hosting. I’ve never seen him drink alone. He never looked back when I walked through the door. He never asked me where I had been. He sat there the whole morning, just drinking from his bottle of vodka. I stayed in the room, crying and making calls and trying to imagine the things that could be happening to my daughter; rape, organ trade, slavery, torture, mistreatment. I imagined my daughter in a room, her ribbon taken away from her, crying for me, possibly hungry and scared because of what my husband called ‘my stupid dress.’ These thoughts hurt my womb so much, I curled in bed in pain, feeling cold. My sister came over. My husband never said a word to her. He picked his car keys from the kitchen and left. We are those couples who keep all the keys in the kitchen. My sister sat with me, telling me unconvincingly that Bee would be found.

I left the house at 2pm, and – on my insistence – drove back to the mall with my sister. We walked the mall, we searched the ladies’ on each floor. I walked into the men’s room and opened doors, the men in the urinal, their penises in their hands, looking over their shoulders with a mixture of both admiration and surprise. We talked to guards. Nothing. Bee had not been seen. When my sister dropped me off at 6pm, my husband hadn’t come back home. Every time my phone rang I thought it was the police calling and I’d get paralysed with the fear of answering my phone.

My husband never returned that night. I called his closest friends. I called them as late as 2am. I could hear their wives asking sleepily and suspiciously in the background, “Who is that?” Yeah, what did they think this was, a booty call? I don’t have a mother or a father. They are both dead. But I have an aunt in the village who I never talk to much because she’s always asking me for money to save her business. She was the only one I could think of who was very religious. I called her at 3am and it’s almost like she was waiting for my call, how calmly she said, “Maggie, you have called, daughter. I have been thinking about you.” I broke down telling her the story and she listened without interrupting me and finally, when I had composed myself she said, “We put this in the hands of the Lord. He is capable. He is able. He has all our answers. Let us pray.” And we prayed. Rather, she prayed, I cried.

My husband walked into the house at 7am. Dishevelled, drunk, confused. I didn’t dare ask him where he had been. I didn’t want to know. Plus he was spoiling for a fight. I know how he is when he is spoiling for a fight; his energy is wrong, he opens doors forcefully, even though they are not locked, he slams the fridge, he blinks rapidly. I followed him into the bedroom where he was removing his shirt. I stood at the door, watching him. He ignored me. He tossed his shirt on the floor, something he knows I hate. Yes, he was definitely spoiling for a fight and I wasn’t going to hand him one. I was tired. He was the only one who shared my pain. Who could understand the horror we were trapped in.

He sat on the bed and removed his old tennis shoes.

I called his name. Let’s call him, Tim.  I said, “Tim.” It seemed to take him all the effort in the world to look at me and when he did, his gaze was full of loathing and vitriol. I said, “I’m sorry. I’m very sorry.” I didn’t know I was crying because I don’t remember not ever crying in the past few hours. Suddenly those words seemed like a bomb that I had lobbed into his hate and loathing because it exploded, and he held his head in his hands and started really crying. He cried like I’ve never seen a man cry. Not even in movies. He kept saying, “What are we going to do about Bee? How are we ever going to live life without her?” I went and sat next to him and held him to me. He smelled of spirit, and a strange perfume.

It being a Monday we sat in the house, in the living room, silent. We couldn’t eat. The TV was off. It was like a funeral. I would go to Bee’s bedroom and stand over her bed. I smelled Piglet, her stuffed panda. Children break your heart, man, they name a panda Piglet. I smelt her baby oils. I opened her drawers and smelled her clothes. I held her shoes close to my heart for them to hear my heartbreak. I cried looking at the animal stickers above her bed. I was going mad.

Then my phone rang.

You know that phone call that changes your life forever? It rings differently. It was one of the policemen I’d been calling. I refused to pick his call. I carried the phone to my husband who was lying on the couch, his hand over his eyes, like he was basking under a bright sun. “It’s the police,” I said. He quickly swung his legs from the couch as I handed him the phone. “It’s the police,” I repeated in a shaky voice. He looked at the phone and said, “Pick it!” I said, “I can’t!” The phone stopped ringing. He placed it on the table. And we stared at it like you would a poisonous snake, wondering if it was dead. I was shaking. I could see how his chest rose and fell with fear. Before we could muster the strength to call back the phone suddenly started ringing and I remember gasping and jumping back in fright. I covered my mouth with both hands and started saying, “God please, God please.”

My husband, hands shaking, picked the phone and very slowly pressed the answer button then slowly brought it to his ear.

“No, it’s the husband,” he whispered, his voice so cracked I could wedge a coin in it. He listened some more. He slowly stood up. He started crying. I slowly backed away, like one would back away from something dangerous that might harm them. Then I started screaming my head out as my husband hung up and said amidst tears, “I think they found her.”




Let me go to bed. I will finish Part Two and post it tomorrow Wednesday. I know, sorry.






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    1. “Do you want to know how I met my husband? He was dating my friend and then they broke up because my friend was crazy”… Who confesses to stealing their friend’s man

  1. Oh my God!
    I’m a Christian and I don’t call God’s name in vain but oh my God.

    Surely Biko. Yaani you have the rest of the story with you but you’ve decided we just suffer with curiosity here?
    Let me start my countdown to tomorrow.
    Don’t post it past 10am. Please and thank you. Ikiwezekana hata post 8am.

  2. Wueh…. That must have been the longest 36 or so hours for them. and the last 3 paragraph, I couldn’t breath while reading them…. but I’m sure it was such a relief finding the kid…… or I should wait for part two?

  3. Yawa. Yani this is how you decide to put a full stop to this story?

    I think they found her.

    That must be the best short sentence Mama Bee has ever heard.

  4. Hoping she doesn’t revisit “the strange perfume” after the girl is found but that’s just the way most women are wired unfortunately 🙂 Kesho ni siku pia!

    1. i know, she messed up so i think she took it as a goal -goal.
      but who goes to have a good time when in despair ,kwani it raises a kinda adrenaline?

  5. With such speed Biko, you want to ruin my heart.
    Such a difficult read. Felt like it was my own child gone missing.

  6. It’s only Biko who can make your eyes well up in emotions and laugh at the same time, the opportunity to faint took me out

  7. Wueh!,I can’t wait for tomorrow, I almost feel like they’ll be a twist.A bad one ☹️☹️. Anyway let’s wait and see.

  8. What! Biko how do you leave us hanging like this? I literally cannot breathe. Am reading this in a meeting and I held my breathe for so long. Post our story, Biko

  9. For some strange reason, I started singing that song by Don Carlos;

    Tomorrow is another day, as the clock keeps tickin’ away:
    Time is so precious and so I say.
    Tomorrow is another day, as the clock keeps tickin’ away:
    Time is so precious and so I say.

    You have turned us into musicians Biko!!.. the suspense arghh !!


  11. Wah! This sounds like things that I could do but am not married..I lost my baby once and I went bonkers!! Holy Lord, sounds like a Sidney Sheldon story. Can’t wait for next week.

  12. Lord Heavens, Biko you cant do this to us banange. My tea has frozen as I was reading with my gut. Please tell me the child was found and then you post the rest of the story today. Wednesday is too far.

  13. i am shaking!!! i once got lost when i was 5 yrs old. got left by the school bus and thought i could walk home. luckily it was the 90s and people were nice then. thanks to my school uniform a class teacher recognized me and took me home. I had no idea what was going through my parents mind. the teacher called the principal who called my parents. we were those families that thank God had a landline. I was taken to the principals house and my parents came to pick me up in the middle of the night. i think they were so relieved i miraculously did not get a beating that day.

  14. Oh oh, what are you doing to us Biko? What a suspense.. I am waiting here until you publish the remaining piece. You are a superb story teller!

  15. This is the most unfair writing I’ve come across in many years. How do you end a compelling story just like that. This hurts!

  16. My heart is beating out of my chest and it feels tight, I’m biting my nails and teeth gnashing…Frantically praying with this lady for Bee.
    You dealt us rough though, to wait till tomorrow. We’ll be here tomorrow bright and early

  17. Reading through this story I found myself shedding tears and holding my breath in fear of the worst! As a mother of 2 boys I can only imagine the trauma a parent goes through losing their only child. Please bring part two! Praying for a happy ending

  18. No please
    I’m literally praying right now, as if this is happening in real time . However this ends, hugs mama (and baba) Bee

  19. Biko, how could you? My boss called twice and I didn’t hear because I lost in this read wanting to finish I risk losing my job and not being able to finish this story….many of us are extra!

  20. Wah! Now we have to sleep for another day and await the outcome?
    Let it have a good ending because how does a parent live after this?
    Everything becomes insignificant.. the dress can burn, the shopping can be taken, the book too..but a child cannot ever be replaced.
    I wish she had even told the waiters to keep an eye on her, even if it was for those five minutes. Si that’s what we do at libraries…take our wallets with us, but tell the people close by to keep a watch on our bags.
    Or if you’re travelling and have to go to the loo, we ask people, “Are you taking your flight now? Can you keep watch over our bags, we’ll be back after a few minutes?”
    For a little human, you just have to take her with you even if it is for a minute.

  21. what? what’s so hard about finishing this story Biko?
    you go sleep. May the gods of Okerekete give you nightmares.

  22. I normally enter public toilets with my 4 year old son and instruct him to face the door as I carry on my business.
    This story makes me realize I’m not crazy to do that.

  23. We lost (were separated from) our son for about two hours in Mombasa (public beach) one Christmas, he was about 4 years. It is an experience that could kill. Some people who we asked for help, even accused us of sacrificing our son through drowning him.
    After we found him, I vomited and my stomach run for almost 24hours. We thank God, we found him!

  24. Ohhh my God , you captured me …tears tears tears my mind was screaming along with her….can’t wait…good write up

  25. Biko surely?? Tomorrow is a decade away…
    Hoping for a happy ending. Mama Bee please forget the strange perfume.. Please

  26. Cant wait for Part II…My chest hurts from this story BTW…have lost my child in a supermarket. Crazy ordeal

  27. The hell! How do u just do this… You have dropped me from the sky to a very rough patch. Can tomorrow come already!

  28. Being a first time dad to a 2 year old baby girl, gotta say this has me scared worse than anything I’ve ever read in my entire life!

  29. Biko!!! Surely you can’t sleep just like that! As a mother i need to know whether Bee was found! I won’t sleep tonite.. The pressure!

  30. There is so much judgment from everyone around us when you lose a child. I once lost my 3 year old in a hotel. I picked an outdoor seating because there was a children play area and i wanted to sit at a place where i could see him. My table was barely 5 metres away and i sat facing him. I briefly looked down at the menu but when i looked up my baby was nowhere to be seen. I couldn’t tell whether he had moved to the trampoline or playhouse or towards the gate. But my mind went into crisis mode and i was like the biggest risk was if he had walked towards the gate. I ran towards the gate which was about 40 metres away to find him being held by a lady who had seen him as he tried to go out the gate. I started crying just thinking what could have happened to him had he managed to leave the gate. I knelt down and hugged him and carried him back in my arms. The lady who held him for me was so harsh to me though. She was like, “how do you leave your child to wander alone…” I didn’t have the strength to correct her that i never left him, i was seated right in front of him and i discovered he was gone almost immediately. This experience gave me so much fear that i couldn’t even leave him in a bouncing castle. I would stand by the entrance until it was time to go.

  31. Seems everyone is learning from Lady Whistledown for Bridgerton…

    No one is willing to give the story in full at one go … There is always a tomorrow

    So we await …

  32. Even in the rarest of moments a woman will still notice a strange perfume. Be very careful fellow sons of Adam.

  33. Biko, if somehow I get fired tomorrow, please be ready to give me a job. I have ignored my boss’ calls so that I can read the story and now I have to do it again tomorrow! Let’s just hope that he won’t call.

  34. I think losing yout baby is the most heartbreaking thing ever. Id never wish it even on my worst enemy. Hugs

    1. Am back…I think they are having sex …you know that sex after such an ordeal…si I guess Bee amepatikana… Acha nifike Machakos kwanza

  35. I was literally gasping with you waiting for Tim to tell us,what the police had said…. Tuko locked, Wednesday ifike sai.

  36. See, this is the reason I stopped watching soaps, series movies cos I don’t do well with suspense and this cliff hanger is not doing me any good yawa!

  37. What a suspense!

    This style of writing reminds me of Karen Rose’ novels, always full of suspense.

    Waiting for part two.

  38. What, you leave us hanging here like this…….in short we are doing nothing tomorrow until we finish reading this….thank you sir!

  39. Just my rotten luck.Most days I wait till Wednesday to read this beloved blog.Reason being I like going through all the comments and there is usually plenty the following day.The suspense!! Biko where do you live?naja

  40. You can’t do this Biko…
    Umetuacha pale kwa barabara Kati Kati….
    Can’t wait for continuation…
    Great read

  41. This is something else….I started reading when In bed but how I’ve been clifhanged in my sofa only God knows. Biko your writing is awesome. I cannot wait for tomorrow 8 am.

    Lovely piece but please maliza.

  42. Good grief! I couldn’t help it, my eyes welled with tears all through..i had to scroll to the end just to kill the suspense, then got right up to finish the story. I hope she was found alive.
    I can only imagine the anguish.

  43. So sorry they had to go through that terrible ordeal. I never thought described emotions could feel so real…..waaaaah, my head is reeling. Still, that dress was really stupid!

  44. I have never read an article and be on edge like this cause i felt them. Biko that suspence is not good…damn!! My hands are sweaty….

  45. My son, a 10 year old grown ass man, was dropped at the gate by the grandparents and instead of getting in he decided he is a grown man who never goes home before dark and went to find his friends. I was waiting for him and she knew the moment he’d been dropped. Twenty minutes later I go looking for him and I can’t find him, anywhere! The images that go through you head, your heart feels too big…a night of this state would kill me..weh!

  46. How can you do this to all the mothers like me! in the whole damn wide freaking world! All the mothers reading this are not going to sleep tonight! Nkt!

  47. It’s 8.36 pm, I could not leave without reading, then you just end it there? My chapatis this week give you a running stomach!! Asi weh!

  48. giiiiiirrrrrllllllll! i was you for the entire 5min ..going to bed as well,,see me tomorrow..i mean you..i mean i will read tomorrow

  49. I feel like crying tonight. It’s not related to the story really. It’s something different and this post here has kicked started it all:'(

  50. Biko,? Biko? Biko? How many times did I call you? Umewai weka gari gear then you don’t step on the acceleration…. Yaani in short umetuacha Kwa Mataaa… Usikue Ivo bwana

  51. When my kids were young and I had to use a washroom like in a mall, I’d have them stand right outside the bathroom door and sing very loudly until I got out. If they paused for a second, I’d be outside with my clothes on my knees!……I thank God Bee was found. No one should have to live with such guilt.

  52. “Then I heard the sobs. He was crying like a child. I knew I had to go find my baby and bring her to him. I left the house. I drove out.” This made me shed tears. Losing a child can be very painful

  53. We’re a expecting a new-born baby in a fortnight and I’d say, as a first time father, I’ve got something here to learn. I’ll make sure my wife has read too.

  54. Damn. I want to use all the curse words I know. I was laughing as I begun reading. Then emotions started building up. Tension. Fear. Tears. Anxiety. Damn…

    It’s Wednesday. Part 2 damnit!

  55. I feel like this is already your best piece this year…I’ve read the whole of it with suspense….I don’t remember reading something this interesting

  56. Reading this and you can just feel the couple’s pain. Damn you just want to hold, hug, kiss your little girl more.

    Well written boss.

  57. No. No. This is so difficult to read, because I do not think any parent can claim never to have done something stupid. It reminds me of the day I went to pick my son in Sunday School and he was nowhere to be seen. In a daze I rushed to where I had parked the car and he was just there playing. How he slipped out of the class nobody could tell. It is a feeling I do not wish on my worst enemy… oh I do not have enemies I know of… let me just say not something I would wish on any living being.

  58. Hii story ‘imenisuffocate’ for sure. Its the kind of story that you have to pray before reading the next paragraph because yoooooooh… shit is crazy

  59. Oh my tears… I was right there opening urinal doors and asking each human if they had seen Bee…
    tomorrow we finish up Part 2

  60. I’ve never prayed as I read a story, as if I can change anything….ghaiiii!!! The fear that has gripped me about my baby gal….wacha tu

  61. This one … i was pacing with it. My tummy knotted at Bee (My youngest nick name is also Bee) not being there…. and even after reading the 2nd part, i still feel the knot in the womb a mother feels when she loses a child, however it happened…

    Sooo glad they got her back, my heart was breaking right along..