Missing

It's so easy for me. I get into work and the kids are in bed already. A couple of them usually slip out of their rooms, even though they're not supposed to - they slip out, into the office, and tell me how their week was, show me their new clothes, remote cars, school pictures, stories they wrote. I tuck them in bed and bring them water.
And then, I cook and clean and bake. I fold laundry. I vacuum. I mop up urine. I do room checks and I bring them medication. I make them muffins and pancakes and bacon and eggs. They wake up. We talk, I tease them. Make them shower. Wash the dishes. They hug me, and tell me they love me. And I love those little bastards too, knowing full well they are one emotional outburst away from hitting me. And then, I go home to my nice life.

One of them is missing tonight. She ran away, into the city and its hungry men. No one knows where she went, and everyone expects the worst.
Oh, little heart, be safe. Be safe.