My friend’s mother dropped me off to a driveway being occupied by a police car. I was frightened of course, always on my toes at this point, but I entered my house with my head held high. In seconds, this façade would drop to the ground and I would be left without my shell, vulnerable. The men told me my sister had run away with him. My parents sobbed, I joined, out of fear.

This was my fourteenth birthday. For me, it was also just another night in a home with a sister who dating a middle-aged man who had been sent to prison for having affairs with his students, my sister being his most sought out victim. Now she was lost, and thought to be running away with him to get married and never return. I would be lying if I said I thought she was coming back. Things like this had happened before, with the police and all, but she had never gone missing, and not for upwards of ten hours.

She was gone, and I was abandoned by my sister and best friend. I was angry and upset, so scared and anxious for her return. I needed her. She was my big sister, it was my birthday.