My daughter disappeared completely on prom night, and for eleven long months, I blamed the boy I had forbidden her to love.

The very last photo I had of Livia was taken at 5:12 p.m. on our front porch as she stood in a pale blue dress.

She stood there with her arm linked with her twin brother Liam’s, wearing a beautiful but impatient smile.

I strictly told them to stay together that night, and I added a stern warning to stay far away from Mitchell.

That was the absolute last time I heard my daughter’s voice before she walked down the porch steps.

At 11:47 p.m., the phone rang, and when I saw the high school’s number, my hand began to shake uncontrollably.

The principal told us that Livia had stepped outside the gym for some air, and no one had seen her since.

When we arrived at the school, Liam sat outside the office in his tuxedo with his face completely broken.

Her purse was gone, her phone was turned off, and because she was eighteen, police said there was a chance she left by choice.

In my mind, the story was already written, and I was entirely convinced that Mitchell had taken her against her will.

For eleven agonizing months, I lived inside that painful sentence while the police searched the woods and the river.

Weeks later, authorities told us Livia had briefly contacted them to say she was safe, but refused to reveal her location.

After that fateful night, Liam changed completely, stopped laughing, and began locking his bedroom door whenever he was inside.

But as I stood outside his room months later listening to him talk to someone in a hushed whisper, I heard a faint baby’s cry coming through the floorboards that made my heart completely stop…