Sixteen years ago, my mother named me Sarah Matthews. It’s a sweet, innocent name. But I haven’t used it much lately. It’s not that I don’t like it. I do. I just can’t use it for obvious reasons.  

Let me try to explain... You see, I’m a missing person. Of course, I know where I am. I’m sitting on an over-sized sofa in my aunt’s apartment. But as far as the rest of the world is concerned, Sarah Matthews is missing. However, I assure you I’m not missing. I’m happy and safe. This is where I want to stay. 

Let me tell you a little about my father. He’s a man full of flaws. I know everyone has flaws. But he has big flaws, dangerous flaws. He’s incapable of loving anyone. That’s what I suspect anyway, based on his behavior.  

I’ve often wondered how he turned out that way. I never knew my grandparents. So I can’t say for certain that it’s because of how he was raised. I’ve often thought he must have been abused or neglected. Maybe he wasn’t taught right from wrong. 

My mother tried to protect me from him. But she died from pneumonia when I was very young. That’s when a man I never met before claimed me like a prize at the fair. Like I was some sort of material possession instead of a person with feelings. I’ll never understand how a woman so kind and generous, with such a strong moral compass, ended up having a child with a man like my father. 

My father only seemed to care about the attention he received from strangers—the “fame” of inheriting a daughter he never knew existed. Local papers loved photographing and interviewing the new dad and his little girl. 

I remember when he picked me up from my group home. All I had was one suitcase, a teddy bear that my mother gave me, and an old photograph of my mother holding me as a baby. I kept the photograph hidden. It was my most prized possession.  

He took the bear away from me during my first night at his house. He said it was my punishment for being born and ruining his life. A couple weeks later, while he was drunk on the floor, I stole the bear back. I kept it hidden away for years in the grate near my bed. 

My bed consisted of a pillow and two blankets on a hard wood floor. Not much of a bed, if you ask me. The grate was supposed to allow heat from the wood stove downstairs to rise and warm the second floor. Most of the time, my father never heated the house. He was too busy getting drunk to think about practical things like that. Heat and food were not on his list of priorities. So I hid my prized possessions in that grate, and he never found them. 

I think the only thing my father loved more than himself was alcohol. But perhaps he never loved himself at all. From the time he woke in the morning to the time he passed out at night, there was a bottle in his hand. Seems like if he truly loved himself he’d try to get his life together. But they say addiction is a disease. Some people never recover from an addiction. 

I try to never hate anyone, but I hate what he did to me. I loathe how he ruined my childhood and forced me to live in fear. I despise how he made me feel. Like I was somehow to blame for all his problems. Like I deserved his angry words and hurtful hands— 

“What are you writing about? Your expression is pretty intense,” a woman asks the young girl, who is writing furiously in her notebook. The woman is kind and motherly looking. 

The girl looks up and smiles. “Oh, it’s not really important,” she tells the woman.  

“I see… Well, did you decide if you want to start taking music lessons this semester? Dave emailed me today. I have a list of the days and times teachers are available.” 

The girl nods. “I do, but it’s hard to decide which instrument I want to play.” 

The woman chuckles. “Yes, I can see how it would be difficult to decide when you’re interested in all of them.” 

“Not all of them!” She giggles.  

The woman puts her arm around the girl’s shoulders. She leans in and kisses her head.  

“I’m going to start dinner now. When you’re done writing in your journal, come and help me in the kitchen.” 

“I will.”  

She watches the woman walk away. She stares at the empty doorway for a few moments, then closes her eyes and takes a deep breath. Exhaling, she opens her eyes and smiles.  

My mother and my aunt didn’t always get along, but I know my grandparents raised them well. Raised them to know right from wrong. Raised them to have empathy. Raised them to be kind.  

I miss my mother every day of my life, but I’m so thankful for my aunt. She rescued me. She has devoted her life to taking care of me and others who need help. 

The girl looks up from her journal to the empty doorway again. She gently rubs her hands across her arm.  

“I’m safe,” she says to herself.  

“Noah, time to get up! Mom will be expecting us this morning.”  

Noah Strout, a sixteen-year-old junior at Franklin Davis High School, is sprawled across his tiny bed. The beautiful Saturday morning sunshine peeks through the gaps in his dark blue curtains. He slowly sits up. He stretches his arms and legs.  

Noah loves his mom, but he wishes he didn’t have to go on these weekly Saturday visits. It’s difficult to watch his dad try to stay positive. It’s even harder to watch his mom. She’s a shell of the person she once was.  

Three months ago, Theresa Strout suffered a stroke while volunteering at Fiona’s Food Pantry. Life for Noah and his dad, Henry, hadn’t been the same since.  

“Breakfast will be ready in about five minutes. Don’t take too long,” Noah’s dad calls from downstairs. 

“I won’t, Dad.” Noah yawns and grabs the clothes off his desk chair.  

Henry flips pancakes in the kitchen while listening to Mozart. There’s a tear in his right eye. He brushes it away before Noah notices it.  

“Mozart is Mom’s favorite composer,” Noah says with a smile. 

“Yes, and it isn’t a Saturday morning without Mozart,” Henry says. Then he loads up a plate pancakes and some scrambled eggs.  

“Thanks, Dad.”  

Noah takes the plate and sits at the empty table. He pours maple syrup over his pancakes and begins cutting them up. Henry makes a plate and sits next to Noah at the table. They eat in silence, enjoying the food but thinking of happier times.  

Noah remembers when he was five years old. Their house was chaotic with four kids running around. Now everyone has moved on except for Noah, the baby of the family. He doesn’t talk to his brother and sisters very often. They’re busy with their own lives, finishing college or starting out in the adult world. He misses having them home. It’s a lonely life. 

Henry remembers happier days, too. Everything he loved was in this home. Now the house is quiet and still. Two men on their own, without a wife and a mother. Henry swallows hard and takes a sip of orange juice. He smiles kindly at his youngest child as they prepare for their journey.  

The drive to Rainbow Estates is always an awkward ride for Noah. He’s never quite sure what to say, and his father usually seems deep in thought.  

Today is different though. Henry breaks the pattern of silence.  

“I’m thinking about bringing Mom home,” he tells Noah.  

Noah’s gray eyes widen. He stares out the windshield, not sure how to respond. 

“I’ve been doing a lot of reading. I think if I hire a caregiver we can make this work.”  

“Okay...” stammers Noah. 

“She may never fully recover. I want you to know that. But she needs to be around the people she loves. Being around us might help her recover faster.” 

Noah nods. His father’s words shock him. He didn’t expect this conversation. He had already mourned the loss of his mother. The loss of who she was before her stroke. He never thought she’d be home again.  

There’s a flurry of activity in the main visitor’s room as they arrive. Some of the Rainbow Estates residents have tables covered with bingo cards. A middle-aged woman in a floral dress calls bingo numbers from the front of the room.  

Henry and Noah check in at the front desk. They find Theresa finishing up her speech therapy session in the den. The therapist turns her wheelchair to face the visitors.  

“Hi, Mom.” Noah sits in a chair next to his mother. He tells her some of his news from school.  

Henry has a brief conversation with the speech therapist, then he sits next to Noah. He holds his wife’s hand and tells her how much he misses her at home. She stares into the distance while her family speaks to her.  

“She may be a little tired from the speech therapy. She’s working very hard. You should be very proud of her.” The therapist smiles and gathers up the rest of her materials before leaving.  

“Theresa, my love, I’m going to bring you home.” 

She slowly turns her head and looks directly at him.  

“I’m going to bring you home. We’ll be together again.” Henry squeezes her hand. 

Her eyes fill with tears as she tries to smile at him. They sit together in silence before Henry leaves to speak with administration about the discharge process.  

Noah decides to take his mother for a walk. He pushes her wheelchair through the sun room and out into the garden. 

“The flowers are beautiful this time of year. Don’t you agree, Mom?” 

She nods her head slightly.  

For close to an hour, Noah wheels his mother around the estate grounds. Eventually, Henry catches up with them.  

“We’re all set. By this time next week, you will be home!” He leans over and kisses his wife’s forehead.  

Noah is overwhelmed by the thought of his mother, in her current condition, being back at the house. He’s not sure what to expect or what his role will be.  

During the ride home, Henry explains everything they need to do to prepare for Theresa’s return.  

“The first thing I must do is go through this list of home caregivers and interview candidates. Will you be able to help me with that, Noah?” 

“Yes.”  

Noah feels a mix of emotions. He’s happy, afraid, and angry, but he can’t really explain why. He wants to do everything he can to help his father. But he’s afraid he won’t be strong enough to deal with even more changes.  

“Hi, my name’s Katrina Jones. I’m here for the caregiver interview.” 

“Oh, yes. Please, come in. I apologize if I seem distracted. It’s been a crazy couple of days,” Henry admits.  

He moves a stack of papers off a chair and offers his guest a seat.  

“No problem. I’m used to it. It’s never an easy situation when you’re searching for a caregiver.” 

Henry smiles. “You’re quite right. So, tell me about yourself. How long have you been a caregiver?”  

“Well, I have ten years’ experience as a caregiver for people with various needs.” 

“I see, I see… And do you have experience caring for stroke survivors?” 

“Yes, I do. I’ve provided care for six stroke survivors. Most of my clients have had mild to moderate disabilities from their stroke. Many have improved over time with proper care and therapy.” 

“Yes, I see. You are highly recommended by Rainbow Estates. Can you explain why?” 

Katrina smiles. “Probably because I worked for them quite recently before branching out as an independent, self-employed caregiver.” 

Henry laughs. “I guess you left the company on very good terms if they’re referring you. I just have a few more questions for you.” 

“Of course, ask away.” 

Outside, Noah finishes up the yard work his father asked him to do. It’s been a hectic week preparing for his mother’s return. The house and yard had been neglected since his mother’s stroke. Chores seemed unimportant. To Noah, they still do.  

However, Noah is starting to feel like there is some purpose and direction in what he does. He helped his father interview nine caregivers this week. It was a tiring task, but he knew they needed to find the best person to help his mother.  

He leans his rake against a small white and gray shed. He pulls off his headphones and takes a drink of water from a glass bottle.  

“Do you need any help?” asks a voice from behind him.  

He swings around. There’s a girl standing there. He recognizes her.  

“Oh, hey, I didn’t see you there.” 

She smiles. “I’m Maddy Greene, from Franklin Davis. I’m just waiting for my Aunt Katrina. She’s here for the caregiver interview.” 

Noah nods and quickly changes the subject. “Yes, I know you. We have Biology together. Are you ready for the test next week?” 

She’s relieved Noah remembers her from class. “Yeah, I think so. Are you?” 

“As ready as I’ll ever be,” Noah says, laughing.  

“I’m planning to go to nursing school after we graduate. Do you know what you want to do after high school?” 

Noah shrugs. “I have no idea. Taking it one day at a time for now...” 

“I understand.”  

She reaches for the rake. Her arm passes Noah and he notices several small, circular scars. She hastily pulls back her arm.  

“Chicken pox scars.” She rubs her arms with her hands. “I was just going to help you rake. Is that okay?”  

“Oh, I’m done. Well, taking a break. You can rake if you want. Your aunt should be done soon.”  

“Thanks.” She picks up the rake and begins working on a layer of leaves covering the garden. “This weather is sort of nuts. One minute it feels like winter and the next minute it feels like spring.” 

“Yeah, the weather has been getting more extreme the last few years. Mom says...” Noah abruptly cuts off his sentence and clears his throat.  

Madeline looks up from raking. “What’s the matter, Noah?”  

He shakes his head and clears his throat again.  

Madeline leans the rake on the wooden fence and walks over to him. She looks him straight in the eyes.  

“It’s okay. You can talk to me. I know my aunt is interviewing as a home caregiver for a middle-aged woman. I assume she is your mother.”  

Noah nods.  

“I’m sorry. I can’t imagine how difficult it is for you. My mother died in a car accident when I was six years old. I’d give anything to have her back again.”  

Maddy reaches out and grabs Noah’s hands. They look at one another. Each one understands how sad and alone the other feels. Each one knows how hard the other is fighting to have a normal teen life. 

“Maddy!” Aunt Katrina waves from the car. “Ready to go?” 

“Sorry, Noah. I have to go.” She drops her hands and takes a step back. Then she turns and runs towards the car. 

Noah watches them leave. He picks up the rake and begins working on the garden. His anger begins to bubble up. Why does it all feel so unfair? Why does having a normal life have to be so hard?  

He walks to the back of the shed and kicks a couple of boards until his foot is sore and his anger subsides. 

“Dad, I got most of the yard work done. I need a break.” Noah says as he walks inside. He opens the refrigerator and grabs a bottle of iced tea. 

“That’s fine. We’re pretty much on schedule for Mom’s arrival. I even found the perfect caregiver! I’m going to call her tonight and offer her the job.”  

Noah pulls the bottle of tea away from his mouth. “You found a caregiver? Today?” 

“Yes, and she’s fantastic! You may have seen her leave a few moments ago. Her name’s...” 

“Katrina.” 

“Yes, that’s right. Did you meet her?” 

“No, not exactly. I saw her niece, Maddy, waiting for her.” 

“Oh, I didn’t know she brought a child with her.” 

“Not a child, Dad. Maddy goes to my school. She’s in my biology class.” 

“Ah, I see. Well, Katrina seems like the best fit for our needs.” 

Noah nods. “Dad, I’m sorry. I kicked a hole in the shed a few minutes ago,” he admits. “I was angry at myself. I’ll fix it after school tomorrow.” 

Henry places his hand on Noah’s shoulder. “I understand. Our world has been upside down for a few months now. I can’t guarantee that life will be perfect again, but we will be a reunited family.”  

Noah nods. “Thanks, Dad.” 

“Hey, before I forget, can you grab that stack of papers and junk mail and throw them in the recycle bin?” 

“Sure, Dad.”  

Noah begins tossing the paper into the bin at the end of the driveway. A gust of wind catches a few pieces of junk mail and blows them out of his hand. He chases them up the driveway.  

As he’s about to drop the papers into the bin, he notices a section titled “Have You Seen Me?” He studies the photos carefully. He rips out the section before tossing the rest of the papers into the bin.