Ariana's Frustration
ARIANA'S POV
I didn’t sleep.
Not even a second.
All night, I lay in bed with my phone clutched in my hand, the screen lighting up every few minutes with nothing but the time and that sickening emptiness that told me—again and again—that there were no missed calls. No texts. No word.
Just silence.
And silence, I’ve learned, is the cruelest noise of all.
I stared at the ceiling, counting every slow tick of the clock. Every inhale and exhale felt like a battle, like my lungs had forgotten how to breathe without the soft background hum of my mother somewhere in the house.
I kept waiting to hear her slippers shuffling outside my door. The gentle knock she always gave before poking her head in with a soft, “Morning, darling.”
But there was nothing.
I sat up when the sky began to bleed light, the gray early hours painting my room in dull strokes. The moment I saw the sunrise, something in me cracked.
I couldn’t do this anymore.
I flung the covers back and stumbled to my feet, dizzy with fatigue, my limbs heavy with worry and sorrow. My heart pounded with a kind of desperation I couldn’t contain. I stormed out of my room barefoot, barely aware of the chill of the marble floor beneath me.
My throat burned as I called out, “Mom?”
Nothing.
I moved faster.
“Mom!”
Still nothing.
I opened door after door. Her bedroom, still empty. The guest room—untouched. The study. The library. The hallway closet, as if maybe she’d be curled inside hiding like a scared child. As if this was all some kind of twisted game.
I threw open the door to the sunroom, her favorite place in the mornings. The chair where she always sat to drink her tea and watch the birds was empty.
“Mom!” My voice cracked this time, loud and raw and full of all the fear I’d tried to keep buried.
I kept running, door after door. The kitchen. The dining room. The laundry room. Even the servants’ wing.
Nothing.
No note.
No sound.
No sign of her.
A sob ripped from my chest as I turned into the foyer, and I nearly collided with Grandpa, who stood in his robe, his face pale and drawn, eyes wide with worry.
He reached for me instantly, pulling me into his arms as I collapsed against him. My fists clenched his shirt as I cried, truly cried, for the first time since I realized she was gone.
“I can’t find her,” I gasped. “She’s not here. I’ve checked everywhere. She’s not here, Grandpa. She’s not—”
“Shh,” he whispered, kissing the top of my head, his voice trembling. “I know, sweetheart. I know.”
“I can’t lose her,” I wept, clinging to him like he was the only thing keeping me from falling apart completely. “She’s all I have left. You and her. If something happened—if she’s gone—what do I do? What do I do?”
He said nothing for a long time. He just held me, his hand gently stroking my hair as I cried into his chest. My tears soaked his shirt, and still, he didn’t let go.
After a while, he led me slowly into the sitting room, guiding me down to the couch like I was fragile glass. I was. That’s exactly how I felt—cracked in a hundred places, barely held together by the thinnest thread.
I curled into his side like a child, my head on his chest, his arm wrapped protectively around me.
The house was too quiet.
I hated the quiet.
“I keep thinking,” I whispered, “maybe I missed something. Maybe she left a note and it got blown under the bed, or maybe she texted and my phone just didn’t show it. But I’ve checked everything. I’ve looked everywhere. I’ve called her a hundred times.”
He didn’t respond. His silence wasn’t cruel—it was the kind that spoke volumes. He didn’t know what to say. There were no right words for this kind of pain.
I closed my eyes, clutching her old cardigan, still wrapped around my arms. Her scent was fading, and that made me cry harder. I didn’t want to forget what she smelled like. I didn’t want to forget anything about her.
“I keep thinking I’ll wake up,” I whispered. “That this is a nightmare. That I’ll open my eyes and she’ll be in the kitchen making pancakes and humming that stupid tune from the radio. That she’ll laugh when I tell her she’s off-key, and she’ll tell me to hush and eat before it gets cold.”
“I know,” Grandpa murmured, his voice rough. “I know, sweetheart.”
A tear slipped down his cheek, and I reached up to wipe it before I even realized it had fallen. Seeing him cry broke something else inside me. He was always so strong. So steady. If even he was afraid, then what chance did I have?
The sun rose higher, but it didn’t warm the icy pit in my stomach. I hadn’t eaten. I hadn’t showered. I hadn’t even brushed my hair.
None of it mattered.
Only one thing did.
Her.
Where was she?
Why had she left?
Had someone taken her?
Had she been hurt?
Was she lying somewhere, waiting for help?
Or worse… was it already too late?
I curled into myself, every breath tight and ragged. “I don’t understand. She would never just leave. Not like this. Not without saying something.”
“She wouldn’t,” Grandpa said quietly. “I know she wouldn’t.”
“Then what happened?”
He didn’t answer.
Because he didn’t know either.
I closed my eyes, the burn of tears making it impossible to see straight. I kept hearing the phantom buzz of Hardin’s phone, like some cruel echo of yesterday. The unanswered calls haunted me.
I thought of calling him again but stopped myself. What would I even say? That the house was still empty? That the tea kettle was unused and the birds were still chirping in the garden like the world hadn’t gone completely off course?
Suddenly, the silence shattered.
Footsteps—fast, frantic—rushed down the hallway.
Then a voice.
“Ma’am!”
I bolted upright.
One of the security guards ran into the room, chest heaving, sweat on his brow.
My heart stopped.
He looked directly at me.
“We’ve found her.”
Time froze.
I stared at him, mouth parted, breath stuck in my throat. My heart slammed against my ribs so hard it hurt.
“You—what?” I whispered.
He nodded, breathless. “We found her.”
I didn’t move.
I couldn’t.
It was like my body was trying to catch up with my brain, both of them locked in some sort of stunned paralysis.
They found her.
But where? How? Was she okay?
Was she hurt?
Was she safe?
The questions screamed inside me, but my lips wouldn’t move fast enough to ask.
Grandpa was already rising to his feet, his grip on my hand tightening like he didn’t want to let go.
I finally blinked, swallowing against the lump in my throat.
“Take me to her,” I whispered.
But the guard hesitated.
And I knew—right then—I knew there was more.
Something he wasn’t saying.
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