What Once I Was

Prologue

Over 65,000 children go missing every year in the U.K. Over 65,000 families torn apart. The first 48 hours are most crucial, they say.

You never believe - though you may toss and turn occasionally at the prospect - that your child will fall into the statistic.

You curl up in your bubble; the child sleeping soundly nearby, safe knowing that it could never happen to you.

Until it does.

Naomi was the light of our lives, our breath of fresh air. She'd come into the world screaming with fists high. In an instant, she had erased the horrific pain of 14 hours of labour. It truly was love at first sight as her midwife laid her on my chest. I'd gazed at her wrinkled brow in awe as she latched and fed.

I could never have expected how something so tiny, so utterly dependent on me, could stir such an array of emotions.

Robert - her father - and I had wept with joy, our prayers having finally been answered as two red lines smiled back at us.

It hadn't been an easy pregnancy, not by any means. The sickness was uncontrollable and Robert worked so very hard every day. So I spent much of my time alone with my anxieties.

We were older parents, well into our late forties, when I fell pregnant. The risks, plastered across leaflet after leaflet passed our way, buried themselves deep into my mind. It was torture.

I'd hold my breath each time the sonographer searched for Naomi, praying I wouldn't have to hear those four words. And I didn't. God, you do not know how thankful I was to hear the galloping of her heart.

Did Jacob ever attend the appointments? No, but he was working hard to provide for us. I didn't mind, truly I didn't. Parents sacrifice for their children, after all. Of course, he was as excited as I was.

As our due date loomed, he spent every spare second he had decorating the nursery for her. It was beautiful. You should have seen it. We were ready.

No one tells you how much having a newborn changes your life. Your marriage. She wasn't a very good sleeper, and Jacob worked very early; sometimes as early as 4am. He became overtired, resentful. But he loved her. You believe that, right? He loved us both. He was just exhausted.

The man I loved, the man who loved his child unconditionally, changed. He was vicious. We argued a lot. Things quickly became physical, but only towards me. He never laid a hand on Naomi!

Why did I stay? He didn't mean it. He was sleep deprived. I was distant, postnatal depression, they called it. He'd feel so incredibly guilty. And he always made it up to me. Running me bubble baths and cooking my favourite dinner. Flowers, chocolates. This one time, he even whisked me away to Oxfordshire for a weekend, just the two of us. My parents had Naomi while we were away.

So I stayed. And I waited.

As Naomi grew up, things became a little easier. Robert helped me establish a routine. He was strict about it, never giving an inch of moving space, but it was essential, I assure you.

It gave us time as a couple. I still cared for Naomi, loved her, and made sure she was happy. She adjusted quickly to her alternative lifestyle. Robert seemed much happier, less tired. Things were finally falling into place.

And then I went back to work. That's when the scale tipped over. Naomi's behaviour was out of control. Only Robert could get her to behave. If I had just stayed home like he'd asked. None of this would have ever happened.

"Mrs Collins, where is your daughter? Where's Naomi?"

I lift my head to meet his gaze. Uniformed with arms folded across his chest, he exudes authority. The cold metal around my wrists clinks as I shuffle closer.

The clock's tick, tick, tick fills the tiny room while the video recorder stares through me. Not answering, I awkwardly reach for the bottle of water placed before me earlier on. I fumble with the lid, cursing as the handcuffs bite into my flesh.

He makes no move to help. Watches the entire ordeal with hints of a smirk on his face. Giving up, I stare at the grey eyes and lean back into the crude plastic chair.

It's unfair. All of this. I'm a victim too! Not just Naomi. I suffered too. Yet here I am, caged like an animal. Question after question thrust in my face. Innocent until proven guilty? Don't make me laugh.

I should never have answered that phone call. Should never have tried to run. To bury our secrets deeper than I ever had before. I shouldn't be here. I'm a victim too, goddamn it.

"I'll ask you again, Mrs Collins. Where is Naomi?"

"Gone," I say through gritted teeth. She's gone. My baby. My beautiful baby. She's gone. "It was him."

His eyes narrow, arms pulled closer into his chest. One glance at the video recorder, another to his colleague leaning against the wall, another back at me. He's not convinced.

I slam my fists on the table, pain reverberating through my wrists and up my arms, leaving tingles in its wake. I look deranged, but I can't control myself. No one is listening to me. No one believes me.

His colleague shuffles towards us, stopping only when he's knelt beside me. The bitter scent of coffee assaults my nostrils; it takes every effort not to grimace and gag. If I had a breath mint, I'd offer it to him to save my senses.

"We believe you Mrs Collins. Your husband is with our colleague. Not the cooperative type, is he?" I scan his face for any hint of deception. I see none. "We need you to tell us everything you know. For Naomi's sake. We want to help you, both of you. Help us put the person responsible for all of this behind bars."

I bite my cheeks, not wanting my smile to be misconstrued. I just need to tell them everything. He'll pay for this. For everything, he did to our family.

"Okay. I'll tell you everything. But before I tell you what happened to Naomi, I need to tell you why I tried to run."

He rocks back onto his heel and nods once. He pulls a chair out, the screeching shooting straight through me. It groans beneath him.

I take a deep breath in. Where to start? What to say? Their eyes stay firmly gripped on me. Sweat beads as my breath struggles to find its home in my lungs.

"I received the first phone call 5 weeks ago. I was... surprised, I guess you could say. She said - she said.... I'm sorry. I... I,"

A strong hand envelopes my own, gently squeezing.

"Take your time,"

My teeth catch my lower lip. Eyes closed, I open my mouth, ready to finally tell my tale. To finally be free of this nightmare.