Our Treatment of Our Missing Children

Neverending are the things I hear about my darling children. A week ago, Michael, John, and Wendy have disappeared from our home while we were all sleeping. The next morning was horrifying, and it never stopped being that way since.

Endless are the interviews with detectives, the press, and the local news stations, asking my husband and I all these probing questions. Our friends and family are the same. They insinuate things we do not want to ever talk about.

Constantly, they all expect us to share something they don’t know yet. But the truth is, we only know as much as they do, save for this piece of paper Wendy must have left behind. My Wendy always loved writing poems before she threw them out, so it meant nothing to us before. This is what she does all the time.

That piece of paper is significant to us now, because Wendy and her brothers always told us about a boy named Peter when we were holidaying, and how much of a good friend he was. Michael and John would often fight over who will play Peter Pan. Thinking about those stories makes me believe everything they’ve said now.

Whether this boy was real, or if he took our children, we do not know. We do not know what happened to them, or if they will ever come back, or if we will ever sleep about them. All we want is this nightmare to end, and our children by our side.