As I sped purposefully away from my office, I rummaged diligently through my purse in search of my cellphone. My stomach worsens with every second, twisting like the ringing out of a wet cloth. Driving probably wasn't the best idea at the time but I knew I needed to reach Paige quickly, so I digged deep inside my knotting stomach for the strength to forge ahead. 

Unable to find my phone in the bottomless pit I call a purse, I turned my undivided attention to the road. Luckily I did, as I was less than two car lengths away from a utility shop van stopped at a red light. Before our vehicles fused together in a mess of tangled steel, I slammed on my brakes and came to a screeching halt within inches of his back bumper.

"****!" I shouted, as the jolt of stopping abrupt must have refreshed my memory of placing my cellphone in my coat pocket, the coat that I just so happened to leave back at the office.

I needed to gather myself so I went back to my short lived yoga lessons and tried some breathing exercises in my car. As I began to calm down, a loud honk came from behind me. I looked in my rearview mirror to see an old lady behind the wheel of an even older Cadillac, throwing her arms up in disgust at me. 'What did I do to this lady?' I thought to myself before noticing the green light glaring down upon me and the vacant spot in front of me left by the utility van, which has long been gone. I waved an apologetic gesture to the lady in the Cadillac and continued on, carefully rushing through the streets towards Paige's school.

I reached the school in better time than I expected, as the excruciating pain I felt the entire trip here definitely kept my mind occupied. I parked my car and walked gingerly towards the cold, concrete steps of the overpriced, private school. The stairs nearly crippled me but I moved on with a purpose, until I reached the office.

Miss Jenkins, an old, wrinkly lady who has been working at the school probably since its inception, sat behind the counter. I walked up to her and waited for her to acknowledge me. After a moment of standing in silence, I spoke up.

“Hi. I’m looking for Paige Davis.”

“And you are?” Miss Jenkins slurred.

“Her mother,” I explained. “I’m here to withdraw her.”

Miss Jenkins slowly read through a list of names that were written in an opened notebook on her desk.

“It appears,” she states, “that she was picked up about 15 minutes ago.”

That couldn’t be right, I thought to myself. “Are you sure?” I asked her. “Who picked her up?”

Once again, she inched through the notebook, until finally reaching the name. “Franco Davis.”

I fell helplessly to the floor as my stomach churned tighter. I laid in the fetal position, clenching my abdomen until I pass out.