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She gave me an angry look.
Neither her face or eyes were familiar.  
The hope I had been counting on for three days, dissipated.

This mean-looking eleven-year-old child had been through more
awfulness in her life, than I could imagine.  She was unrecognizable
as my stolen 4-year-old child. I doubted she could be my child.

It had been eleven years since I saw Cassie.  I had held out
hope for nine of those years. Collecting birthday presents
and Christmas presents for a 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, and 10 year old
girl, a child who might not even be alive.

DNA said she was mine, but is this proof enough?
Cassie Lynne had been joyful, and fun, and funny. Her laugh
had lit up the yard full-tilt.  Her daddy was gone now, or he
might have been able to point out something about her that
was ours.  I could not see it.

This girl, the one they brought back to me, to show me,
to get my approval for, this girl did not look at all like my
child. I could not imagine that she was my little darling Cassie.
This girl was angry and sullen, and suspicious. Hyper-vigilant, 
she jumped at every sound. Her siblings did not know her, 
because we only had Bobbie when she was taken, and he was a baby.

Lost time, never to be retrieved, never to be understood. Years and 
years of lost time, I looked at this child, with eyes of a mother, 
who has lost now not once, but twice.  

Wondering if there is any way to salvage any of the 4-year-old child 
I remember.  I am afraid to go to sleep with this girl in my house.
fearful of her, and fearful of how she will change my family.  
Lost time, lost girl, lost me.

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