"They found dad's body. Get home." Her little sister's voice cracked in the brief voice mail. Robin replayed the message four times before she rocketed to her feet. Her hands shook as she grabbed her keys and left her office without an explanation. Was there anything left on a corpse after nine years?

She hailed a taxi. It was faster than walking or figuring out the bus schedule two hours earlier. The taxi driver tried to make awkward small talk, but Robin answered him with short and concise statements that led him to give up. She tipped him too much money, apologized, and slammed the door and sprinted to her childhood home. On the third step, she felt her lungs constrict. Years past and she gave up on her dad coming back through the same door she stood in front of. She had seen her sisters grow up; she had gone to college, moved out and only visited the house during the holidays. She hadn't forgotten her dad; she healed.

The oldest of three girls — one unborn at the time of her father's disappearance — her emotions were unyielding in their attempt to hold together. This was no exception. She straightened her jacket and ran a hand through her hair. She patted the sides of it down and hoped to avoid her mother's lecture about her appearance. When her eyes landed on the police officer's car out front her stomach clenched tightly. A rolling wave of nausea hit her, and she forced herself to swallow. Droplets of water landed on her face as she delayed making her presence known. She exhaled and stood up straight as she turned the doorknob. The door creaked as it always had.

"Robin?" It wasn't quite her mother's voice. Her sister, all too similar to herself nine years ago, rounded the corner and embraced her. Verena Windsor, despite her best efforts, looked exactly like her sister Robin at sixteen. They both stood somewhere between tall and average. Verena had recently chopped her long and fair hair off from the middle of her back up to her shoulders in a stylish little bob cut. Robin very much doubted that her sister remembered that she had done the same thing in high school after their father's death. Though Robin's decision had been out of mourning and rebellion, Verena's was for a school play. She wanted to 'match the aesthetic' of the character she was playing. Robin just wanted it the hell of out her face.

"C'mon, Officer Miles will catch you up," Verena's voice lacked her normal vivacious tone as she tugged gently on her sister's wrist.

Another wave of nausea hit Robin when she stepped into her mother's eat-in kitchen. It hadn't changed, as their mother had lacked the funds and ability to do any renovations after their father disappeared. They had painted the brown cabinets gray only months before and the countertops were no longer the awful smoke stained yellow, but now a faux white marble was in their place. Her father had been very proud of the improvements. Off to the left was the kitchen banquette that sat by the front windows. There had been so many mornings where she and a much-smaller Verena sat at the banquette and ate before school. Many evenings where the four of them had laughed and discussed their days while eating dinner. She remembered her mother fanning herself while holding her large round stomach and her father helping as much as he could. She remembered how empty it felt in the kitchen every day after her father's disappearance. She had stayed awake until 3 am the first night her father was missing, eating cereal at the very table where Officer Miles and her mother now sat.

Her youngest sister, Madison, sat snuggled up to their mother. Madison was the spitting image of their father. Genetics were ironic like that. The youngest Windsor had their father's dark curls, freckles, and bad eyesight. When she was a toddler, their grandmother had sobbed holding her because the similarity was eerie. Now that she was nearly ten, she had grown her hair out, but the chubby baby face didn't hide their father's features.

Verena sat by their mother, Robin leaned against the cabinetry. She tried to ignore the pain in her stomach as her eyes fell to the officer. He was younger. Younger than her, possibly, and wet behind the ears. He somewhat hunched over, a melancholy expression on his face as he stared at the manila folder that sat on the table. When her mother said something about Officer Miles, he straightened himself in his seat, flashed her a sheepish look and cleared his throat.

"Ma'am, I'm sure your mother has told you but someone found your father's body last night." His hands fell to the manila folder, moving it back and forth in its spot. She watched him fuss with the folder. He hesitated, noise coming out, but none of it was coherent but a mumbling of words. He shook his head, mumbled again, and opened the folder. He stared down at the picture for a moment before rising from his seat and reaching out to hand her it. Robin almost snatched it from the other man.

It was in the woods. A dried-up pond or small body of water had left a small sunken hole in the ground. It expanded past the edges of the photograph, but near what would have been the 'beach' of the body of water there was her father's body. Or rather, it was a skeleton with a bullet hole in its head. The clothing had disintegrated, only leaving a pair of shoes beside the body. The leather dress shoes that he had worn to work every day. A size 11, if she remembered correctly. There had been many other similar pairs of her father's, but her mother had donated them three years ago. But other than the shoes, a feature that only she and her mother may have remembered, there was no other defining feature that led the police to believe this was her father.

She handed the photo back. "What makes that my dad?" She knew it was her father. There was no doubt in her mind. A sense of sickening relief filled her as Officer Miles took the picture back.

"Robin—" Her mother's harsh tone was sharp, but Robin clenched her teeth and curled her fingers into a fist.

"No, Mom, let him explain. I want to hear it from him."

"We found something else," the officer replied, having moved to stand across from her. "Maybe this'll appear familiar to you?" This time he reached into his jacket pocket and handed her a plastic bag. Inside of the bag was a small, round object. She could just feel through the bag and knew what it was. It was the small antiqued coin pin that her father had gotten for a birthday. When she forced herself to look at it, somehow it looked the same as it always had. A fading copper coin with hints of a greenish-grey around the edges that ambled to the center. It was dirtier than before, edges had a light brown coating. Mud was a probable cause.

"When your mother filed the missing person's report she included a picture of that pin, the only one that exists that we know of. It shamefully took longer than it should have to conclude that it was your father. I apologize..." Officer Miles continued to speak, but Robin handed back the evidence bag and stopped fully listening.

Her mind made her dizzy with its thoughts. She could see a much smaller version of herself, standing on a chair and fastening the pin to his jacket. It was his first day at Zachariah Corporation and the pin, a present from the previous Christmas, was a good luck charm. He had worn it to the interview, and he had gotten the job. So why not wear it the first day? She remembered hearing about how the job would be better for their whole family. Help them get out of a financial rough spot that Robin hadn't entirely been aware of as a preteen. To imagine that it would also be the death of him.

"There was the — uh — obvious gunshot wound to the head, but also evidence of two gun wounds in the sternum. Ruling out any consideration of suicide," Miles flipped through his papers to find another photograph. It was clear in his interest in her own responses, it was clear to Robin that he had already gone over this with her mother. He held the photograph out to her, and she took it. She swallowed hard before looking down at the photograph.

Yep. Definitely murder.

She handed it back. "So what do the police do now?"

"That's the difficult part, ma'am. I've already discussed this with your mother. There was no lingering evidence at the scene of the crime. Yes, we found a body, but there was no evidence who killed your father." She chewed on her cheek, fighting back an accusation. The same accusation she had been saying for years. "We cleared all suspects nine years ago."

"Officer Miles were you an officer when the case originally happened?"

Miles shifted back and forth. "No ma'am. I only joined the force in the last 12 months."

Bingo. One for Robin.

"So there's no way the police will go back and ask different questions now that you have found a body?"

"No ma'am. It'll be registered as a cold case until new evidence shows itself. If it ever shows itself."

Robin nodded. She glanced at her mother's disapproving expression as Verena snuggled closer. She knew that she would get an earful as soon as Officer Miles left. The relationship with her mother was difficult. She accepted their father's disappearance as a death far sooner than Robin had been ready for. She hadn't held on to any hope that he would come walking back through the front door. She wanted to bury him and find peace. Ironic that it was a mere month before her mother would have been able to petition for her father's status to change from missing to deceased.

She had been saying all along that someone had murdered him and now that she had seen the evidence, a pit of anger curled inside of her. Heat flooded through her body, making her feel dizzy. She steadied herself on the cabinetry, trying not to make more of a scene than her mother felt she was making. From the scowl she was wearing on her face, her mother believed she was making a scene — or at the very least being rude.

But her mother had never been shoved to the ground by a police officer and handcuffed, either.

Or watched one on patrol take a paper bag filled with money.

It had been years since either of these things had happened, but they flew back to the forefront of her mind as she eyed Miles' badge. She could still feel the burn of gravel that cut into her elbows when she landed on the ground. She could feel the pressure on the back of her head as her arms twisted behind her and they forced her wrists into handcuffs. Did he know how corrupt the police force in Esmarina was? Or was he one of the good cops? If there was such a thing.

Miles cleared his throat to break the prolonged silence. "If you have no other questions ladies..." His eyes fell on Robin and she felt her shoulders tense.

Her mother rose to her feet and fussed unnecessarily with her shirt. "I'll walk you out, Officer." She shot her eldest daughter a glare. Her expression immediately changed when the officer could see her expression again.

Robin watched as her mother disappeared around the corner. She ignored both of her sisters' stares and rounded the cabinets and went straight for the fridge. She grabbed a bottle of water and had just swallowed her first gulp when she heard the front door shut. "Robin Isolde Windsor what the hell was that?" Her voice carried through the hall and into the kitchen.

"Uh-oh you're in trouble," Verena whispered in a sing-song. Robin tried not to smile in response.

"Look. I can't control you outside of this house but I'll be damned if you're going to embarrass me like that in my home." Robin swallowed more water. Her mother's yelling did nothing to her anymore. None of it compared to sitting across her mother in a police station and being told 'Your father would be so disappointed in you, Robin'. She became numb to anything after that day.

"I shouldn't have called you here. I could have just told you everything over the phone," Laura Windsor was a very difficult person to deal with. As much as Robin tried to love her mother, there were more days of frustration and headache than love in recent times. "I knew that you would have reacted poorly to that poor man. What the hell is wrong with you?" Robin shrugged her shoulders as she took another drink. "Are you going to speak to me or are you just going to be the bitch that you've grown into?"

"I have nothing to say, Mom," Robin said, after another swallow. She put the now empty water bottle on the counter. "You wanted a conclusion right? Peace? A funeral? Guess you get everything you want." She snatched the water bottle back and crunched it in her hands before throwing it to the garbage.

"If you truly think I want all of that more than I want your father back you are sorely mistaken," her mother snapped back. "I don't know who you've grown up into, Robin, but my daughter wouldn't accuse me of wanting her father dead." She clenched her fists rhythmically, eyes squeezed shut. After silence she opened them back up, "Those pictures hurt me just as much Robin. Knowing someone wanted your father murdered... You don't know what that does to me. My heart is broken but I know he's in a better place and yes that brings me peace." Her fists unclenched. "I love you more than you will ever know, but you need to leave."

Robin shrugged, ignoring Madison's sympathetic expression. She was surrounded by both of her sisters and squished between the two of them. She muttered 'I love you' to both of them and kissed the top of Verena's head.

"I'll text you," Madison whispered, hugging her once more.

"I'll see you at the funeral, Mom," Robin said as she drew back from Madison and Verena and headed to the front door. She heard Madison's voice in the kitchen as the door creaked open.

She flipped her hood up to shield from the rain and pulled out her phone to call a taxi.

xx

What the hell was the point of being a journalist if she could never put anything on a page? Robin pulled herself back from her laptop and swirled in her chair. The development in her father's murder had her hitting a wall for two days now. She eyed the time. Too goddamn late to working on an article due at noon. She grabbed the half-empty monster can and tilted it back. If she was going to survive the work day with no sleep, that monster was her only life source.

Daughter of a Missing Man: 10 years later

The title haunted the white page. Personally, she thought it was garbage. The article itself was sub par at best, but it hit home. It was an emotional piece to pull at the emotions of readers. That's what she had been aiming for. Talking about both graduations without her dad, holding her baby sister when she was born without him. How Zachariah Corp had sent an agent with a check for their sorrows and a weak 'I'm sorry for your loss'. Xavier himself never made it down to their house. Never called. He had employed her father for nearly a decade, supervised him personally, and didn't bother to visit.

'I'm sorry but that's just no time in his busy schedule, Mrs. Windsor.' The agent had said, avoiding Robin's glare. She was handed baby Verena when the agent had arrived months after the disappearance. She bounced her as they spoke, but hovered close enough to hear what was being said. The pit of fire that burned within her now had been just a spark then. She hadn't had enough evidence to fuel the anger that she wanted to feel. It had been buried under a pool of sadness, mourning, and coping.

Somewhere along the line — and Robin didn't know exactly when — the pool had dried up.

She rolled her shoulders, readjusted in her seat, and put her fingers back on the keyboard. Someone had to write the truth. That was the entire reason why she endured breaking into journalism. She had a knack of getting the truth out of people and that truth needed to be shared.

xx

To: [email protected]

From: [email protected]

Date: 10-17, 11:37 am

Subject: Article

Robin,

     I'm saying this as respectfully as I can: what were you thinking when you wrote that article?

     If you weren't aware of this before I'm here to tell you: Xavier Zachariah, and thus Zachariah Corporation, is one of our biggest donors at the gala every year. I understand you're grieving, if you need to go on a personal leave I can approve it and send it off to HR. But if you wish to continue at your role here you need to write something relevant. We cannot trash one of our donors.

     I hope everything works out for you and your family.

     Let me know your decision,

     Jackie

To: [email protected]

From: [email protected]

Date: 10-17, 12:14 pm

Subject: Article

    Jackie,

     Consider this impulsive. Consider it irrelevant.

     I quit.

xx