Jessica dabbed her eyes delicately and cried harder. Her voice wavered beautifully, her cheeks flushed just enough to catch the light, and even her mascara smudged in an artful way that made people instinctively want to comfort her.
"My girl turned twenty two days ago," she sobbed, pressing the tissue to her nose as if her heart were breaking. "I just wanted to wish her… that is all a mother wants… but they didn't let me inside. They shut the door on me like I am a stranger. My life has felt so empty without her."
Her shoulders shook, and a few reporters murmured sympathetically. Cameras zoomed in on her trembling lips, her glistening eyes, her perfected heartbroken expression. Sam stood beside her, arms crossed, his heavy gaze creating an even more dramatic picture, the image of a grieving mother and her stoic husband trying desperately to reach the daughter stolen from them.
