I woke up to the sound of someone pounding on the front door.
My eyes fluttered open, and for a moment I didn't know where I was. Then I felt the soft blanket tangled around me and remembered Zaire and I had made a pallet on the floor in the living room after we got too drunk to make it upstairs.
The banging came again, louder this time.
Zaire was already up.
I watched him spring from the floor in one smooth motion, fully alert, like he'd been trained for this. He didn't even look hungover.
Something about that made me pause, my heart thudding faster.
I grabbed my phone from the floor and looked at the screen.
12:00 p.m.
"Damn," I whispered. I couldn't believe I'd slept this late.
"Stay here," Zaire said, grabbing the gun off the table next to him. He moved toward the door quietly, his voice low and steady. "Who is it?"
"Adam!" a voice yelled from the other side.
I scrambled to my feet. "That's my driver," I said quickly, already rushing to put on my clothes.
Zaire opened the door slowly, keeping his hand firm on the gun at his side.
Adam stepped in, his face pale.
"We have to go now," he said, his voice calm but tight.
That tone alone sent chills down my spine. "What? What happened?"
"Now, Mrs. Fatima," he repeated, his voice low but urgent.
My anxiety spiked instantly. My hands were trembling as I threw on my jacket and slipped on my shoes.
I turned back to Zaire, who gave me a small smirk and shook his head. "I know, I know... you have to go," he said quietly, stepping close enough to kiss me softly.
"I'll call you later!" I yelled over my shoulder as I rushed out the door.
Adam was already holding the car door open, and as soon as I slid inside, he pulled off fast.
"What happened?" I demanded, my voice shaking.
Adam gripped the steering wheel tight, his jaw set. "I just... I just heard something really bad happened at the house."
My heart dropped to my stomach.
"No," I whispered, my hands clutching my knees. "No, no, no..."
I prayed silently, begging God with everything in me. Please protect my babies. Please, God, not my kids. Anything but my kids.
I swallowed hard, my chest heaving as my mind spiraled out of control.
What if someone broke into the house? What if... oh my God, what if they're hurt right now and I'm not there?
I squeezed my eyes shut, gripping my knees until my nails dug into my skin. Stop, Fatima. Stop.
But the scenarios kept coming. What if this is all my fault? What if me being gone last night is the reason something happened?
Tears burned the back of my eyes. I forced myself to shake my head hard, trying to clear it.
No. No. Nothing like that happened. I'm going crazy right now.
I let out a shaky breath. This might not even be an emergency. Maybe Adam's just exaggerating. Maybe... maybe he figured out I was out getting laid and made up an "emergency" to drag me back home.
The thought made me almost laugh, but it wasn't funny. My chest was still tight, my heart still racing.
I looked out the window as the car sped through traffic, whispering to myself, "God, please. Just let my babies be okay."
**********
We pulled into the gated entrance of my home, and I knew something was horribly wrong.
Police cars.
They were everywhere—lined up along the driveway, spilling into the street, lights flashing like a nightmare I couldn't wake up from.
I didn't wait for Adam to stop the truck.
I threw the door open and jumped out, sprinting across the driveway so fast I almost tripped. My heart was slamming so hard against my ribs it felt like it would break through my chest. My throat burned, and I couldn't breathe.
Please, God. Please let my babies be okay.
I flew up the steps and shoved the front door open, stumbling inside.
The living room was filled with police officers.
And there, on the couch, was my husband—his head in his hands, shoulders shaking as two officers tried to calm him down.
"WHAT HAPPENED?!" I screamed, my voice cracking, but no one answered.
My husband looked up at me then, and my breath caught in my throat. One of his eyes was swollen completely shut, his lip split open, his whole face bruised and bloodied.
"No... no, no," I whispered, backing up a step as my legs started to give out.
An officer turned toward him, speaking louder this time. "How old is he? Sir, how old is he?"
I looked between them, my chest rising and falling rapidly. Who? Who are they talking about?
My husband's voice was broken as he finally answered, "He's eight... he's eight years old."
The sound that left my mouth didn't even feel human. My knees buckled, and I collapsed to the floor, clutching at my chest like I could hold myself together.
"NO! NO! NOOO!" I sobbed, my body trembling uncontrollably.
"Ma'am, please," an officer said, rushing over. He grabbed me by the arms, trying to help me to my feet. "Come sit down."
But I couldn't sit. My legs were shaking too badly, my mind screaming louder than my voice. Not my son. Not my baby. No, please God, no!
"Mrs. Fatima," the officer said softly, trying to ground me, "this morning while your husband was putting the kids in the car, someone ran past the gate and kidnapped your son. He tried to fight them off, but they overpowered him.
"Then they tried to grab your six-year-old daughter," he continued, "but he managed to stop them. When he looked back, he saw your son being shoved into a car. They sped off before he could do anything."
My hands flew to my mouth as I shook my head violently. "NO! NO! THAT'S NOT TRUE! THAT'S NOT—"
I stumbled backward, clutching at my hair, my vision blurring from the tears. "Oh my God. My baby! Please, please, please find him! YOU HAVE TO FIND HIM!"
I grabbed at the officer's sleeve, my voice raw. "Please... I can't lose him. Please don't let me lose my son. PLEASE!"
The officer didn't answer, and that terrified me even more.
I turned to my husband, collapsing to my knees in front of him, grabbing his shirt. "WHERE IS HE?! WHAT DID YOU DO?! HOW COULD YOU LET THEM TAKE HIM?!" I screamed, my tears soaking into his clothes.
He tried to hold me, but I ripped away, falling back onto the floor, my body shaking with fear so deep it felt like my soul was splitting in two.
"Fatima..."
I turned at the sound of a voice and saw Brianna standing there, stepping out of the hallway.
My chest tightened, and before she could even open her mouth, I screamed, "WHERE WERE YOU?!"
"The kids... the kids are upstairs," she said softly, her hands raised like she was trying to calm me.
The relief hit me for half a second, but then the rage burned through it.
"You were too busy fucking him that you let them take my baby?!" I screamed, pointing at my husband. "Is that it, Brianna?! My son is gone because you two couldn't keep your hands off each other?!"
Brianna's eyes widened in shock. "Fatima, no—I swear, I wasn't—"
"DON'T LIE TO ME!" I screamed, my whole body shaking as tears poured down my face. "Don't you dare stand in my house and lie to me!"
I collapsed back onto my knees, my voice breaking completely. "What do they want? What is it? Is it money? I'll give them anything—anything! I just want my baby back. Please, God, I want my baby!"
The officer knelt beside me, speaking carefully. "Mrs. Fatima, we're going to do everything we can. But we need to move fast."
He turned to Brianna, his voice sharp now. "We're going to need all the house footage leading up to the kidnapping. Every angle. Every camera."
Brianna nodded quickly, her hands trembling. "I-I'll go pull it right now," she stammered, running off toward the security room.
I buried my face in my hands, the sobs ripping out of me again. My body was shaking so hard I could barely breathe.
"I just want my baby," I whispered over and over. "Please... just bring my baby back."
I wiped my face with trembling hands, trying to slow down my breathing as the officer crouched in front of me.
"Mrs. Fatima," he said softly, his voice steady and grounding. "I need you to stay with me for a second, okay? I know this is... the worst thing you've ever faced, but we need to focus."
I nodded quickly, clutching at the couch cushion like it was the only thing holding me up. "I'm trying," I whispered, my voice raw. "I'm really trying, but my baby is out there, and I don't know if he's scared or hurt or..." My voice cracked, and I looked away, my throat burning.
The officer shook his head gently. "I know you're terrified. Any parent would be. But the more information you can give us right now, the faster we can move."
I swallowed hard and forced myself to meet his eyes. "What do you need?"
"First, is there anyone—anyone at all—you can think of who would do this?"
I shook my head instantly. "No. I don't... I don't know. I can't think of anyone who would take my son. But if it's money they want, I'll give them anything. Anything. Just tell them that."
The officer's voice stayed calm. "If this was about money, they'll make contact. That's when we can work with them. But until then, we need to keep every possibility open."
I squeezed my hands together tightly. "So what do I do? Just... sit here and wait for a call while my baby is out there with strangers?"
He leaned in closer, his tone soft but firm. "No. You help us by keeping your mind clear. You have to stay strong for your other kids upstairs and for yourself. Your son is counting on you to be steady right now."
Tears blurred my vision again, but I nodded slowly. "I'm trying," I whispered again, my voice shaking.
"That's all I'm asking," the officer said. "We're pulling all the house footage now. I'll walk you through it as soon as we have it. Can you do that for me?"
"Yes," I breathed. "Please... just find my baby."
"We will," he promised. "We're not stopping until we do."
I sat there in silence for hours.
The officers were everywhere—moving in and out of rooms, talking into radios, dusting for prints, going through camera footage—but I was frozen on that couch, staring blankly at the floor.
It felt like my body had shut down.
My mind was loud, though. How did I get here? How is this my life right now?
I thought about the last time I hugged my son, the way he smiled at me after his soccer game, how proud he was when he scored that goal. He was just here. He was just here.
And now...
My chest tightened painfully as my thoughts spiraled. What if I never see him again? What if he's scared, calling out for me, and I'm not there?
Tears burned my eyes, but I blinked them back, refusing to let them fall. I'd cried so much already, it felt like there was nothing left, but the pain just kept building.
I looked around the house as the officers scrambled, and I couldn't believe this was happening. This is the worst thing. This is the worst thing that has ever happened to me. How do I even breathe without him?
Finally, I couldn't take it anymore.
I stood up, my legs shaky, and walked upstairs. The house felt unbearably quiet.
In my bedroom, I dropped to the bottom of my bed and buried my face into the blanket, letting out a scream that ripped from the deepest part of me. It was raw, loud, and full of pain I couldn't hold in anymore.
Then the tears came, hot and relentless.
"My family is Muslim... but me? I'm spiritual," I whispered into the mattress, my voice shaking. "And I know one thing..."
I sat up slowly, clutching the blanket in my hands as I spoke into the silence.
"God isn't outside of me. God is inside of me. My prayers don't have to be perfect, they just have to be real. And I'm begging You—Spirit, Source, my Creator—bring my baby home. Put Your protection around him right now."
My voice cracked as I lifted my eyes to the ceiling. "And to my ancestors... my bloodline, my protectors, the ones who walked this earth before me—I'm calling you. Stand with my son. Surround him. Guide the people who have him to release him. Please, I'm begging you, fight for him the way you'd fight for me."
I curled into a ball, sobbing, my body trembling against the floor.
The bedroom door opened behind me, but I didn't look up. I felt an arm wrap around me, pulling me in close.
And I broke.
I buried my face in his chest, sobbing as the weight of it all came crashing down.
"I want my baby," I cried, the words tumbling out over and over. "I want my baby. We have to find him. We can't lose my baby. I will die before I lose my baby."
My husband held me tighter, his voice breaking as he whispered, "We won't. I'll do anything, Fatima. Anything. We're going to find him."
We clung to each other and cried, the sound filling the room as the world outside kept moving without us.