I can’t find Sabria’s backpack—that is the thought I go to bed with. I leave a note for my daughter, hanging from the hood of my kitchen stove. It reads: Natalie, I can’t find Sabria’s backpack, I think it’s in your car. Natalie wakes me at four a.m. “Mom, it’s not in my car. I’m almost sure I brought it into the house.” I feel a rising panic in my stomach. I’m awake, I might as well get up. I search the house. It’s not here. “Maybe, I left it at work,” I tell myself.