“Her body feels so cold.

Swallowed by the water,

Like the stories untold.

Her hands are so pale.

It’s the end she chose,

And down she fell…

It's too late to regret.

The look she has is sad.

She chose to be dead.

With no desire to live. 🖤”

Gloria’s mother gives the female officer’s phone back, covering her face with both hands. She sobs, her small body shaking. It’s been twenty-four hours since Gloria went missing. She posted a small poem on her social media account then fell silent. The twenty year old girl was last seen unlocking the door to her home on RosePetal Lane, a wadded Kleenex in her left hand.

“What can we do?” Her mother, Naomi, asks the stern faced policewoman, her eyes tired and bagged.

“We wait.”

.•.•.•.•.•.•

THERE’S HOPE FOR GLORIA.

- 105,479 responses.

GLORIA! WHERE ARE YOU?!

- 1.5 million views.

WE LOVE YOU, GLORIA!

- 2.5 million views.

- 400,000 replies.

GLORIA! YOU ARE LOVED!

- 1 million views.

COME HOME, GLORIA!

- 10,005 pins.

WE WILL NEVER STOP LOOKING, GLO!

- 40,000 replies.

- 2.7 million views.

Naomi scrolls through the news, the headlines, the articles. She checks her daughters socials, pins and comments galore. Tears roll as she reaches for her fourth coffee at three in the morning. Her phone rings for the billionth time and she picks it up eagerly.

“Hello?” She answers with haste.

“We’ve gotten a particular tip.”

“Wha-what is it?”

“Does ‘MAGNOLIA’ mean anything to you or your daughter? Some code, maybe?” The policewoman sounds more tired than Naomi.

“Y-Yeah. I believe so. I called Gloria my Magnolia when she was a baby… I-I didn’t know she remembered such a-“

“She didn’t. Someone else did.”

“What? What do you mean?”

“Someone left a note-“ the policewoman pauses, Naomi hears the woman’s lips part and closes her eyes. “‘The Magnolia has browned, she’s wilted.’ it says.”

Naomi brings a hand to her mouth.

“Ma’am,” the officer says gently.

“Y-yes?”

“There is a body at the morgue. We need you to see if it’s your daughter.”

“Please no. God no, please.”

“Ma’am, I know it’s a hard thing to do…”

Naomi ended the call quickly, and hopped on her daughter’s socials, she typed a small sentence, hitting send and watching the screen go dark. She then gathered her things, including her purse and drove slowly to the morgue.

“Magnolia, come home.”

And on the cold metal table, frozen tears still in the corners of her baby blue eyes, lay she. Miss Magnolia, only no longer in the flesh.

Miss Magnolia, who was always so happy. Never had it occurred to her mother that she was struggling. That she wasn’t going to make it. The scars her mother beared—

“Because kids are mean, and people are dark. I can’t stay anymore. I’m struggling, and I need to rest awhile. Sorry I had to leave you like this, Momma. Send my love to Daddy.”

Too heavy was the weight, Naomi’s legs crumpled beneath her. The table met her cheek, the air ran from her lungs. And she screamed. She screamed because it wasn’t fair. It wasn’t just, it wasn’t right.

.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.

* Everyone has been there. Has had a hard time jut waking up and feeling okay. We’ve all cried ourselves to sleep, we’ve all thought about ending it. But once those thoughts become intrusive and persistent, it’s time to get help. It’s time to take a stand, you’re stronger than you know. Ending it isn’t the way. I’ve struggled with the thoughts, I’ve had no one to lean on. I had to find my own way out. My own way to cope.

Now, I’m lending a hand to you. Its not something you should do on your own. I got passed it, and if I can, you can too. So take a minute. Ask yourself if you’re okay. If you’re not, please reach out to me. I can be your shoulder, your support. I won’t judge, I want to hear all about it.