I Traveled With the Body of My Two-Year-Old Daughter in a Bag

I was afraid someone would ask what was in the bag. Afraid they would search it. Afraid they would stop me. But more than anything, I was afraid to open it myself and confirm what I already knew.

Guilt

Guilt never left me. It settled inside me like a second skin. Even now, it speaks.

Why didn’t you see the signs sooner?
Why did you take her with you?
Why didn’t you scream louder?

Reason tells me I had no choice. The heart does not listen to reason. The heart accuses. It replays the scene again and again, searching for the exact moment when everything could have turned out differently.

I often wonder if she was afraid. If she looked for me with her eyes. If she understood she was leaving. These questions have no answers, yet they live inside me.