The diary, with its faded floral cover was buried beneath a stack of old novels and books, the ones she thought Camille loved so much. Diane could perceive her subtle lavender scent in the air.
Six months had passed since her disappearance. TV interviews, police reports, missing posters, and dashed hopes for six months. In her daughter's room, Diane sat on the floor, only allowing the curtains half-drawn to let in the fading light. Camille's books, laughter, and lotions were still there as she opened the diary with shaking hands.
January 3.
"Mommy says I talk too much, Dad says I read too much. Perhaps no one will notice that I am depressed if I lose myself in my books."
Diane's heart clenched in pain. "Oh, Camille... I assumed you loved those books." She whispered, her fingers brushing the words as if she could touch her daughter through them.
She kept reading.
February 14.
"Today is valentine day and I got a card from Donald. He said I'm very cute.' I smiled all day because it was one of the best compliments I have received in a long while, but when I told Mommy, she just said, 'Don't let boys distract you.' I wish she had just said I looked beautiful."
Tears welled up in Diane's eyes "I didn't know... I didn't know you needed that, I would have told you a thousand times over, how beautiful you were."
The seconds ticked away slowly into the faint evening glow as she flipped more pages.
March 12.
“I had on the yellow dress I bought for my birthday but Mommy hates it. I thought it was pretty and when I asked if I could have braids, she sighed, "Why do you always want to look so odd?" I wish she could understand that I just want to feel pretty... just be myself."
Diane pressed her palm against her mouth to stop the sob.
"How many times did I brush you off, Camille? How many words did I hurt you with, from my own tongue, thinking I was doing the right thing for you?"
Suddenly, a knock on the door startled her.
"Diane," came the soft voice of her husband. "You have been in there for hours and you haven't eaten anything. Come, eat something."
"I... I found her diary. All the while I thought I was being a good mother, my daughter was seriously hurting. How couldn't I have seen that?" She sobbed loudly as her husband watched helplessly.
"Do you want me to come in?"
She hesitated. "Not yet," I just have to do this alone.... please."
She looked at the diary in her hands and turned the page once more.
April 25.
"I tried to tell Mommy I feel like a shadow of myself. But she was too tired to listen, so she told me to go and do my homework. I went, then I cried myself to sleep."
Diane shook her head now, the tears running down her cheeks. She remembered that night, the next morning with Camille's eyes so reddened, and she had asked, "Is anything wrong?" without ever really waiting for an answer because she was rushing off to meet a client at the office.
May 9.
"I think I'm broken, even if I smile and laugh and get wonderful grades, there's still nothing inside me, I feel nothing. When I tried talking to Cindy about it, she said.
'You? Depressed? You have everything!' So, I didn't say anything again."
Diane was broken by these words as her tears freely flowed. Her baby was crying out in silence, and nobody listened. Not even herself. What kind of a mother was she?"
June 3. The Last Entry;
"I don't know what to do anymore, I don't know how to say goodbye, I don't even want to leave; but nobody is listening to me, I just want someone to look at me. Truly look. But I'm tired of screaming without a voice. If you ever read this, Mommy, I'm sorry I couldn't be stronger."
In anguish, Diane wailed. She grabbed the diary, clutching it to her heart, and cried as if her world were ending, because for her, it certainly had.
Later that night, she sat next to her husband in silence. They both mourned and wished they had the power of hindsight.
"She was crying out to us..." her voice was hoarse from crying, "...through every every word, through every page. I missed it all. And I even miss her, I'm going crazy."
Her husband swallowed hard. "Both of us."
"I kept telling myself I was protecting her, pushing her to be strong, to be focused. But I was only pushing her away."
He took her hand. "What do we do now?"
Diane stared into the night through the window. "We start listening... to the ones still here. To other children that feel unseen, maybe... maybe someone else will live because we learned too late."
At a local school's PTA meeting the following morning, Diane stood in front of a group of mothers. Her voice was steady, but her hands shook.
"Camille, my daughter, was intelligent, beautiful, filled with dreams and questions. However, she was also drowning in silence, and I was blind to it until it was too late. Talk to your kids, please, it's about them, not just about school or chores but talk to them about their emotions, know their state of mind, make out time for them. Avoid the same mistake I made, it's a weight too heavy to bear."
Silence, followed by sniffles. In the crowd, a mother grabbed a tissue, a Dad bowed his head and because one mother decided to see before it was too late, a child would be heard tonight somewhere, whether close or far away.
Somewhere from the great Beyond;
"I see Mommy sitting on my bed, holding my diary close to her chest. She is in tears, deep, loud, broken sobs, not the silent kind. She keeps whispering my name and I want to reach out to her, to wipe her tears away, to console her, but my hands are now made of air.
I wish she could she hear me through the whispers of the soft breeze.
"Mommy, I was here all along, I was right here."
All images are created by AI.
Thank you for reading.
