The Miracle of Kayla

When all the dust settled from the day and Debbie had left still visibly shaken from the ordeal, I found Nancy just sitting outside staring into the distance with a blank look. It appeared for now she had no more tears. Nancy had never been touched personally by crime. It was something that happened on television but never in her life. She lived in a world where people cared for each other. People were supposed to be generally good, not evil. Trust was the foundation of how people dealt with each other. She had a kind and gentle heart for people. Now she was trying to reconcile the worldview she once knew with the evil one she had just discovered. At the same time, she was trying to find peace in her grief.
Unfortunately, grief was something I had become well acquainted with. I saw it all too often in the victims of the crimes we investigated. I often brought the pain home with me. Most of the time, I could try to shake it off at the front door. But occasionally, there were certain crimes that would steal a piece of me and inevitably poison my heart. I would often tell my agents to never let it become personal. Yet, it was something that I myself seemed unable to do at times, no matter how hard I tried to compartmentalize it. The thoughts of the child I could not save, the towers that would fall on my friends, and the sheer depravity I saw so often, would serve to haunt my dreams. But now I was the victim, and I could not shake the empty feeling it left me with.
The day had passed, and neither of us had eaten. I touched her shoulder and suggested we go out to eat. We were not emotionally capable of performing any task such as cooking. Therefore, we went to a local restaurant, but when the food arrived, we just stared at it. We simply couldn’t muster any real appetite. We just picked at our food.
“How could all this have happened,” she inquired. She was searching for answers I did not have. I’m not sure, but I also think she was searching my eyes for hope. “Is this it? Is our journey finally over?”
I tried to give an answer, but in the end, I shrugged my shoulders. I had no words of comfort or hope. For the first time in my life, I didn’t have anything to say.
When we returned home, we really didn’t say much to each other because there was truthfully nothing to say. We were both in a daze. I was trying all I could do to remain strong for her, but I knew I was a complete mess.
Later we got dressed for bed and laid down. We both just stared at the ceiling trying to fathom what had just happened. Was there anything we could hold on to? Was it all a lie? Was hope finally gone? Was everything we dreamed of simply a mirage? Did we simply deceive ourselves into believing what we wanted to believe? Eventually, I drifted off to sleep.
About 3 a.m. I woke up and turned over to discover that Nancy was not there. I got up to look for her. I came to what would have been the baby’s room, and there I saw Nancy sitting in a chair with her arms propped up on the crib railing. She was just staring into an empty crib listening to baby lullabies over and over again as the mobile moved around at the top of the crib. She sat there in tears realizing this crib would never be filled. A void would remain in her heart for a child who would never come. I harbored those same feelings. Mitchell and Peters did more than steal our money; they stole our hearts, dreams and trust. They stole our child…at least that is what it felt like to us!
But how could I possibly begin to console this woman I loved so much? In a way, this was my fault. I had harbored an innate suspicion things were not as they appeared from the start. I had a gut instinct sharpened by years of service to the FBI. I even saw a report a few days earlier that should have confirmed my intuition. Yet for the first time in my career, I had failed to act, and that failure to act was now responsible for the broken heart of the woman I loved.
As the mobile kept turning and the lullabies kept playing, I could only look at the woman who couldn’t take her eyes off the empty crib. I was the one who continued to pursue this hope. I put her in this position. Subsequently, I was the one who was responsible for the crime I brought to our doorstep. I was an FBI agent who had taken an oath to serve and protect. I was the one who came to the aide of victims. I was never supposed to be a victim. I couldn’t even protect the one I love.
At that moment, my heart was breaking. I wanted to put my arms around her and comfort her. Instead, I stood frozen at the door, desiring her forgiveness for not protecting her heart, but too afraid to ask for it.
I slowly walked away without her knowing I was there. I wanted to leave her to her grief, hoping the time would come when I would find my own time to grieve. But when I returned to bed, I found myself looking at the ceiling, asking myself wasn’t God supposed to give us no burden greater than we could bear. Now I knew that old saying was just a myth. Seeing Nancy gazing into the empty crib was just too much for me to suffer.