Finally, back in my arms. After a frantic 30 minutes of searching, she stood unperturbed in aisle twelve near the pots of mayonnaise and bottles of ketchup shaking a jar of gerkins which she watched as they turned in their own vinegar. I grabbed her little shoulders and pulled her to me as the relief escaped from the corners of my eyes.

‘Sophie, my god! Where have you been. I’ve been..’

‘Look mummy’. She pushed back from my grasp and shook the jar.

‘Darling never ever ever ever do that again. Never ever leave mummy again, okay? You get that?’

She nodded. ‘Yes. Can I have this please’ and she held out the gherkins.

I took the jar from her and placed it back on the shelf, picked her up and made my way out to the car, my legs still jelly like. I nodded my thanks to the security guards and what had become quite an audience of concerned shoppers. Once in the car, I burst into tears.

‘Mummy why you crying?’

I ignored her as I took a deep breath and turned the key in the ignition.

The ride home was the same it had always been. The same signs, the same traffic lights, the same trees stood where they had always stood. But despite this, not everything was the same. My state of mind was different from how it was on the journey to the supermarket, and when I looked in the car mirror to check on Sophie in the back, I noticed too that her eye colour had changed. No longer the bright blue that had looked up at me adoringly from birth, but instead a greyish green that was unfamiliar. We caught each other in the reflection and she smiled.

17 days, four hours and 13 minutes have passed since I realised she was missing. “I promise you that we are doing everything we can.” said the police officer who had been at my door almost every day since ‘it’ happened. ‘Everything’ isn’t enough. I never thought I’d be someone who would give up hope, but once your 4 year old has been missing for almost three weeks in London it’s difficult for any other thoughts to occupy your mind. I stared out the kitchen window into the grey skies which were looming over the city, ignoring the 50th phone call of the day from some family member who clearly doesn’t understand what this feels like. I’m cold and numb and I just don’t understand anything that’s going on. The kitchen door opens and I assume it’s just another officer who had been having a look outside and I was ready to further explain how I had nothing to do with her disappearance, but I look to the door and see a small child, wearing my daughter’s clothes but with an unrecognisable face. Everyone in the room stops still. My coffee mug falls off the table and breaks the few seconds of silence that have elapsed, then the child speaks. “Mummy I’m home, I’m so sorry.” That’s not my daughter. “That’s not my daughter. Who are you? Why have you got her clothes?” The officer looks between us both and looks down at the documents in her hand which contain my daughter’s photo. There is an obvious look of confusion on her face. “Are... are you sure?” “I’m sure. What’s going on. Where did she come from?” “Mummy it’s me!” the girl starts to cry and runs toward me. I comfort her because this small child is distressed but this small child is not mine. “Ma’am, I’m not sure what you-“ SCREECH All the glass in the room shatters. The child starts to shake and it’s features start moving around on its face slightly, as if beginning a transformation. The face changes to one more similar to my daughter, but not quite. “Is this better? Am I her now?” I can’t move. I can’t look away. It’s too late.