VANESSA
"Fabian!" I screamed, my voice drowning in the cacophony of splashing water and children's laughter. My heart hammered against my ribs as I scanned the crowded waterpark. "Fabian, where are you?"
Five minutes. He'd been gone for five minutes. I'd watched him climb the stairs to the water slide, waving at me from the top with his gap-toothed smile. But he never emerged from the bottom.
I pushed through clusters of families, my wet feet slapping against the concrete. "Excuse me—my son—he's missing." The words caught in my throat, sharp as broken glass.
A lifeguard shook his head. "Ma'am, kids wander off all the time. Check the splash pad—"
"I already checked!" Panic clawed up my throat. "He's six years old, dark hair with a silver streak, blue swim trunks with sharks on them."
The lifeguard's radio crackled to life, and he turned away to answer it.