Where Are The Children?
4/5
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About this ebook
Nancy Harmon long ago fled the heartbreak of her first marriage, the macabre deaths of her two little children, and the shocking charges against her. She changed her name, dyed her hair, and left California for the windswept peace of Cape Cod. Now remarried, she has two more beloved children, and the terrible pain has begun to heal—until the morning when she looks in the backyard for her little boy and girl and finds only one red mitten. She knows that the nightmare is beginning again...
Editor's Note
In memoriam…
Mary Higgins Clark, the “Queen of Suspense,” died January 31, 2020, at the age of 92. She wrote nearly 60 mystery novels in her lifetime, and ever since her start in the mid-1970s with “Where Are the Children?,” all became bestsellers. Prepare to stay up until the early morning, desperate to find out the next twist in this story about a mother’s dark past.
Mary Higgins Clark
The #1 New York Times bestselling author Mary Higgins Clark wrote over forty suspense novels, four collections of short stories, a historical novel, a memoir, and two children’s books. With bestselling author Alafair Burke she wrote the Under Suspicion series including The Cinderella Murder, All Dressed in White, The Sleeping Beauty Killer, Every Breath You Take, You Don’t Own Me, and Piece of My Heart. With her daughter Carol Higgins Clark, she coauthored five suspense novels. More than one hundred million copies of her books are in print in the United States alone. Her books are international bestsellers.
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Reviews for Where Are The Children?
81 ratings17 reviews
What our readers think
Readers find this title to be an interesting and suspenseful read. The writing is good and understandable, with every bit of writing linked together. The book keeps you guessing with enough hints throughout. It is not a gushing romantic book, which is a plus. However, some readers felt that it should have been a novel instead of a short story. Overall, it is a good and suspenseful read.
- Rating: 5 out of 5 stars5/5A very good mystery that keeps you guessing until the very end.
- Rating: 5 out of 5 stars5/5It was a quick easy read! I really enjoyed this book.
- Rating: 3 out of 5 stars3/5Years and years ago Nancy's two young children were brutally murdered, and she only narrowly escaped charges. Now, years later, she's established a new life for herself, with a new look, new name, and a new family. Until one day, the children go missing...Yet another M. H. Clark book I think parents will appreciate (or find horror in) more. This was an okay book (and fortunately shorter than her typical novels), but I wasn't particularly grabbed by it. The unfolding events were plausible I suppose, but the elements of this book that I enjoyed I feel Clark has employed much more enjoyably in some of her other works.
- Rating: 4 out of 5 stars4/5very good book
- Rating: 3 out of 5 stars3/5My Rating: Three & 1/2 Stars
This was actually really, really good for a debut novel. Considering the subject matter, it clearly demonstrates that Mary Higgins Clark was ahead of her time when she wrote the book in 1975. I can see why it was a real standout; the shocking, suspense-filled thriller must've had everyone talking. Compared to present-day novels, Where Are The Children? is still a very good mystery. It aged well, but I did have a few problems that kept it from being a standout experience.
First, I had a difficult time connecting to the characters. It wasn't really until the very end that I even remotely liked Nancy. It helped once I understood what had happened to her, but then I struggled with her sudden turn around from the meek reclusive woman, to the She-Cat of Cap Cod. Anyway, I still enjoyed watching the transition and was able to suspend belief just because Nancy deserved something positive. I'm mean...c'mon...she'd been through enough. Who am I to rain on her "I am woman, hear me roar!" parade? Mom's do get a little crazy when it comes to protecting their babies. I would know.
Also, I had to struggle to make myself keep reading during the first half of the book. There was too much predictability and the dialogue was just boring. Granted, it's Clark's first novel and my first time to read her work...take it with a grain of salt. Maybe I was just sleepy or something.
I did like the overall plot of the story and the way multiple sub-plots all came together in the end. It's not a terribly long novel, either, so pick it up and give it a try! I'll be picking up one of her recent books soon as I'm super eager to see how the Queen of Suspense has grown in her writing over the years! - Rating: 3 out of 5 stars3/5A women's life starts repeating when her two children go missing, just like they did in her first marriage when they were murdered. She can't believe the nightmare is starting all over again. As always, Clark did a wonderful job with this book, I just didn't like the fact that the children were taken.
- Rating: 4 out of 5 stars4/5Quick, easy read, enjoyed it.
- Rating: 4 out of 5 stars4/5Her first mystery, I believe. Thrilling, chilling! It kept my attention, even though I have read it many times before. Well-written, believable characters. I enjoy her older works the most. This mystery is about a woman who has fled her past, and an accusation of murdering her children, to start a new life in New England. She marries again, has two more children, and life is getting back to normal. Until she goes outside to fetch her children from their playtime one morning, only to discover they are missing.
- Rating: 3 out of 5 stars3/5I enjoy Mary Higgins Clark mysteries and this one was another enjoyable read. note, this one is creepy
- Rating: 2 out of 5 stars2/5The story involves an innocent woman, Nancy Harmon, who was at one point convicted of the murder of her two young children and sentenced to the gas chamber in California. Released on a technicality, the key witness had disappeared so she couldn't be retried. She dyed and cut her hair, changed her name, moved to Cape Cod and married and had two more children. And now, the secret of her true identity has come to light in her new community and her five-year-old son Michael and three-year-old daughter Missy have disappeared.As a rule, if I get through an entire book and don't want to hurl it at the wall, I give it at least three stars, but somehow I don't want to give this book so much credit. It's pretty short, about 65,000 words or so, and being written at a grade school level really in syntax and vocabulary pages do fly by before you know it, and I read this in a few hours and not once did I slow to savor a nice piece of writing or want to speed up because I found it at all suspenseful. I found the prose pretty pedestrian.Predictable is what I found the plot. In an introduction, the author says her inspirations included Agatha Christie and Josephine Tey, but she doesn't have their ability to keep me guessing or deliver a jaw-dropping twist. (Or their witty prose and ability to write memorable characters.) I think that's at least partly because the central mystery involves events years in the past and across the country, which means given the little we're told, I knew by 15 pages in that the kidnapper of the children could be one of only two possibilities, and by 20 pages in guessed which of the two was probably guilty--and the nature of the "twist" and I was right. Even though this isn't a terrible novel, I can't even really recommend this as an airplane or beach read. Just too meh.
- Rating: 4 out of 5 stars4/5This storyline is very gripping and extremely bold considering the time period it was first written. I believe I read it first about 30 years ago. Nancy Harmon's two children are dead. She is accused and facing death but gets released on a technicality. She then changes her identity and flees to Cape Cod. She marrys and has two more children and basically begins to relive the nightmare again when they go missing - and she is again a suspect. The anxiety of missing children, the false imprisonment and the devastation of a suicide all lead to an emotionally turbulent read. I picked it up and was devoted to reading through it as quickly as posssible.
- Rating: 4 out of 5 stars4/5This was a great read book that was a quick read. There were enough hints throughout the book that led you to know what the outcome was going to be but not too much that kept you guessing. Every bit of writing was linked together. You were never shaking your head to know what the meanings were. Very good writing and understandable. Also, a plus is that it was not a gushing romantic book. Good and suspenseful.
- Rating: 4 out of 5 stars4/5It's an interesting story, but very much a product of the world in 1975, not as it is today. Ms. Higgins Clark also has a tendency to portray her characters in only black and white, no shades of gray.
- Rating: 4 out of 5 stars4/5Where Are The Children by Mary Higgins Clark was originally released in 1975. It is newly released as an audio book.Clark has penned a new introduction to the book. She names Where Are the Children as the book that kick-started her incredible career.Although I've read a number of Clark's books, I had never read Where Are the Children. More and more, I'm doing my 'reading' through audiobooks, so I was quite happy to listen to this title.Nancy Harmon was a suspect in the deaths of her two young children. She was cleared in court, but not in the public eye. She changed her name, appearance and locale in an attempt to start over. She found love with Ray and they have two children together. And she is as happy as she can be. Until......yep, unbelievably these children go missing. How could this happen again to her? And as much as she knows knows she has nothing to do with their disappearance, the cops think she does......Now, this book was written 44 years - and at the time it created some controversy. In the intro, Clark mentions this book was turned down by some publishers because of some of the content. It would have been boundary pushing in 1975. I kept this in mind as I listened. Clark also says that the inspiration for the story was the real life case of Alice Crimmins.What happens to Nancy is unthinkable and she collapses. A friend of the family who happens to be a therapist believes that the past holds the clues to what is happening now. As she answers his questions we learn that Nancy's first marriage was more than a little creepy. The childsnatcher also has a voice. Creepier. His motive for taking the children is, well, deviant. And this is probably what scared off publishers in 1975.The reader knows what is happening with the children as well as how the search for them is progressing. A back and forth narrative ramps up the tension. (And ensures the reader listens to just one more chapter) And kudos to Clark. Twists and turns in a novel are all the rage now. Where Are the Children includes some nice unexpected twists.There's a reason Mary Higgins Clark is called the Queen of Suspense.This early novel was a treat to listen to. January LaVoy was the reader. She's a narrator I know and I quite enjoy her voice and readings. Her performance in Where Are the Children was excellent. She has a rich, smooth voice with a nice undertone. Her enunciation is crisp and clean. Her voice is clear and easy to understand. She has interpreted the book well and her voice telegraphs the tension and action well. She provided really believable and distinctive voices for the characters. Her children's voices were especially well done.
- Rating: 4 out of 5 stars4/5seemed like it should have been a novel but Scribd just gave me a short story. Even said 200- odd pages but no opportunity to continue.
- Rating: 1 out of 5 stars1/5This was a horrible book- just drivel. Sorry, MHC, you seem like an awesome person, but this book sucked and I will probably never read anything by you ever again. If you're going to switch the perspectives of characters willy nilly in the middle of paragraphs, at least make it understandable. There's just so much to say....but it's not even worth it. Good God, MHC. *Face/palm*
- Rating: 2 out of 5 stars2/5This book started off so well. And then, predictable and stupid towards the end. Why did it start off so well? The villan came across as a true villan should. Cold, manipulative, strategic and he was executing his plan to the letter. Then about midway through the book, the stupidity started to set in. All of a sudden he could no longer predict the future. He could not stay one step ahead of the good guys. He started making mistakes. This, all for a crime he was duplicating, repeating.
This is the story of Nancy Harmon (aka Nancy Eldridge)who is running from her past. Apparently she was caught up in a legal mess after being prosecuted for the death of her first two children under her first marriage to Carl Harmon. She simply lost her childeren to have them wash up in San Francisco Bay. So she decides to move east to escape the pressure and the publicity as her trial was labeled a Mis-Trial because of a lack of a witness that ran away. So she moves to Cape Cod and 7 years later she is re-married to Ray Eldridge and has two additional children.
It all started on her birthday where she read the front page news about her trial 7 years ago, and the article having detailed pictures that identified her to have her relive the nightmare of 7 years past. Did she kill her children? Did someone else do it?
As I said in my opening, this book turned out totally stupid. Suspensful? To some degree but then you reflect and you wonder how Mary Higgins Clark got away with writing this stuff.
Book preview
Where Are The Children? - Mary Higgins Clark
Where Are the Children?:
An Appreciation
My memory of reading Where Are the Children? has always been extremely specific and full of sensory details: My family is in Maine for a long vacation, five weeks on a tiny point of land that juts into the Casco Bay. There are rickety wooden staircases leading down to the rocky beaches and when the tide comes in at sunset, it crashes against the rocks in dramatic fashion. The cottage has a tin roof and during the summer thunderstorms that sweep through, it is immensely satisfying to curl up under a quilt and read while the rain thrums on the roof. And what could be better company than this grown-up book, filched from my mother or sister, the most shocking, suspenseful, dramatic story I’ve ever read?
The only problem with the memory described above is that it’s totally false. That Maine vacation happened in 1970, five years before Where Are the Children? was published. Why have I relocated the memory to the wrong time and place? I think it’s because Mary Higgins Clark’s vividly rendered depiction of windswept Cape Cod made me feel as if I lived in that book, that I was one of the children who went missing, yet also their frantic but brave mother, their resolute father. I was everyone but the villain.
It’s hard to overstate how transformative Where Are the Children? was for a generation of readers, some of whom would grow up to be writers in the very field that Mary essentially created: domestic suspense. Her use of short chapters, a commonplace technique now, was extremely innovative at the time. Perhaps forty years from now, another crime writer will pen a love letter to Gone Girl, a similarly seminal book. Hey, if I’m still around, I’ll happily do it. But right now, it’s Mary’s turn.
Like many novelists before and since, Mary was inspired by a real-life case, the trial of Alice Crimmins, charged with murdering her young son and daughter. In the pre-CNN world of the 1960s, the case didn’t become a national sensation, but it received obsessive coverage in the New York metropolitan area, inspiring intense arguments as to Crimmins’s guilt or innocence. And while she was found guilty, those convictions were overturned. Released from prison, Crimmins relocated and changed her name. But Mary did what all novelists do, what she had, in fact, been taught in a writing class: She began asking herself a series of What if?
and Suppose…?
questions, speculating on what might happen if such a woman had a chance to start a new life. She chose Cape Cod as her setting because she had recently started renting a summer cottage there.
Where Are the Children? was Mary’s first suspense novel— she had published a historical novel based on the life of George Washington in 1968—but all the hallmarks of her work are here: a strong, resourceful female protagonist in Nancy Harmon; a vivid setting; a twisting, propulsive storyline that surprises while always playing fair with the reader. Most important, Mary’s work has something that cannot be taught or faked: Her books are page-turners, unputdownable.
You may notice that I call her Mary.
I had the good fortune to meet her several times and it was always a joy. She was a gracious, generous presence in the world of crime writers, appearing at conferences and banquets in gorgeous clothes and stunning jewelry, hair in an elegant updo. I remember her sweeping into a hotel bar where several writers had gathered at day’s end, stamping her perfectly shod foot in mock indignation that we had been socializing while she had just finished yet another book signing: You young women have so much fun now.
Mary’s teasing was rooted in something profound: It’s lonely, being an outlier. Mary preceded—created, in part—an earnest change in the world of crime writing, which wasn’t exactly robust in the mid-1970s. By the 1980s, female PI writers Sue Grafton, Marcia Mueller, and Sara Paretsky would breathe new life into that subgenre; the 1990s brought some of the superstars still working today, including Michael Connelly, Harlan Coben, and Lee Child. Popular romance writers such as Tess Gerritsen segued to suspense and saw their audiences increase exponentially. Could it have happened without Mary? Possibly, but it doesn’t seem hyperbolic to offer her partial credit.
Mary Higgins Clark would have been a great Mary Higgins Clark character. Born in 1927 to John and Nora Higgins, she began writing at age six. In 1939, her father died, creating multiple hardships for Nora Higgins and her three children. Mary worked as a flight attendant, but she never gave up on her true passion, writing. She took classes when she could and even published a short story inspired by her experiences as a flight attendant.
Flash forward twenty-five years: Mary, who had married Warren Clark in 1949 and had five children, was widowed when her husband died of a heart attack. She supported her family through her writing—radio scripts, short stories.
When the George Washington novel fell short of financial success, Mary decided to study her own bookshelves to figure out how to write a novel that will reach a wide audience. She realized that she had always been a mystery fan, moving from the girl detectives Judy Bolton and Nancy Drew to Golden Age writers such as Agatha Christie, Josephine Tey, and Ngaio Marsh.
Mary quickly saw how much she had intuited about storytelling from these books she loves. In her foreword to the thirtieth anniversary edition of Where Are the Children?, she describes her approach to suspense as a system of stones and breadcrumbs, similar to the items Hansel and Gretel used to mark their paths in and out of the woods. The breadcrumbs, so quickly gobbled up, turn out to not to be the clues they seemed, while the stones, which blend in so well with the landscape, often prove to be the true guide to finding the solution to the crime.
In other words, it’s not enough to have red herrings, which draw the eye, although we may wish to gobble them up. The integrity of a suspense novel depends on the real clues that were always there, but artfully hidden.
To achieve this, a writer must never condescend to the readers. Mary held her readers in high regard; it is impossible to imagine her ignoring continuity errors, as Harold Robbins is said to have done, with the airy dismissal that his fans wouldn’t notice. And even as the world coarsened, Mary held true to her own values, disdaining explicit language and sex, while still managing to write delightful romantic subplots.
Of all the details in Mary’s account of writing and publishing Where Are the Children?, two stand out to me. One, she remembers exactly what she was wearing when she delivered the book to her agent’s secretary: a black-and-white suit. Better still, she wrote in her journal, I have finished the book and it is GOOD!!!
Her agent agreed, as did the legendary editor Phyllis Grann, an editor at Simon & Schuster at the time. So did millions and millions of readers, including me, even if I can’t tell you where I was when I read it, or how old I was. (Not in Maine, however, and not eleven years old; we can be sure of that much.) Mary Higgins Clark wrote a book, changed her life, and changed publishing while she was at it. She may not have realized how monumental her achievement was the day she delivered her manuscript, but I wish for all writers, everywhere, a moment when you look at your pages and say to yourself, as Mary did, I have finished the book and it is GOOD!!!
Laura Lippman
Baltimore, Maryland
December 2022
Prologue
HE COULD FEEL THE CHILL coming in through the cracks around the windowpanes. Clumsily he got up and lumbered over to the window. Reaching for one of the thick towels he kept handy, he stuffed it around the rotting frame.
The incoming draft made a soft, hissing sound in the towel, a sound that vaguely pleased him. He looked out at the mist-filled sky and studied the whitecaps churning in the water. From this side of the house it was often possible to see Provincetown, on the opposite shore of Cape Cod Bay.
He hated the Cape. He hated the bleakness of it on a November day like this; the stark grayness of the water; the stolid people who didn’t say much but studied you with their eyes. He had hated it the one summer he’d been here—waves of tourists sprawling on the beaches; climbing up the steep embankment to this house; gawking in the downstairs windows, cupping their hands over their eyes to peer inside.
He hated the large FOR SALE sign that Ray Eldredge had posted on the front and back of the big house and the fact that now Ray and that woman who worked for him had begun bringing people in to see the house. Last month it had been only a matter of luck that he’d come along as they’d started through; only luck that he’d gotten to the top floor before they had and been able to put away the telescope.
Time was running out. Somebody would buy this house and he wouldn’t be able to rent it again. That was why he’d sent the article to the paper. He wanted to still be here to enjoy seeing her exposed for what she was in front of these people . . . now, when she must have started to feel safe.
There was something else that he had to do, but the chance had never come. She kept such a close watch on the children. But he couldn’t afford to wait anymore. Tomorrow . . .
He moved restlessly around the room. The bedroom of the top-floor apartment was large. The whole house was large. It was a bastardized evolution of an old captain’s house. Begun in the seventeenth century on a rocky crest that commanded a view of the whole bay, it was a pretentious monument to man’s need to be forever on guard.
Life wasn’t like that. It was bits and pieces. Icebergs that showed in tips. He knew. He rubbed his hand over his face, feeling warm and uncomfortable even though the room was chilly. For six years now he’d rented this house in the late summer and fall. It was almost exactly as it had been when he had first come into it. Only a few things were different: the telescope in the front room; the clothes that he kept for the special times; the peaked cap that he pulled over his face, which shaded it so well.
Otherwise the apartment was the same: the old-fashioned sofa and pine tables and hooked rug in the living room; the rock maple bedroom set. This house and apartment had been ideal for his purpose until this fall, when Ray Eldredge had told him they were actively trying to sell the place for a restaurant and it could be rented only with the understanding it could be shown on telephoned notice.
Raynor Eldredge. The thought of the man brought a smile. What would Ray think tomorrow when he saw the story? Had Nancy ever told Ray who she was? Maybe not. Women could be sly. If Ray didn’t know, it would be even better. How wonderful it would be to actually see Ray’s expression when he opened the paper! It was delivered a little after ten in the morning. Ray would be in his office. He might not even look at it for a while.
Impatiently, he turned from the window. His thick, trunklike legs were tight in shiny black trousers. He’d be glad when he could lose some of this weight. It would mean that awful business of starving himself again, but he could do it. When it had been necessary he’d done it before. Restlessly he rubbed a hand over his vaguely itchy scalp. He’d be glad when he could let his hair grow back in its natural lines again. The sides had always been thick and would probably be mostly gray now.
He ran one hand slowly down his trouser leg, then impatiently paced around the apartment, finally stopping at the telescope in the living room. The telescope was especially powerful—the kind of equipment that wasn’t available for general sale. Even many police departments didn’t have it yet. But there were always ways to get things you wanted. He bent over and peered into it, squinting one eye.
Because of the darkness of the day, the kitchen light was on, so it was easy to see Nancy clearly. She was standing in front of the kitchen window, the one that was over the sink. Maybe she was about to get something ready to put into the oven for dinner. But she had a warm jacket on, so she was probably going out. She was standing quietly, just looking in the direction of the water. What was she thinking of? Whom was she thinking of? The children—Peter . . . Lisa . . . ? He’d like to know.
He could feel his mouth go dry and licked his lips nervously. She looked very young today. Her hair was pulled back from her face. She kept it dark brown. Someone would surely have recognized her if she’d left it the natural red-gold shade. Tomorrow she’d be thirty-two. But she still didn’t look her age. She had an intriguing young quality, soft and fresh and silky.
He swallowed nervously. He could feel the feverish dryness of his mouth, even while his hands and armpits were wet and warm. He gulped, then swallowed again, and the sound evolved into a deep chuckle. His whole body began to shake with mirth and jarred the telescope. Nancy’s image blurred, but he didn’t bother refocusing the lens. He wasn’t interested in watching her anymore today.
Tomorrow! He could just see the expression she’d have at this time tomorrow. Exposed to the world for what she was; numbed with worry and fear; trying to answer the question . . . the same question the police had thrown at her over and over seven years ago.
Come on, Nancy,
the police would be saying again. Come clean with us. Tell the truth. You should know you can’t get away with this. Tell us, Nancy—where are the children?
1
RAY CAME DOWN THE STAIRS pulling the knot closed on his tie. Nancy was sitting at the table with a still-sleepy Missy on her lap. Michael was eating his breakfast in his poised, reflective way.
Ray tousled Mike’s head and leaned over to kiss Missy. Nancy smiled up at him. She was so darn pretty. There were fine lines around those blue eyes, but you’d still never take her for thirty-two. Ray was only a few years older himself, but always felt infinitely her senior. Maybe it was that awful vulnerability. He noticed the traces of red at the roots of her dark hair. A dozen times in the last year he’d wanted to ask her to let it grow out, but hadn’t dared.
Happy birthday, honey,
he said quietly.
He watched as the color drained from her face.
Michael looked surprised. Is it Mommy’s birthday? You didn’t tell me that.
Missy sat upright. Mommy’s birthday?
She sounded pleased.
Yes,
Ray told them. Nancy was staring down at the table. And tonight we’re going to celebrate. Tonight I’m going to bring home a big birthday cake and a present, and we’ll have Aunt Dorothy come to dinner. Right, Mommy?
Ray . . . no.
Nancy’s voice was low and pleading.
Yes. Remember, last year you promised that this year we’d . . .
Celebrate was the wrong word. He couldn’t say it. But for a long time he’d known that they would someday have to start changing the pattern of her birthdays. At first she’d withdrawn completely from him and gone around the house or walked the beach like a silent ghost in a world of her own.
But last year she’d finally begun to talk about them . . . the two other children. She’d said, They’d be so big now . . . ten and eleven. I try to think how they would look now, but can’t seem to even imagine. . . . Everything about that time is so blurred. Like a nightmare that I only dreamed.
It’s supposed to be like that,
Ray told her. Put it all behind you, honey. Don’t even wonder what happened anymore.
The memory strengthened his decision. He bent over Nancy and patted her hair with a gesture that was at once protective and gentle.
Nancy looked up at him. The appeal on her face changed to uncertainty. I don’t think—
Michael interrupted her. How old are you, Mommy?
he asked practically.
Nancy smiled—a real smile that miraculously eased the tension. None of your business,
she told him.
Ray took a quick gulp of her coffee. Good girl,
he said. Tell you what, Mike. I’ll pick you up after school this afternoon and we’ll go get a present for Mommy. Now I’d better get out of here. Some guy is coming up to see the Hunt place. I want to get the file together.
Isn’t it rented?
Nancy asked.
Yes. That Parrish fellow who’s taken the apartment on and off has it again. But he knows we have the right to show it anytime. It’s a great spot for a restaurant and wouldn’t take much to convert. It’ll make a nice commission if I sell it.
Nancy put Missy down and walked with him to the door. He kissed her lightly and felt her lips tremble under his. How much had he upset her by starting this birthday talk? Some instinct made him want to say, Let’s not wait for tonight. I’ll stay home and we’ll take the kids and go to Boston for the day.
Instead he got into his car, waved, backed up and drove onto the narrow dirt lane that wound through an acre of woods until it terminated on the cross-Cape road that led to the center of Adams Port and his office.
Ray was right, Nancy thought as she walked slowly back to the table. There was a time to stop following the patterns of yesterday—a time to stop remembering and look only to the future. She knew that a part of her was still frozen. She knew that