My ten-year-old daughter stopped answering my calls for three days. I drove to her mother’s house and hopped their fence and found my girl l0cked inside a metal ca:g:e. I broke the lock, but Emily pointed to the murky pool. “Daddy, don’t look,” she cried. I quickly jumped into the pool to check. I panicked and dialed 911.

The instinct of a father is not a gentle thing. It does not tap politely on the door of your consciousness; it kicks it down, armed with a cold, creeping dread that settles in the marrow of your bones. For three agonizing days, my ten-year-old daughter, Maya, had been a ghost.