Driving alone on a foggy night, a mother sees a young girl in a torn dress, quiet and strangely familiar. As she drives closer, she notices the girl’s sad eyes, filled with secrets that might be best left unknown.
It was late, and the night seemed darker than ever. The fog hugged the car like a thick blanket, hiding everything beyond the headlights. I squinted ahead, holding the steering wheel tighter than usual.
“Just get home,” I whispered, rubbing my tired eyes. It had been a long day at work, and I couldn’t wait to crawl into bed.
I always avoided this road. I usually took the main highway, but tonight, I thought: A quick shortcut will save time.
Then, I noticed something in the distance. A shadow in the middle of the road. I slammed on the brakes, heart pounding. The outline was faint, but it was there in the mist.
“Please just be a tree or a mailbox,” I whispered, though I knew it wasn’t. As I drove closer, I realized it was a girl. She looked thin, and her white dress was in tatters.
A chill ran down my spine. Every instinct told me to turn back, but something held me there.
I cracked open the window, my voice shaky. “Are you okay?”
I stepped out of the car with a flashlight. The beam lit up her face, and I gasped, stumbling back. I knew that face. The pale skin, the wide eyes—it was my daughter.
“Emily?” I whispered, barely believing it. She looked at me, eyes empty and wide.
“Mommy?” Her voice was faint, like a distant echo.
Shock and relief overwhelmed me. It was Emily, my daughter who’d been missing for five years. She had vanished without a trace, and no one knew what had happened to her.
“Emily, oh my God… it’s you,” I stammered, stepping closer. “Are you hurt? Where have you been?”
She blinked slowly, her expression blank. “I… don’t know,” she murmured. Her voice was soft, like she hadn’t spoken in years.
I knelt in front of her, heart racing. “It’s okay, honey. It’s me. We’re going home now, alright?” I wrapped my coat around her thin shoulders and led her to the car. She sat silently in the passenger seat, staring out into the fog.
The drive home was quiet. I glanced over at her, but her face was blank, as if she were somewhere far away.
“Emily,” I asked gently, “do you remember anything? Anything at all?”
She didn’t look at me. “A room. It was dark. There was a man, but I can’t remember his face.”
My throat tightened. “You’re safe now, sweetheart. We’re going home.”
When we got home, she sat on the couch, looking around as if everything was unfamiliar. I asked if she remembered the place, but she only shrugged. Her voice was flat and empty.
“Mom,” she whispered, “I’m… cold.”
I wrapped a blanket around her, feeling her icy skin. The days that followed were tense. Emily was distant, barely speaking. The only time I heard her voice clearly was when she sang an old lullaby I used to sing to her. It felt strange because she shouldn’t have remembered it.
One day, I found her looking at old photo albums. Her fingers traced a picture of her father, Mark. He had died when she was a baby.
“Mom?” she said, confused. “I know him.”
I felt a chill. “That’s your dad, honey. I’ve told you about him.”
She shook her head slowly. “No, I know him from… the place.”
A cold wave of fear washed over me. Emily couldn’t remember Mark, but she knew someone who looked like him. It had to be his brother, Jake. They looked so alike, almost like twins.
I couldn’t ignore the feeling anymore. I needed answers.
The next morning, I drove to our old family cabin deep in the woods. It had been abandoned for years, but something felt off when I arrived. One of the windows was covered with a cloth. Why would someone do that?
I pushed the door open, dust swirling in the air. Everything was untouched except for a small room in the back. Inside, toys lay scattered, worn but well-loved. My heart sank. This was where Emily had been kept.
I called the police immediately. Hours later, Emily sat quietly with me as the officers searched the cabin. She clutched her blanket, looking small and sad.
“Mommy… I remember now,” she whispered. “It was Uncle Jake. He looked like Daddy, but different. He would bring food and hum that song.”
The police confirmed it that night. They found enough evidence to arrest Jake. He confessed, saying he had taken Emily to “protect” her, wanting her to rely on him. It was twisted and horrifying to realize he had been so close all this time.
When Emily heard the truth, she broke down, crying out the pain she had held inside for so long. I hugged her tightly, rocking her gently. “You’re safe now,” I whispered. “No one will take you away again.”
In the days that followed, Emily started to open up more. She would hum the lullaby at night, as if testing if it was safe to sing it again.
One evening, we sat together by the window. She leaned against me, and I softly hummed the lullaby like I used to. She looked up at me with a hint of peace in her eyes.
“I love you, Mommy,” she whispered.
Tears filled my eyes as I held her close. “I love you too, sweetheart. Forever.”
Meet Nyakim Gatwec, A Model That Was Dubbed ‘Queen Of The Dark’
The woman was shocked when her Uber driver uninvitedly offered advise on how to take care of her beautiful skin.
The “Queen of the Dark,” as the fashion diva was affectionately called, laughed off his comments and embraced her breathtaking beauty.
Continue reading to find out what this Uber driver said her and how she utilized it as a teaching moment!
Nyakim Gatwech, who spent her early years in refugee camps in Ethiopia and Kenya, thought that living in America would “be like heaven.”
But when Gatwech moved to Buffalo at the age of 14, she stayed by herself a lot, crying over comments made about her very dark skin tone.
“You don’t wash your hair. Because of this, your skin is filthy.Or, “Nyakim, smile so we can see you. You are invisible to us. You have dirty skin as a result. Or grin for us to see you, Nyakim. We cannot see you.
In class, for example, the instructor might ask a question and say, “Oh, Nyakim, can you answer that?””How about a toddler asking, “Who are you talking to?”? We cannot see her. She’s not here. The now 31-year-old woman says, “I would just cry, and the whole class would start laughing,” as reported by Cosmopolitan.
The innocent young girl just wanted to fit in, but it was difficult when random people were speculating about whether or not she was indeed that dark-skinned and whether or not she was wearing leggings.
I did think about [bleaching my skin] at one time. I was 14 years old when I fled an African refugee camp and moved to Buffalo, New York. The beauty admits, “After being teased [about my skin], I would cry myself to sleep.””So many stunning Sudanese women with dark skin tones bleach their skin.”
The model continued by saying that her own sister was one of the Sudanese ladies who had bleached her skin.”It was my own sister.” However, after a few months of living in America, I told her that I wanted to, and she said no. I will not allow my kid, you, or anyone else to do it.
Dark Queen
The woman, who has encountered prejudice from makeup artists, designers, and other models, is now referred to as the Queen of the Dark and feels strong since she has triumphed over the criticism.
Additionally, Gatwech’s 962,000 dedicated Instagram fans encourage her self-assurance and amazing fondness for her deep chocolate skin tone.
“My chocolate is sophisticated. Thus, I stand for this. A country of fighters,” she writes in one of her posts.
And the incredibly beautiful woman’s admirers can’t get enough of her.
One fan writes, “Omgggggg I love your skin and melanin,” while another exclaims, “I love your beautiful skin tone so much!” God creates exquisite things like you to serve as a constant reminder of His majesty.
In response to the tremendous outpouring of love, Gatwech adds, “I learned to love myself.I’m not troubled by the negative anymore. I love and embrace my skin, and I no longer feel insecure about it. I no longer believe I’m ugly. I am confident in who I am.
“The silliest queries”
Speaking about her odd skin, Gatwech recounts about meeting an Uber driver a few years ago who asked if she would ever consider whitening it.
“Oh, you’re dark,” he remarked.Gatwech describes her chat with the driver to Cosmopolitan.”I merely chuckled. I was curious as to why he felt that I ought to. He said that because it would make my life simpler. If I were lighter, I could get into a relationship more easily and guys would be more drawn to me. I’m lighter, so if I went to a job interview, I would receive the opportunity. I just responded, “I’d rather take the [hard] road, even if] being lighter would make my life easier.”
The woman goes on, “I’m used to people asking the stupidest questions ever [about my skin].”
Gatwech then shared the story on Instagram along with a stunning picture of herself with three other stunning dark-skinned Sudanese women.
“A country with people so dark you won’t believe your eyes,” the author writes. Teeth so brilliant, skin so rich. Oh, how I cherish my nation, my people, and all that it entails.
“[SIC] I was asking my Uber driver the other day, and he said, don’t take this personally, but would you bleach your skin for ten thousand dollars?” she says, going on to describe her interaction with the driver. I couldn’t even respond because I was laughing so much.He then responded, “So that’s a no,” to which I replied, “Hell to the f*king yeah, that’s a no, why would I ever bleach this gorgeous melanin that God bless with me?””So you see it as a blessing,” he continued.
Her backers applauded Gatwech right away and raced to her defense.
“I suppose he missed the memo.”Black is gorgeous,” an admirer writes.
Another person says, “I cherish you for cherishing me.”A third wonders, “Why would we ever want to mess up something so beautiful?”
Asking Yahoo Beauty for guidance, she said, “You are beautiful, you are unique, and there are people who love you just the way you are” to young black girls suffering comparable struggles. It’s said that the juice of a cherry is sweeter the darker it is. Accept your gloom!
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