這裡

When Alexandra's parents couldn't find her the morning of March 19, they tracked her cellphone through GPS. Dean drove across a bridge over the Mass Pike several times early that morning, following a GPS signal that suggested Alexandra, or at least her phone, was close by.

Alysia and their daughter Emily drove across the bridge, too. It was Emily who noticed her sister's stuff.

Her winter boots. Her purple coat. Her green water bottle covered with stickers. The two notebooks. All left neatly on a concrete pylon at the edge of the bridge that carries North Street over the Pike.

Left in plain sight, as if a signal.

Alysia got out of her car. She opened one of the notebooks and realized it was her daughter's, full of dark thoughts she never knew Alexandra had.

A stranger pulled over to help. Alysia told her something was very wrong.

"Call 911," she said.

Alysia called Dean to the bridge.

It was Dean who peered behind the concrete pylon, down a wooded embankment covered in brown pine needles, to the highway, and saw his daughter lying in the breakdown lane.

He thundered down the hill.

Her skin was cold.

Cars sped by. Monday morning rush.

And yes, it was early and it had been dark, but it hurt Dean deeply that nobody had stopped for his baby.