Grasping its neck in one hand, Kaitlyn poured herself a shot from the bottle. She downed the shot, smacked her lips, and then checked the bottle’s label: “HERA’S HARDCORE VODKA.” Kaitlyn rubbed her flat tummy. She felt more carefree, like her niece Georgina and the other screaming kids running around the New Year’s party hall. The shards of her life were finally reassembling. Marty wasn’t here, so she wouldn’t have to make some excuse not to talk to him when he would inevitably ask her if she had missed her period lately, or if she had been urinating more frequently, or if she was experiencing any nausea or vomiting. What a creep. He would be the type to say “urinating” or “nausea”; she was definitely done dating doctors. Anyway, it was none of his business.

As the awkwardness between the adults gradually dissipated, the band finished the ominous tune of Nat King Cole’s “Happy New Year” and burst into Whitney Houston’s “I Wanna Dance with Somebody.” Kaitlyn eyed the men in the room as more couples stepped onto the dance floor, but they all either looked like withering grandpas, or like they had short peckers or both. Boring, she thought. A large digital clock had been set up in the middle of the hall with three screens facing outward at the guests. The time read 11:56:03 PM––just about four minutes until the new year. Kaitlyn already knew her New Year’s resolution and furtively patted her tummy to lock it in.

Her phone rang. Glancing at it, Kaitlyn saw that her sister Noor was calling. When she picked up, Noor said, “Katie, how’s the party going? How’s Georgina?” Kaitlyn sighed. Scanning the room, she couldn’t see Georgina or any of the other kids, for that matter, but it didn’t matter. They were probably fooling around somewhere. 

“It’s actually pretty great. It's nice seeing everybody again. And Georgina’s doing fine, don’t worry about her,” Kaitlyn said.

“Can you put her on the phone?” Kaitlyn scanned the room again but had no luck. Pulling the phone from her ear, she blew a raspberry, downed another shot of vodka, and went to look for Georgina. Three minutes later, she had circled the room several times, but still, there was no Georgina. In fact, all the children were gone.

“Where’s Georgina?” Noor asked, her concerned voice audible even though Kaitlyn held the phone down at her side. Raising it to her ear, Kaitlyn said, “Hey, sorry Noor, I’ve gotta go right now but I’ll call you back soon, okay?” She ended the call, cutting Noor off, and shoved her phone back into her purse. She quickly made her way through the crowd, asking the other partygoers if  they knew where the children had gone. Everybody she asked told her that they didn’t know, so she called out, “Georgina! Georgina! Where are you, squirt?” Nothing. 

By now, word had spread around the hall that the kids were missing, and a few guests pulled out their cell phones to call the police or their children while some of the others pooled into the foyer to find the kids. The band had stopped playing too, and in the crescendoing panic of the hall, the absence of the children and their carefree giggles seemed all too noticeable.

Her phone rang again, but Kaitlyn ignored it. In her high heels, she could only shuffle feebly towards the foyer. She never should have brought Georgina with her. She never should have come to the party. It was all a mistake.

The screams pierced her ears before she even reached the foyer. As she drew closer to the crowd of adults ahead, she saw them huddling around a spot near the middle of the foyer. A girl, around six years old, lay motionless on the ground, eyes closed. What looked like water stains spotted the little girl’s flowery, home-stitched dress. Her knees shaking, Kaitlyn kneeled down to examine the little girl’s dress, but she recoiled as the odor of vodka singed her nose. In front of her, a woman grasped the little girl’s head in her arms and screamed again and again. So that’s what mothers sound like when their children are hurt, Kaitlyn thought, her hands instinctively going to her tummy.

More shouts rang out in the foyer, and a chunk of the crowd broke off and hurried down a side corridor. Georgina. Slipping off her heels, Kaitlyn stood up and followed them. Running down the corridor, she turned a corner and stumbled into the other guests. Pushing through them, she found Georgina’s limp body on the ground beside half a dozen other kids. Kaitlyn fell to the ground, one hand on her tummy, the other reaching towards Georgina’s pulse. Her phone rang in her pocket, and taking it out, she saw that it was Noor again. Georgina had no pulse. The time was 11:59. The stench of vodka bombarded Kaitlyn’s nose. She just wanted to bury her head in Georgina’s shoulder and scream as if she were her mother, but she didn’t know what any of that felt like. Her phone kept ringing, and the women in the foyer kept screaming. Kaitlyn bent her forehead down to Georgina’s, her closed eyelids millimeters away from Georgina’s blank, dilated eyes, her breath feverishly pushing against Georgina’s breathless nose and mouth, tears dripping from Kaitlyn’s nose and mixing with the dots of vodka and saliva at the corners of Georgina’s mouth. Kaitlyn didn’t know if the pain was in her brain, heart, or stomach, but wherever it was, she couldn’t get it out. She raised her face to the ceiling, scrunched her face, and opened her mouth as wide as she could, but she still couldn’t scream. 12:00. The pain curdled in her body as she clutched Georgina’s tiny, limp body to her stomach. Happy New Year. Tears of silent pain dripped onto Georgina’s baby hair as Kaitlyn hugged her tight.