I am 50 years old, and my life has been split in two since 2006.
Before Daniel.
After Daniel.
Before, I was a mother driving down Route 9 with my seven-year-old son beside me, listening to him beg for a Sprite like it was medicine.
After a while, the search lost some momentum.
After, I was the woman whose son disappeared from a rest stop while she was inside for less than two minutes.
I was buying him a Sprite. I turned around, and he was gone.
The police searched
