
PHOTO PROMPT © Lori Wilson
The Fourth of July will forever be linked to the worst day of my life. In late June 2015, my mother decided we were going to hit the Mother Road and head to California via Route 66. At a small unnamed town, we stopped at a diner named Shelly’s which I knew would be full of disease and stomach issues. I refused to go inside and said I would eat at one of the tables just outside. Thirty minutes later, my life changed when my mother and brother didn’t return. No one inside claimed to have seen them.
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