When Beth Holloway's 18-year-old daughter, Natalee, disappeared in the summer of 2005 during a class trip to Aruba, the story gripped the nation.
Since Natalee's disappearance, Beth Holloway has worked tirelessly to bring attention to her daughter's case and discover the truth behind the graduation trip that turned into tragedy.
Even though she still hasn't been found and her disappearance remains as much a mystery as it was in 2005, Holloway refuses to give up hope.
Now, Holloway has written a book about the ordeal called "Loving Natalee, A Mother's Testament of Hope and Faith: The True Story of the Aruba Kidnapping and its Aftermath."
Learn about how Holloway's faith sustained her during the search for Natalee in the excerpt below.
"This is Beth. Tell me wha'cha got."
It's the police spokesman calling the top line. "We have a girl, and we think she is Natalee. Go to Bubali station. We want you to identify her."
About this time Jug, who is out on searches, get the same tip from the island newspaper reporter. "Julia found a girl and thinks it's Natalee. Let's meet at Bubali."
The three women and I run to a cab. "Take us to Bubali station. Please! Hurry!"
Emotions swing into a high-pitched whirl of anticipation. But on the way something doesn't feel right. I've been to this station several times now. We seem to be going the wrong way. Sitting behind the driver on the edge of the seat of this minivan, I tell him, "This isn't right!" He acts like he doesn't understand. I slap him several times on the shoulder. "Please! This isn't the right where!" There's a sinister feeling in this cab. Like he doesn't want me to get there right away.
"It's okay. Don't wurr-rry," he smiles at me in his rearview.
Why is he doing this? And going so slowly?
The physical need to touch Natalee overwhelms me. Both fists are flexing open, then shut, then stretched open again. I want to hug her. Hold her. Touch her hair. Take her home. I reach down between the seat and the console to push on the gas pedal with my hand. Carol, Sue and Martee try to calm me. But I'm frantic. The police spokesman who just called has her picture. He must know this is Natalee. My heart may come right through my chest as it travels from my throat to my feet and back again. Hurry. Just hurry.
We finally arrive to see multitudes of people standing outside of the dark police station. We are the last ones here. Again. The internal island communication system, their covert human network, is apparently fully operational tonight. Everyone present is either a native islander or with the media. They all knew to be here before we even got the call. They all knew.