I see some variation of this poster every day. Jennifer Kesse was a much-beloved graduate of the University of Central Florida, my employer. The university is in east Orlando, two miles from my house. So every time I go anywhere, I pass one of these exhortations for vigilance.

Jennifer Kesse disappeared overnight. She spoke with her parents over the phone the evening of January 23. On January 24, she was nowhere to be found. Her car was found abandoned two days later near her condo. Ten months later, she still hasn't turned up.

Back in January, when the story broke, I was sure they'd find gruesome remains in some seedy rent-by-the-week apartment complex on South Orange Blossom Trail, and that the family would be devastated. Come February, I thought that certainly officials in another state -- or maybe another country -- would have details to close the case. By March, I couldn't help but think of another Jennifer -- Wilbanks, the "Runaway Bride" who last spring ducked her wedding in Georgia and ended up in Albuquerque.

But it's November. And she's still not back, and the posters stay up.

Is this a lost cause? Probably. Jennifer Kesse has been missing for almost a year. Her family, her boyfriend, and her classmates have all painted her as a focused, organized, methodical woman; she certainly would have found a way to let them know she was alive by now. At this point, she's either written off her past and started a new life under a new name or she's in a well-concealed grave. Either way, she won't be coming back.

I think this, and I think that the family should put away the huge reward, remove their grieving from the public arena, and move on with their lives. But then I see how much good the Kesse family is doing for public safety and security awareness, especially in such a sketchy area as Central Florida, by continuing to host its events. And then I remember that at one time, Jennifer Kesse was somebody's little girl.

You've been here. You know that I'm about to have a little girl of my own. And if my little girl went missing, I wouldn't hide my grief. I wouldn't remove even the slimmest chance that someone, somewhere, knew where she was and what had happened to her. And I sure as hell wouldn't give up hope that one day she'd walk in the door and say, "Daddy, I missed you."

So I hope -- without malice, without self-interest, without even the slightest consideration that her reappearance will finally get rid of these posters, but purely for the sake of Drew Kesse -- that his little girl will one day walk in that door. He'd do the same for me.