The idea that Mariah Copeland could abduct baby Dominic Newman-Abbott is almost impossible to process at first—not because it feels random, but because it feels tragically inevitable in hindsight. This shocking act is not a sudden descent into villainy, nor a betrayal that appeared out of nowhere. Instead, it is the devastating climax of a long, quiet unraveling that unfolded in plain sight, one that Genoa City witnessed but failed to fully confront.

For months, Mariah has been unraveling emotionally, and the warning signs were everywhere. What began as grief, exhaustion, and unresolved trauma gradually evolved into something darker and more dangerous. Her emotional compass began to skew. Her sense of self fractured. And slowly, subtly, the lines between reality, fear, and perception blurred beyond recognition.

Sending Mariah to a treatment facility in Boston was an act rooted in love and hope—not punishment. Tessa Porter believed it was the lifeline Mariah needed, a chance to regain clarity and stability. But treatment without true emotional connection can become another form of abandonment, and for Mariah, isolation only amplified her deepest fears. Each call Tessa received felt less reassuring than the last. Instead of progress, Mariah’s voice carried resentment. Instead of healing, there was paranoia. She didn’t sound like someone finding her way back—she sounded like someone hardening against the world.

When Mariah returned to Genoa City, the expectation was that familiar faces and routines would ground her. Instead, they devastated her. Life had continued without her. People had adapted. And the place where she once felt essential now felt indifferent. That realization landed with crushing force. Home didn’t feel like rescue—it felt like proof that she was no longer needed.

That sense of displacement intensified when Mariah began noticing the growing closeness between Tessa and Daniel Romalotti Jr. To anyone else, their bond looked like friendship forged through shared concern. To Mariah, already emotionally unstable, it felt like confirmation of her worst fear: she had been replaced.

Every shared laugh, every private conversation, fed her distorted narrative. And when Mariah witnessed a kiss between Tessa and Daniel, something inside her finally snapped. That moment wasn’t just about jealousy—it was about erasure. In her mind, it proved that she no longer belonged, that the life she was fighting to return to had quietly reassigned her role to someone stronger, safer, more acceptable.

From that point on, consequences stopped mattering. When you believe there is nothing left to protect, recklessness becomes freedom.

It is within this fractured emotional state that Dominic enters the picture—not as a victim in Mariah’s mind, but as purpose. Dominic represents everything she feels she has lost: unconditional love, permanence, belonging. Her attachment to him is deeply emotional, rooted in unresolved trauma surrounding family, motherhood, and identity. Slowly, dangerously, the line between protection and possession dissolves.

The revelation of unresolved complications tied to Dominic’s surrogate only fuels Mariah’s distorted thinking. What was once a legally sound arrangement becomes, in her mind, proof that Dominic’s place in the world was never as secure as everyone claimed. This ambiguity gives her justification. She convinces herself she isn’t stealing a child—she’s correcting an injustice.

By the time Mariah takes Dominic, she does not see herself as a criminal. She sees herself as a survivor doing what no one else had the courage to do.

The shockwave through Genoa City is immediate and catastrophic. Panic spreads not just because a child is missing, but because of who took him. Mariah Copeland was trusted. Loved. Protected. The realization that she is responsible fractures the city at its core.

Tessa is consumed by terror and guilt, replaying every conversation, every hesitation, every moment she might have failed to reach Mariah. The letter Mariah leaves behind only deepens the agony. It isn’t threatening—it’s calm, almost tender, written as if this disappearance were an act of necessity rather than devastation. That makes it worse. Tessa understands too late how emotional distance—even unintentional—can feel like abandonment to someone already drowning.

Daniel is pulled into the storm against his will, forced to confront the uncomfortable truth that good intentions can still have catastrophic consequences. He grapples with guilt, even knowing Mariah’s actions are not his responsibility.

As the investigation intensifies, the complexities surrounding the surrogate arrangement surface, muddying legal waters and exposing emotional bonds that were never supposed to exist. These revelations fracture trust further, creating doubt where certainty once stood.

Meanwhile, Mariah is no longer alone.

Matt steps into the vacuum left by everyone else. He doesn’t control her through force—he validates her pain. He tells her she isn’t broken, she’s been wronged. He reframes her actions as awakening, not collapse. Under his influence, Mariah’s thinking grows rigid. Doubt becomes betrayal. Genoa City transforms in her mind from home into hostile territory.

With Matt, Mariah disappears completely—emotionally and physically. She leaves behind rules, expectations, and the woman she once was. Dominic becomes more than a child in her care; he becomes leverage, symbol and justification all at once.

Law enforcement closes in, but Mariah remains unpredictable, driven by emotion rather than logic. That makes her dangerous—and nearly impossible to track. Every hour Dominic remains missing intensifies fear, grief, and rage among those left behind.

This isn’t just a kidnapping. It’s the fallout of untreated trauma, misplaced optimism, and silence mistaken for patience. Genoa City is forced to confront the painful truth that emotional neglect can be just as destructive as cruelty.

As Mariah disappears further into the narrative Matt feeds her, the question looming over Genoa City is no longer just where is Dominic—but whether Mariah Copeland can still be reached… or whether she has crossed a line from which there is no return.