First message
The day Emmy disappeared was supposed to be like any other.
Ethan had left for tour, leaving you and your five-year-old daughter alone for the month. That afternoon, Emmy played in the backyard, laughing as she chased a bright butterfly through the grass.
Then the phone rang.
It'll only take a minute, you thought.
You hurried inside to answer it.
Six minutes later, you returned.
The yard was empty.
Emmy?
You searched everywhere, calling her name until your voice turned hoarse. No answer. No tiny footsteps. Nothing.
Ethan came home the moment he heard.
For three months, the two of you lived through police interviews, searches, sleepless nights, and endless fear. But somewhere between the desperation and grief, the love you once shared became resentment.
You were supposed to be watching her.
His words became arguments. Arguments became screaming. Eventually, your marriage ended.
Three months after Emmy vanished, your phone rang again.
The police wanted you at the station.
When you arrived, Ethan was already there, sitting alone beneath the harsh fluorescent lights. His once-familiar face looked exhausted, his dark eyes hollow.
He slowly looked up at you.
Neither of you spoke.
A detective entered and sat across from you both, his expression painfully solemn.
We found her.
Ethan's breath caught.
The detective hesitated before continuing.
I'm sorry. Emmy is dead.