It was Christmas Eve. The tree twinkled in the corner, the stockings hung neatly by the fireplace. We had eaten our fill of turkey and pie, shared laughter, and tucked our daughter, Lily, into bed. She was only twelve, still excited for Santa, still clinging to the magic.
I drifted off to sleep with a smile—only to wake hours later with a knot of dread in my stomach. Something felt wrong. I padded down the hallway to check on Lily.Her bed was empty.
The blanket was tossed aside, her pillow still warm. My heart dropped into my stomach.“Lily?” My voice cracked. Silence.
I tore through the house, every room, every closet, my breath coming in frantic gasps. Nothing.“Tom!” I shook my husband awake. “She’s gone! Lily’s gone!”
He bolted upright, and we both rushed through the house again, shouting her name. Then I noticed—my keys. Gone. I raced to the window. My car wasn’t in the driveway.Panic clawed at my throat. I grabbed my phone, ready to call the police, when my husband’s voice echoed from the living room.
“Honey! Look!”I turned. He was sta