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birthday, leaving behind silence and pain that never truly faded. Time passed, but the uncertainty stayed.
Decades later, everything changed unexpectedly when my granddaughter Sophie walked in wearing a cream sweater with a yellow sunflower. I froze. I recognized it instantly—it had belonged to Laura the night she vanished.
Sophie said a school cleaner named Dolly had given it to her. Curious and unsettled, I examined the sweater and found Laura’s initials stitched inside. Then Sophie added something chilling: the woman had told her to look under the flower.
Hidden beneath the sunflower was a small pocket. Inside, I found a wooden sunflower—one our father had carved for Laura when we were children. Suddenly, the past wasn’t distant anymore. It was alive.