It was the kind of storm that clawed at your windows and filled the air with something more than rain — a feeling of being completely alone. I was settled in for a quiet night in my creaky farmhouse, just me and my dog Lucky, until he started acting strange. He wouldn’t move from the door, and when I finally opened it, he bolted into the storm.
That’s when I saw her.
A girl, no more than fourteen, soaked to the bone at the bus stop down the road. No coat, no umbrella — just fear in her eyes and rain in her hair. Something in my chest pulled tight. I didn’t ask many questions. I brought her in, gave her dry clothes, hot tea, and silence. She didn’t say much — just her name: Anna.
But something about her felt… familiar.
Later that night, I found a locket in the pocket of her wet clothes. My breath caught in my throat. Inside were two faded photos — one of me, and one of Tom, my husband who vanished twelve years ago with our toddler daughter. I hadn’t seen either of them since.
When I asked Anna where she got it, her voice broke: “It was my dad’s. He told me to find you.”
And just like that, I realized who she really was…