For fifteen years, I lived with an ache I couldn’t shake. My sister Leah vanished one night without a single trace, leaving behind nothing but a missed call on my phone. I replayed her last voicemail over and over, haunted by the thought that if I had picked up, things might have been different. The police had no leads, the trail went cold, and slowly, everyone else in my family accepted the unthinkable.
But I couldn’t. I held on to hope, even when it seemed irrational. Then, on an ordinary evening while boarding a late train home, the extraordinary happened — a moment that made my heart stop
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