The Day My Five‑Year‑Old Disappeared
Instead, what met my eyes were dark-gray bookshelves, a massive rosewood desk, and walls filled with foreign-language books I couldn't even read.
The air held none of that childlike sweetness, just the old smell of paper and a faint trace of sandalwood.
"No, this can't be… This isn't real…"
I dropped to my knees, my hands clawing frantically at the expensive carpet. Just yesterday, Dorothy had been on this carpet, playing with her puzzle. A blue piece of sky had gone missing, and she had cried for ages looking for it.
Now, there was nothing. Shaking, I pulled out my phone and opened my photo gallery.