My daughter disappeared when she was ten years old, and from that day on, my life split into two parts: before Anna vanished, and everything that came after.
It was an ordinary Thursday morning. I packed her lunch, smoothed her hair the way she liked, and kissed her cheek at the front door. She walked down the driveway, swinging her backpack, then turned back once to wave.
That was the last time I saw her.
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