My sister went missing ten years ago.
One day after her wedding — a day that was supposed to be the beginning of her forever — she vanished.
She left behind her neatly folded wedding dress, her shoes… and nothing else.
No note.
No explanation.
All her phones were switched off, as if she had erased herself from the world in a single night.
We searched endlessly.
The police found nothing.
Her husband was shattered.
And slowly, painfully… we all began to lose hope.
Ten years passed.
Last week, I finally gathered the courage to go through her old things in the attic. I wasn't expecting anything — maybe some dusty textbooks, maybe memories I wasn't ready to face.
But then I saw it.
A small envelope tucked inside a box labeled "College Stuff."
My name written across it… in her handwriting.
My heart stopped.
I opened it with trembling hands — and what I read inside nearly tore the ground out from under me.
Whatever happened to her…
whatever she was running from…
it wasn't over.
And in that moment, I knew exactly where I needed to go.
I dropped everything, ran to my car, and drove THERE as fast as I could.
My sister… what did you get yourself into?