But Lily was nowhere to be found.
The only member of the family who seemed strangely calm was Noah's grandfather, Harold.
He sat in the living room while everyone else searched.
At one point, he quietly said:
“Perhaps she wanted a different life.”
Noah hated those words.
Even as a child, something about them felt wrong.
Lily would never have left without saying goodbye.
She would never have left Noah behind.
She wouldn't even go to the corner shop without telling someone where she was going.
Yet the years passed.
One year became five.
Five became ten.
Then fifteen.
The missing-person posters faded.
Some were torn down by weather.
Others disappeared beneath newer advertisements.
The police investigation slowly became inactive.
People stopped asking questions.
The town moved on.
But Margaret never did.
She kept Lily's bedroom exactly as it had been.
Her books remained on the shelf.
A blue jacket hung behind the door.
A small mirror collected dust.
A hairbrush remained on the dresser.
Margaret refused to change anything.
Every night, she repeated the same sentence:
“My daughter will come home.”
Daniel eventually stopped correcting her.
Noah grew older.
He went to school.
He went to university.
He built a career.
He made friends.
He learned how to live with uncertainty.
