And then there was the blanket.
That thin pink blanket, with a carefully embroidered “M” in the corner.
It didn’t feel random.
It felt like a clue.
I barely slept that night. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw her face.
That “M” kept circling in my mind.
What did it mean?
And then another thought crept in.
Maybe… someone hadn’t wanted to leave her there.
The next afternoon, there was a knock at my door.
Not a casual knock. Careful. Hesitant.
When I opened it, a woman stood there.
Late twenties, maybe thirty. Her hair was pulled back messily. Her eyes were red and swollen. Her hands were clenched so tightly her knuckles had turned white.
She looked like she hadn’t slept in days.
“Hi,” she said softly. “Are you… Mike?”
“Yes.”
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