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The Phone Call
On a humid September morning, the phone rang. Sarah almost didn’t answer—calls from unknown numbers usually meant false tips, hoaxes, or cruel strangers pretending to know something. But this time, the voice on the other end was steady, official.
Sarah’s heart slammed against her ribs. For ten months, she had begged for news—any news. And now, suddenly, here it was.
Within hours, they were sitting in a sterile federal office, the hum of fluorescent lights above them. On the table lay a series of photographs: a battered, weather-worn suitcase.
It was light blue, rusted around the edges, clearly having spent a long time at sea.
“A fisherman found this washed ashore on a Bahamian island last week,” Agent Ramirez explained. “Inside, we discovered clothing. Three sets, belonging to children.”
Sarah leaned forward, her hands trembling. The photographs showed small t-shirts, pink with Minnie Mouse designs. They were faded, the fabric warped from water damage, but unmistakable. Her breath caught in her throat.
“It’s theirs,” she whispered, tears blurring her vision. “Those are my girls’ shirts. They wore them that night.”
Michael reached for her hand, his grip strong even as his own face turned pale.
The agent nodded. “DNA testing has already been conducted. The clothing belongs to Lily, Emma, and Grace.”
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