The storm raged like it had a score to settle, pounding my farmhouse with wind and rain. Inside, it was just me and my old dog, Lucky—until he started pacing at the door, tail stiff, ears perked.
No treat, no command calmed him. Something—or someone—was out there. I cracked open the door and he charged into the night. I rushed after him, heart pounding, and there she was—huddled at the bus stop, drenched and shaking.
Just a kid, maybe fourteen, with eyes that held more fear than any child should ever know.
I didn’t hesitate. Back home, I gave her warmth, dry clothes, and quiet. She barely spoke, but when I went through her soaked backpack, I froze. A small locket fell out—faded, old. I opened it with trembling hands.
My face. Tom’s face. The locket I’d buried in grief twelve years ago. When I asked her where she got it, she whispered, “My dad said to find you.”
Her name was Anna—but her eyes told the truth. Emily. My daughter, lost to a storm of the past, had come in with the storm of the present. And just like that, the silence between us shattered. She was home.
