The bathtub had started draining slowly, so I decided to clean it out. I pulled on gloves, removed the metal cover, and used a drain tool to fish out whatever was clogging it.
It snagged on something soft.
I expected a clump of hair. But when I pulled it up, I froze.
Mixed in with the tangled strands was something else—thin fibers, like fabric. As I carefully rinsed it under running water, the grime washed away, revealing a familiar pattern: pale blue plaid.
My heart dropped.
It was the same pattern as Lily’s school uniform skirt.
My hands began to shake. Clothes don’t just end up torn apart in a drain—not like this. This looked like something had been scrubbed, pulled, even damaged intentionally.
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