The search for answers turned into a desperate chase. Helga, usually the calst of them all, found herself rattled to her core. She couldn’t stop thinking about Es, about how she would have never put herself in a situation like this. There were too many unanswered questions, too many things that didn’t add up.
And the fact that they couldn’t even find a trace of Es’s body, despite how badly the car had burned, was sothing that gnawed at them all. The police had called the area a "blind spot"—remote, isolated, far from the reach of caras or witnesses. But to them, it felt like sothing far more sinister was at play.
They couldn’t shake the feeling that Es’s disappearance wasn’t a tragic accident. It felt like sothing darker, sothing that reached beyond the physical damage of the crash. But no one had any answers. All they had was a car, a hill, and a fire that burned everything to the ground—leaving them with nothing but the haunting question of what really happened to Es.
.
.
.
Ray sat on the edge of the bed, holding his daughter close to his chest. Her tiny fingers brushed against his tear-streaked face as she nestled into his warmth, unaware of the storm inside him. His hand trembled as he gently touched her soft cheek, his heart aching with a pain too deep to na.
He glanced at the cradle beside him. His son lay there, his tiny fists curled, his hair black as night—so different from Ray’s blue. Reaching out, Ray brushed his son’s forehead, his tears falling silently.
The boy stirred, his small hand stretching toward Ray, gripping the air like he understood, like he was saying, Don’t cry, Dad.
Ray’s chest tightened, the weight of grief and fear crushing him. Es was gone. The thought alone was unbearable, like a piece of his soul had been ripped away. He didn’t know who had taken her or why, but he knew it wasn’t over. Whoever had destroyed her would co for his children next.
The pain was too much, but he couldn’t let it break him. He looked down at his daughter in his arms and his son in the cradle. They needed him. Es had protected them, and now it was his turn.
Tears fell freely, but he swallowed his sobs, his fingers brushing his son’s cheek one more ti. No matter how much it hurt, no matter how broken he felt, he couldn’t falter. His children’s soft breaths were the only sound in the room, their innocent presence the only light in his dark world.
Ray sat there, silent and shattered, as the night deepened around him, clutching the only pieces of Es he had left.
.
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.
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Three years later.
"Daddy~!" A small boy wearing blue shorts and a white T-shirt with a panda print on the front darted through the hall, his giggles echoing off the walls. His tiny feet slapped against the wooden floor as he ran with boundless energy.
The hall was just as it had always been. Ti seed to have frozen here, where everything connected to Es remained untouched. From her car keys neatly arranged by the door to her watches displayed on the dresser, not a single item had been moved or misplaced. In the brothers’ eyes, nothing of Es could ever change.
"You stop right there!" Jay called out, running after the boy. His lab coat flapped behind him, and his glasses sat slightly crooked on his nose as he chased the little whirlwind.
Ray stood silently in the middle of the hall, in front of a large photograph hanging on the wall. It was a picture of Es and the brothers, all standing together, smiling. The mory seed to radiate from the fra, filling the space around it with warmth and aching.
Ray’s gaze was fixed on Es’s face in the photo. A faint smile tugged at his lips, but it was bittersweet. His face had aged just slightly, his features marked by sleepless nights and quiet grief. His blue hair, once always trimd neatly, had grown longer and was now tied back in a small ponytail.
As the boy’s laughter rang out and Jay’s frustrated voice followed, Ray’s heart felt a strange mixture of pain and comfort. Life had carried on, though not a single mont passed without her absence being felt. Still, her presence lingered in these walls, in the objects she had touched, and in the lives she had left behind.
As Ray lingered before the photograph, lost in mories, a gentle tug on his pant leg pulled him back to the present. He looked down to see a small figure—his little daughter—peering up at him with wide, bluish eyes that sparkled with innocence and curiosity.
A faint smile softened his face as he knelt down to her level. "Yes, love? Is sothing wrong?" he asked gently, his voice tender.
The girl shook her head, her tiny hands fidgeting with the hem of her dress. She tilted her head slightly, her gaze shifting from him to the photo. "Papa... are you looking at Mama again?" she asked softly, her voice barely above a whisper.
Ray’s heart ached at her question, but he didn’t let it show. Instead, he cupped her cheek with his hand, her soft skin warm against his palm. He leaned in closer, resting his forehead against hers, their breaths mingling in the quiet hall.
"Yes," he murmured after a mont. "I’m looking at Mama." His eyes, filled with a love that had not dimd, searched hers. "Do you miss her?" he asked softly, his voice cracking just slightly.
The little girl nodded, her lips quivering, but she didn’t cry. Instead, she placed her small hands on his cheeks, her touch steady, as if trying to comfort him.
Seeing his daughter’s earnest gaze, Ray closed his eyes and smiled softly, a bittersweet warmth spreading through his chest.
Es’s absence was a void no one could fill, but her presence lived on in monts like these—in their children, in their laughter, in their questions.
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