I had no idea that the trip would make her question everything I had ever told her.
At first, everything seemed fine.
Then, on the final day, she stopped answering.
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Lily sent cheerful photographs every day—posing with friends beneath palm trees, grinning outside the hotel, and making dramatic faces beside souvenir displays. She called each evening as promised and talked so quickly that I could barely interrupt her.
Then, on the final day, she stopped answering.
Her only message was, “I’m coming home.”
No photograph. No emoji. Not even her usual heart at the end.
Before LA, Lily told me everything. She burst through the front door each afternoon, dropped her backpack in the hallway, and followed me into the kitchen to recount every detail of her day.
“I’m coming home.”
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Even when she did something wrong, guilt usually drove her to my bedroom before midnight.
