I kissed her forehead and repeated the line my mother used on me: “The sooner you sleep, the sooner morning comes.”
She wrapped her arms around my neck. “This is going to be the best Christmas ever.”
Sometime after two, I woke up thirsty. The house was silent, the kind of stillness that feels loud once you notice it. As I walked past Mya’s room, I saw her door cracked open. I knew I’d closed it. I pushed it wider—and my heart dropped. Her bed was empty.
Panic came fast and sharp. I searched the bathroom, the closets, the hallway. “Mya?” My voice sounded wrong, too thin. I shook Hayden awake. “She’s not in her bed.” He was up instantly, pulling on sweatpants as we searched the house together, calling her name, fear growing heavier with every unanswered second.
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