Inside the dimly lit room, Sarah lay beside Joyce, gently running her fingers along her daughter's forehead, trying to soothe her into sleep. Meanwhile, Bryan was already curled up, lost in quiet breaths of slumber.

  “Mommy…” Joyce murmured, her voice soft, hesitant. “Are you mad at Lolo?”

  Sarah’s hand froze mid-motion. She swallowed, forcing her voice to stay even. “N-no, sweetpea.”

  Joyce blinked up at her, unconvinced. “Then why were you shouting at him?”

  She was only six, but she noticed everything. Sarah inhaled deeply, then exhaled slowly. “Sweetpea, you know it’s bad to listen to adults when they’re talking, right?”

  Joyce hesitated, then nodded. “Yes… I’m sorry, Mommy.” She pulled the blanket up, covering half of her face like a small animal burrowing for comfort.

  Sarah forced a smile, leaning down to kiss her forehead. “You should sleep now. Tomorrow, Ate will be here.”

  Joyce’s eyes brightened for a moment, the weight of the night briefly lifting. “Really, Mommy!?”

  “Yes,” Sarah said, the lie slipping easily from her lips. Joyce smiled through her tears. And then, she was asleep. But Sarah wasn’t.

  She slipped out of bed carefully, each step silent, each breath held tight, ensuring neither child stirred as she left the room. The house was quiet, unsettlingly as though holding its breath, waiting for something terrible to break the silence.

  She walked into the living room and sank onto the sofa, her body collapsing inward like a house losing its foundations. Her hands trembled as she clasped them tightly together. She was desperately trying to breathe, to stop the choking feeling in her chest from overwhelming her completely.

  And then, uninvited, it came rushing back.

  The rain…

  The alley…

  The blue car…

  She tried to wash away the thought she went back at the bedroom and lie beside Joyce. Meanwhile, Dante got out of his room and sat on the sofa, his body sagging under the weight of exhaustion and guilt. The house around him felt still, but his mind was anything but. The air inside was thick, suffocating, pressing down on him like a vice. Outside, he could hear the muffled voices of Gerald and Jun, the sound of their hurried footsteps fading as they joined the search party. The neighbors, the police, the tanods—all out there, searching for Given.

  And him?

  He sat here. Useless. Helpless. The thing he feared being the most. Dante lowered his head, pressing his palms against his face, his rough, calloused hands covering the deep lines etched into his skin.

  “You let this happen.”

  The voice in his head wasn’t screaming… it didn’t need to.

  It whispered. Like an old friend. Like something that had been waiting in the dark for far too long. You weren’t fast enough. You weren’t strong enough. His fingers clenched, digging into the skin of his forehead. He squeezed his eyes shut, as if that would stop the flood of memories threatening to consume him. He had spent twenty goddamn years trying to bury it, the man he used to be, the things he had done, the things he was capable of. He had tied it down, locked it away, built a life that kept it from surfacing. But tonight? Tonight, the past had caught up to him. And he was losing.

  His breath came in slow, shaky exhales. His chest felt tight, like a coil being wound too far. He had made a promise. To his family. To himself. He had sworn that his hands would never be stained with blood again. But what good were clean hands when they couldn't even protect what mattered? His vision flickered back to Given’s sandal, he took it out from his back and clutched it in his grip. His knuckles had turned white, but he hadn’t loosened his hold since he picked it up.

  A reminder…

  A punishment.

  “You failed her, just like you failed Sarah and Cornellia.”

  His teeth grits. No. No, not again. His heart was a storm inside his chest, crashing against his ribs. He’s trying to find it, his old instincts, the part of him that didn’t beg, that didn’t wait. The part of him that knew what had to be done. Dante exhaled through his nose, forcing himself to push the fear down, to kill the weakness before it killed him. His hands trembled, but when he dragged them away from his face, the hesitation had faded—just a little.

  His fingers loosened, his grip on Given’s sandal finally easing, and he slowly, deliberately set it down beside him. But his eyes lingered on it. The smallness of it. The innocence of it.

  He shut his eyes. And in the dark, he saw Sarah. Saw her standing in front of him, fists clenched, her voice shaking with rage.

  "If something happens to her, I swear you’ll never see me or Joyce again!"

  But it wasn’t just anger. It was pain. It was loss. It was a wound that had never healed. And then he heard it again, not her shouting, but her weeping. That raw, broken sound. The same sound she made as a child, kneeling beside her mother’s coffin. The same sound he had walked away from.

  His chest tightened. That time, he left her alone. This time? No. Never again. His body felt heavy, his joints aching from age and exhaustion. But still, he stood. He tried his best to bury the fear. To sharpen his edge. His hands flexed at his sides as he tried to clear his mind.

  If Given was still alive, if she was out there somewhere, there was no room for weakness. No time for grief. There was only one truth left. If the search failed, he would do what had to be done.

  Dante sat on the edge of the sofa, his grip tightening around the phone as it rang in his ear. Each second felt heavier than the last, his free hand rubbing his forehead, willing away the pounding ache behind his eyes.

  Finally, the call connected.

  “Chief, is there any news about my granddaughter?” His voice was strained, lower than usual, a quiet desperation leaking through.

  On the other end, Julius exhaled heavily. “I’m sorry, Dan. We still haven’t found her. No clues, no leads. But we’re doing everything we can.”

  This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.

  Dante closed his eyes, pressing his fingers against the bridge of his nose. It was already one o’clock in the morning. The entire brgy. of San Leonardo was still searching combing through the darkness. And yet… nothing.

  He reached for his belt bag, his fingers brushing against Given’s small sandal. He gripped it tightly, as if holding onto it could somehow pull her back to him.

  "Dan, you alright?" Julius’ voice softened slightly. He had seen Dante go through a lot, had seen him keep his composure through things that would break most men. But right now, he sounded like someone struggling to keep himself from unraveling.

  Dante swallowed. “Y-yeah… I just remembered something.”

  Silence hung between them for a moment. Then, in a quieter voice, Julius said, “If anything comes up, you’ll be the first to know.”

  Dante nodded to himself, "Thanks, Chief."

  He ended the call and sat there for a moment, his eyes locked on the sandal. His mind raced with thoughts he didn’t want to entertain, but they clawed their way to the surface anyway.

  The past won’t repeat itself. It won’t. It took everything in him to believe that. Dante stepped into the bathroom, turning the knob until icy water cascaded down his skin. His back is full of scars, and an almost faded tattoo of a grim reaper etched on it. The cold shock jolted his system, washing away the heat of exhaustion, but it did nothing to quiet the storm inside him.

  By the time he stepped out, water still clinging to his body, Sarah had noticed him. She watched in silence from the small opening of the room where the kids were. Her gaze fixed as she saw him pass by, towel draped over his shoulders.

  He walked straight to his room without a word. Ten minutes later, she heard the soft creak of a door. From the small opening of the room where she lay with the children, she peeked through. Her father stood in the dim light of the hallway, wearing a plain white tank top and dark blue jeans.

  Sarah had never really studied him before, not like this. Even at his age, Dante’s physique hadn’t withered drastically. His arms and shoulders, lean yet solid with muscle, carried a strength most men his age had long lost. His skin, a deep brown, was unmarred except for the numerous scars that stretched across his body, silent stories he never told her.

  She had always known her father was a soldier, or at least something close to it. Her mother had told her once, a long time ago. But Sarah had never seen Dante wear an army uniform. Never saw him salute, never heard him talk about war. All she knew was that he left, sometimes for months at a time, without explanation.

  Her mother had called it “work.”

  But what kind of work left scars like that? Her eyes trailed lower, stopping at his back—at the single tattoo etched into his skin. It was the only mark he had ever allowed. And as she watched him now, clean-shaven, hardened, eyes dark with something she couldn’t place— A feeling crept up her spine. She felt like her father was changing. Or maybe, he was returning to something he had tried to leave behind.

  Sarah moved carefully, keeping her distance as she followed her father through the dimly lit house. The night was eerily silent, save for the faint hum of crickets outside and the occasional whisper of the wind against the walls. Her bare feet barely made a sound on the wooden floor, her breaths shallow, measured.

  Dante didn’t hesitate, his movements were precise, like a man following a ritual he had performed a thousand times before. He stepped into the garage and flicked on the light. The dull glow cast deep shadows across the walls, stretching over old tools and storage boxes, flickering against the black and dark green bobber parked in the center.

  Sarah kept to the doorway, her fingers tightening around the edge of the frame as she watched. Something about the way he moved put her on edge. He didn’t check the garage like he had forgotten something, he was here for a purpose. She watched as he crouched down and ran his palm across the wooden platform beneath the bike. For a brief moment, he just sat there, hand pressed flat against it, as if confirming something only he understood. Then he sighed, with slow precision, he grabbed one end and lifted.

  Sarah’s breath hitched. Beneath the wooden platform was a hidden hatch. She had never seen it before. Never even thought to look. “What the hell is this?” she asked to herself. Dante unlatched the lock and pulled the hatch open. A hollow darkness stared back at him. Like an endless abyss staring at him, and Dante… Dante didn’t blinked.

  He stepped inside, his figure disappearing into the hidden space beneath the garage. Sarah’s pulse pounded in her ears. This wasn’t normal. This wasn’t her father fixing a bike or looking for an old tool. This was something else. Her fingers twitched. A part of her wanted to step forward, to get closer, to find out what the hell was buried beneath their house. But another part of her…the part that had always feared the things she didn’t understand about her father told her to leave.

  She took a step back. Then another. She turned on her heel and walked back down the living room, her heart racing, the breath catching in her throat. Sarah slipped back into the bedroom, pressing the door shut behind her with trembling fingers. Joyce and Bryan were still asleep, their soft breathing the only sign that not everyone in this house was drowning in tension.

  She sat down on the bed, gripping her phone with white knuckles. She dialed Gerald’s number, pressing the phone to her ear as she waited.

  It rang once. Twice.

  Nothing.

  She ended the call and tried again.

  Still nothing.

  Sarah clenched her jaw. She could hear her own heartbeat, feel the weight of something building in her chest, something she wasn’t ready to acknowledge yet. Whatever her father was doing in that hatch, whatever secrets lay buried beneath this house, it didn’t matter right now.

  Given was still missing.

  And if Dante was hiding something, she would deal with it later. For now, she had one priority. Find her daughter. So Sarah waited for news, she waited for minutes, then hours, and still, there was nothing. Meanwhile, Dante got on his bobber and went to the police station for any news.

  Then at around 5:00 am The officer at the front desk blinked himself awake, rubbing his eyes before grabbing the receiver. His voice was gruff, tired.

  "Cabanatuan Police Station, what’s your emergency?"

  For a second, silence. Just the sound of breathing—shaky, uneven. Then—

  “H-hello… police?”

  The voice was thin, trembling. The officer sat up slightly. A woman. His tone stayed professional, but firmer now. "Yes, ma’am, what’s going on? Can you tell me your name?"

  A pause then a sharp inhale. She was crying. "N-no, I—please, just listen. There’s a suitcase."

  The officer’s brow furrowed. He reached for a pen, clicking it open. “A suitcase? Where?”

  “By… by the highway here at Maharlika. O-oh God, I think there’s a body inside.”

  The officer froze. His grip on the receiver tightened. His heart gave a slow, heavy thud.

  “Ma’am, stay calm.” His voice was controlled now. “Did you see inside the suitcase? Is there blood? Any signs of movement?”

  A ragged inhale.

  “I… I didn’t open it. I just—the…there’s some blood on it..ha..hair…” Her voice cracked. “…hair strands on its zipper!”

  A chill crawled up his spine. His pulse ticked up. His free hand was already reaching for the phone at his side.

  "Alright, ma’am, I need you to stay on the line. Are you safe?"

  “Y-yes… I’m across the street. But I can’t—I can’t get closer.”

  "Good. Don’t go near it. We’re sending units now. Stay where you are."

  He hung up and immediately hit the precinct alarm. The station, once quiet, came alive. As officers scrambled into motion, the duty sergeant grabbed a separate receiver and dialed a direct line.

  "Get me San Miguel Police—now!"

  A moment later, another officer answered from the other end. “San Miguel Police Station, go ahead.”

  The sergeant’s voice was sharped, urgent. “We just got a call. A suitcase was found abandoned along Maharlika Highway. There’s blood. Hair on the zipper.”

  There was a beat of silence. Then… “Jesus.”

  The sergeant exhaled sharply, rubbing his temple. "We’re dispatching a unit to confirm, but listen, you’ve got a missing child reported in San Miguel, right? A girl?"

  Another pause. Then a breath, heavier than before. “…Yes.”

  "Shit."

  The room felt colder.

  “You need to get someone here now just in case.”

  But Dante?

  Dante stood frozen.

  The heat from the sun vanished. The sound of people around him faded. The streets, the town, the sky—it all blurred.

  Julius' voice cut through the haze, sharp and urgent.

  "Cabanatuan just called."

  "A suitcase was found on Maharlika Highway—"

  "There’s blood on it—"

  "Hair on the zipper—"

  His breath stops for a while. His heart twisted starts to beat faster. The weight in his chest grew heavier, crushing him. A suitcase. A little girl. Blood. His hands curled into fists. He hadn’t prayed in years. Decades, maybe. Not after Cornellia. Not after the night the rain took her away. But now, with the air ripping from his lungs, his legs suddenly grew too weak to stand, his fingers shaking at his sides, he found himself whispering… to no one, to nothing.

  “Please, God…” His throat burned.

  “I don’t know if you’re real… but please… please, don’t take my life away again.”

  No answer.

  Only the sound of sirens.