Chapter 1: The Face in the Wall

The year my daughter disappeared, she was only five. Some days, it still feels like I lost the sun itself. Even now, the memory of that morning claws at my heart—the way Lily’s tiny sneakers slapped against the stairs, her favorite pink hoodie swishing as she skipped ahead, and the bright giggle that echoed up the stairwell, cutting through the stale apartment air. But then, just as suddenly, her laughter was gone. Silence slammed down like a fist, and the world seemed to tilt. I remember standing at the bottom of the stairs, listening, waiting for her to burst into view. But she never did.

The cops searched, dogs sniffed, neighbors whispered. But in the end, she was just another cold case. Not long after, we packed up what was left of our family and left that sorrow-soaked building behind, taking our son Ben with us. We never looked back.

But even in our new place, the old apartment haunted me. Sometimes, in the dead of night, I’d think I heard Lily’s footsteps or laughter—ghost sounds, as if the walls themselves missed her too.

Years passed. Then, one night, I was scrolling my Facebook feed when I saw a photo posted by Dave, my old neighbor and distant cousin. There it was: on the faded wall at the corner of the stairwell, a human face had appeared. The outline was grainy, washed out by the years, but I’d know that face anywhere. It looked exactly like my five-year-old Lily.