One morning, he was gone. The couch was empty, the back door ajar. Panic set in as I searched the neighborhood, called his name, posted notices, and waited outside each night. When Christmas Eve arrived, hope finally collapsed. Sitting alone on the kitchen floor, I felt certain I had lost my mother all over again by losing him.
Then I heard a faint noise at the door. Cole stood there—thin and tired but alive. Relief flooded me before confusion took over. In his mouth, he carried my mother’s favorite glass ornament, the one she always placed at the center of the tree.
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