For weeks, a little girl from across the street waved at me, day and night. There was something haunting about the look in her eyes. I couldn’t ignore the feeling that she was trying to tell me something, and when I finally went to find out who she was, the heartbreaking truth waiting behind that door shook me to my core.
Every evening, I’d notice her—a tiny figure no older than five, standing by her window, always waving at me. Her intense gaze followed me whenever I passed by, as though she was reaching out.
There was something unsettling about it. Who was she? What did she want?
One evening, I mentioned her to my wife, Sandy, as we relaxed in the living room. “She’s at the window again, that little girl I’ve been telling you about,” I said.
Sandy put down her book and walked over to join me at the window. “You mean the one who’s always waving at you?” she asked, curious.
