It was a Thursday evening in March when everything changed.
I was folding laundry, half-watching a show, when Max began scratching at the back door. I opened it—and froze.
He stood there holding something muddy and worn in his mouth.
Ethan’s jacket. The brown one with the tear in the left pocket. The one he’d been wearing the night he vanished.
My hands shook as I knelt. “Max… where did you get this?”
Before I could take it, Max dropped the jacket, barked sharply, grabbed it again, and bolted toward the tree line. Every few steps, he looked back to make sure I was following.
I didn’t grab my phone. Or shoes. I just ran.
Max led me through the yard and into the woods along a path I hadn’t walked in years. Branches scraped my arms. I slipped on wet leaves. My heart hammered.
He kept urging me forward.
