I was ten years old that summer. The summer my little sister, Nikki, vanished. It happened on the road while she was bringing lunch to our parents. There were no traffic cameras back then, and nobody saw a thing. Because I was supposed to be the one delivering that lunch, my mother never spoke another word to me again. Fifteen years later, I became a cop. Over and over, I walked that same stretch of road she took. Slowly, the past began to reconstruct itself in my mind. Piecing together a truth that would break my heart. 01 August 10, 2009. That was the day my sister disappeared. Back then, we were living in a run-down house on the edge of town, right where the suburbs faded into overgrown fields. My dad worked a grueling shift at the chemical plant nearby. My mom ran a small convenience store off the main highway; it was doing really well. During the summer, the store was packed in the afternoons with people buying sodas and ice cream. Dad would head straight there to help out the moment he clocked off. They were often too busy to even think about eating. So, for that entire summer break, cooking for the family fell to ten-year-old me. Our kitchen didn't have A/C, just an old, rattling box fan. Once the water started boiling, the humidity became unbearable. The fan just blew hot air around. Cooking meant being drenched in sweat. The day it happened was particularly brutal. By the time I finished cooking, I felt heatstroke setting in. I was home alone with Nikki. My grandma lived in the house next door, but she was a bitter, harsh woman. She wouldn't help; she’d just criticize. I didn't dare ask her for anything. I splashed some cold water on my face, fighting down the dizziness. I dished up some cold noodles for Nikki and told her to eat first. Then, I packed Mom and Dad’s lunch into containers and put them in a picnic basket. Nikki took a few bites of her noodles, then looked at me. "Sarah, you go lie down in front of the fan," she said. "I’ll deliver lunch today. I know the way. I’ll finish my noodles when I get back." It was only a ten-minute walk from our house to the store. It was a straight shot down one road—not exactly deserted. I had walked it with her hundreds of times. But I was still hesitant. "Are you sure you can handle it?" I asked, half-lying on the sofa with a wet washcloth pressed to my forehead. "I'm fine, don't worry. It's right down the street. I'll be back before you know it." She grabbed the basket and headed out before I could argue. She had always been sickly and thin. When she lifted the basket, I could see the sharp outline of her shoulder blades through her t-shirt. Her little silhouette looked so fragile. Before stepping out the door, she waved at me. "I'm going to be right back! And Sarah, no stealing my noodles while I'm gone!" "Don't worry, I won't touch them!" I waved her off impatiently, urging her to get going. But she never came back. 02 "Do you think... if I had told her that I would steal her noodles... if I’d given her something to worry about... do you think she would have come back?" January 9, 2024. I officially joined the City Police Department as a probationary officer. Nine months later, I was talking to my mentor, Senior Officer Miller, about the cold case that had haunted me for fifteen years. "When did you realize she was gone?" Miller asked. I rubbed my eyes. "Around 2:00 PM, I think. After she left, I forced myself to eat a few bites of noodles, and then I passed out. I woke up when my dad slapped me across the face." Even after all this time, the memory was excruciatingly clear. I opened my eyes to see my father’s face, contorted with rage. "Why didn't you deliver the food? Were you trying to starve us to death?" he screamed. I burst into tears. "Nikki left to deliver it ages ago!" As soon as the words left my mouth, I saw the half-eaten bowl of noodles on the table. It hit me like a physical blow—she hadn't come back. A chill raced down my spine. The terror instantly choked back my tears. 03 "We searched everywhere. Back then, surveillance didn't cover that small road; cameras were only on the main highway. My family ran around like headless chickens, driven mad by despair." "They dragged the retention ponds along the road three times. Nothing. We hired people to go down into the old wells in the area. Nothing." "After we filed the missing persons report, the cops checked the highway cameras. They didn't see anyone suspicious. They interviewed the neighbors, the people in the surrounding subdivisions. Nobody had seen my sister." Nikki had just... vanished. My mom hit me, collapsing onto the floor, screaming in agony. "How could you be so lazy? Why didn't you go? Why did you make her go?" My grandmother, a devout woman, declared that the Lord would not forgive a child whose laziness and selfishness caused her sister to be lost. In a fit of rage, my dad kicked me repeatedly, knocking me to the ground. The neighbors, not knowing the truth, didn't step in to stop him. They just pointed fingers at me. I became like a wooden puppet. I didn't shed a single tear. I just walked to that road where Nikki disappeared and stood there, obstinately, for three days. I didn't blink, staring at the intersection, waiting for her little silhouette to appear. But no miracle happened. After that day, nobody in my family really spoke to me. Especially my mom. For the next fifteen years, she never said another word to me. Once I got into middle school, I went to boarding school. I’d come home on weekends just to grab money and clean clothes, and then I’d leave immediately. I didn't dare stay a moment longer than necessary. During those years, I walked that road over and over again. I examined every blade of grass, every tree, trying to find a single clue. I imagined countless scenarios. It was torture. 04 "How long did you usually nap back then?" Miller asked, flipping through the case file I’d requested. He seemed genuinely interested in the case. Years ago, it had been classified as a missing persons case and shelved for over a decade. "It depended. Sometimes long, sometimes short. But that day, I don't know why, I was exceptionally tired. I slept for over two hours, right up until my dad woke me up." "You said you had heatstroke. What did that feel like? Do you remember?" I tried hard to recall how I felt that afternoon. "Totally drained. Drowsy. Dizzy. My head felt incredibly heavy..." Miller listened, then fell silent for a moment, contemplating. "Have you ever considered that it might not have been heatstroke?" My scalp went numb. I stared at him, my eyes wide. "Symptoms of heatstroke include dizziness, ringing in the ears, headache, weakness, nausea, vomiting, cold sweat..." "Your symptoms don't really sound like heatstroke. They sound more like you ingested..." My heart hammered in my chest. Before he could finish, I blurted out, "Ingested what?" "Sleeping pills. Or something with a strong sedative effect," Miller said, looking at me meaningfully. Why had I never thought of that? The symptoms of sedatives and heatstroke did have a lot in common. However, heatstroke has two very distinct features—nausea/vomiting and cold sweats. I remembered clearly. That day, I had neither. Every hair on my body stood on end. 05 Back then, everyone, including the police, took it for granted that I was just lazy and made Nikki go because I was scared of the heat. Everything I said was dismissed as an excuse to avoid responsibility. They poured all their energy into the search. Because of that, they missed this crucial clue. "Miller, what made you think it wasn't heatstroke?" There was finally a breakthrough in the case. I was shaking with adrenaline. "It’s simple. Based on your story, you and your sister were very close. She was young, and you were worried about her going alone." "Normally, you would have stayed awake until she came back. But you fell asleep, and for a long time. If your father hadn't woken you, you probably would have slept longer." "Clearly, that isn't normal." Miller spoke as he reviewed the file. My eyes welled up, and I nodded. In all these years, Miller was the first person to notice that the bond between my sister and me was extraordinary. After Nikki disappeared, my dad pointed a finger at me and screamed, "What kind of big sister are you? Your sister is gone and you're asleep? Why didn't you just sleep yourself to death?!" Back then, I didn't understand why I had fallen asleep. I hated myself for it. Nobody knew how much I loved my sister. Nobody knew that our bond was far deeper than that of average sisters. It wasn't just because we were together 24 hours a day before I started school. It was because, whether it was freezing winter or scorching summer, we huddled together, facing life's hardships as one. Back then, our parents were so focused on the business that they left Nikki and me with our grandmother. But she spent all her time running around to church group meetings, often leaving us home alone all day, completely ignored. So, by the time I was six, I was cooking for Nikki. If I burnt the rice, we ate burnt rice together. If it tasted good, we enjoyed it together. When other kids cried, they called for their mothers. When my sister cried, she called for her big sister. 06 "You were sweating heavily that day, so you must have drunk a lot of water. The problem was likely in the water." Miller pointed to the water bottle in front of me. "But who would drugg a ten-year-old? And what would be the motive?" I couldn't help asking. As I spoke, two possibilities flashed through my mind, each one more devastating than the last. "Did your family have any enemies?" I shook my head. "My parents believed in the philosophy of 'harmony brings wealth' in business. They rarely got into conflicts. The only local troublemaker they had issues with had an airtight alibi for that day." As we were talking, a commotion broke out outside. A couple had come into the station to report a missing child. "Officers, please, our daughter is eight years old. She’s autistic. Her father was taking her to her therapy session, and she got lost on the way." "You have to help us!" The woman was frantic, practically ready to fall to her knees. The man looked dejected and spoke with self-blame, but his expression had a strange, hard-to-hide sense of relief. Seeing this, I had a pretty good idea of what was going on. I’d only been on the force for a year, but I’d already seen several cases like this. Most of them were special needs children. The families couldn't afford the therapy bills, or the parents had been broken by years of relentless struggle and saw no hope. So, they abandoned the child, then came to the station to report them missing just to save face and avoid being criticized by the community. Despite my suspicions, I still questioned the man in detail about what happened. "We were walking through the waterfront park, and she saw someone feeding the seagulls. No matter how much I pulled, she wouldn't budge. I finally relented and went to buy a bag of birdseed. But in the split second my back was turned, she was gone." The child went missing around 5:00 PM, right when the tide was coming in. They had searched everywhere themselves before coming to report it. By now, the child had been missing for over two hours. If she had fallen into the water, she’d be gone in minutes. If she’d been taken by human traffickers, two hours was enough time to reach the bus or train station. It was too late. Even so, the police department couldn't just ignore it. Miller had me immediately blast out a missing persons alert on social media, using the location of her disappearance as the central radius. He also dispatched a squad to check major transportation hubs and contacted two professional search and rescue teams to conduct an overnight search along the coast. We were attacking it from three angles, doing everything that could be done. The rest was up to fate. 07 After the couple left, expressing their profound gratitude, Miller looked out at the dark night sky. "The odds of that child being alive are low," he said. "It's only a matter of time before the body is found." "Your sister had severe asthma, didn't she? Is it possible..." I shook my head violently, in denial. "No way. My family never, ever considered my sister a burden. After Nikki was lost, I became the family's biggest criminal. My mom hasn't spoken a single word to me in fifteen years." He looked at me, tapping the case file. "What about your grandmother? How did she treat you two?" I was stunned. "You suspect my grandmother?" It was true. If it wasn't an enemy, the only people who could have put sleeping pills in my water, other than my parents, were my grandmother. "I’m not saying I suspect her definitively. I’m just considering possibilities and analyzing the case." "To be honest, she wasn't great. But that day, she had multiple witnesses proving she was at a neighbor's house for a prayer group. She also has an airtight alibi." Miller fell silent for a moment, then asked, "Are you sure nobody saw your sister?" "That road was a bit out of the way; there was almost nobody around on a summer afternoon. There were only three businesses along that stretch. Two of them were BBQ joints that only opened at night. The third one was a small place that sold tea eggs. The owner was disabled and lived in the shop, but it was closed during the afternoon too. So, nobody saw her." Miller kept shaking his head. "Well, that is strange. This case is truly baffling." Even Miller was stumped. The hope that had just ignited within me began to fade. I stared at the photo of the missing child on my computer screen. Same age as my sister, same big, innocent eyes. A heavy weight settled in my chest. Miller saw that I was discouraged and offered some words of comfort. "Sarah, don't give up. As long as a body hasn't been found, there's still hope your sister is alive. Try hard to recall the details. Our job requires both boldness and attention to detail. Any act, once committed, leaves traces. Go home when you have time; see if being there sparks any memories." I nodded. 08 It was late at night by the time I clocked off. My new rental apartment wasn't far from my parents' house. As I walked, I found myself heading toward that road where Nikki disappeared. This road, which had once held only two or three shops, had been completely transformed into a bustling street food alley. Even at midnight, vendors were still open for business. Miller was right. Every action leaves a trace. There had to be some detail I had overlooked. What was it? "Tea eggs! Tea eggs! Five-spice tea eggs!" The vendor, his eyes closed, strained his ears. He called out to me, "Is that the oldest Hayes daughter? Just off work? Come have a tea egg, fresh out of the pot!" His name was Mr. Carter, and he was blind. All us kids used to privately call him "Blind Carter." He had been running this tea egg stand on this road for over twenty years. When we were little, Nikki and I used to secretly take money to buy his tea eggs. My mom didn't allow it; she said he was blind and his food was unsanitary and would make us sick. Kids don't care about that stuff, though. We just cared that they were delicious. People always say blind people have incredible hearing, and it’s true. Even though there weren't many people on the street at midnight, there were still five or six people around me. "It's me, Mr. Carter. I'll take two tea eggs, please." When I was little, I bought two because one was for Nikki and one was for me. Now I bought two because it was a habit. "Coming right up! I remember you girls always loved my tea eggs!" He scooped out the eggs, smiling politely. His wrinkled face looked like a walnut. As he spoke the second sentence, he seemed to realize something. His hand froze, and the smile on his face became strained and unnatural. "Still haven't found her, have you? I set up my stand late that day. I was inside the whole time, so I was no help. I'm so sorry, Sarah." As he spoke, he rubbed his nose. That was a classic sign of guilt. "I don't blame you. Because you didn't hear anything that day, right?" I said, emphasizing the word "hear." His hand, holding the eggs, trembled. He quickly stepped in front of me, stopping me from scanning the QR code to pay. "No money needed! I’ve heard the news, Sarah. You're wearing the uniform now! You've made the neighborhood proud! These two tea eggs are on the house!" Blind Carter was famously stingy. In all these years, he even made his own brother and sister-in-law pay for eggs. And today, he was giving them to me for free? "Thank you, Mr. Carter!" I carefully took the eggs, but I scanned the code anyway. His tea eggs were two dollars each. I transferred ten dollars. At the sound of the confirmation—"Received: Ten Dollars"—Mr. Carter got agitated. He waved his hands frantically. "You stubborn girl! What did you do that for? Why give so much?" I leaned in close to him. "I'm reinvestigating my sister's disappearance. Mr. Carter, if you can provide any crucial leads, there will be a significant reward from the department." His ears twitched. He stood stunned for a long moment, then sighed and said, "Your sister truly was a tragedy. I don't want the reward. I’ll only tell you what I heard. I can't guarantee it’s true. If it helps, just come back and buy more tea eggs." Blind Carter’s hearing was famous for a reason. He could tell exactly who was passing by his shop just from their footsteps. That afternoon, before the news of my sister’s disappearance spread, an unexpected person passed by his shop. "Sarah, look closely. Recall the details of the past. Don't rule out anyone close to you." That was Blind Carter’s final piece of advice. 09 September 25, 2024. The missing autistic child was found. Her body was bloated and disfigured by the seawater, her internal organs completely eaten away by fish and sea birds. It was a gruesome sight. Her parents were sobbing uncontrollably, putting on a big show of grief. But the wailing was just... theatrical. It felt wrong. In the six months I’d been at the station, I’d already seen too much of the complexity of human grief and joy. The truth is, genuine sorrow, the kind that rips your heart out, is often silent. Sometimes you can't even shed a single tear. Unfortunately, we had zero evidence to prove that the father—or even both parents—had deliberately put the child in danger. My mood was absolute garbage. Maybe it was because the victim in this case was the same age Nikki was when she disappeared. Maybe it was because she, like my sister, had an incurable illness. Everything about it made me think of Nikki. I remembered her smile, her running into my arms, sweetly calling me "Big Sister." I remembered her helplessness and pain during her asthma attacks. I dreamt desperately of knowing if she was still alive. Was she okay? Where did she go? The uncertainty was torturing me. I felt like I was going insane.
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