When I met Amelia, she was six years old, with watchful brown eyes and a cautious smile that barely lifted the corners of her mouth.

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Her mom had passed away when she was three, and she didn't open up easily to anyone new in her dad's life. Can you blame her?


But slowly, through bedtime stories about brave princesses and countless baking mishaps that left us both covered in flour, I earned her trust.


I still remember the night she let me brush her long, dark hair for the first time.


As I worked through the tangles with gentle strokes, she said quietly, "I hope you stay forever."


My heart nearly broke. "I hope so too, sweetheart."


When her dad and I got engaged two years later, she was absolutely ecstatic. Not only was she getting a second mom, she was getting her dream of being in a wedding.


"You have to let me be the flower girl," she'd announced, already pulling out a pink sketchbook to draw her perfect dress.


She came to every fitting and every planning meeting, holding my hand like she belonged there. And she did belong there.


She was mine, and I was hers.


The morning of the wedding arrived with golden September sunshine streaming through the bridal suite windows.


I watched Amelia twirl in her little dress, the pale pink ribbon sash perfectly tied around her waist. She'd insisted on practicing her walk every day for two months.


"You nervous?" she whispered, watching me in the mirror as my maid of honor touched up my lipstick.


I smiled at her reflection. "A little."


"I'm not," she grinned, showing off the gap where her front tooth used to be. "I've practiced this walk, like, a thousand times. Watch!"


She demonstrated her careful steps, arms swinging just right.


As guests took their seats in the garden venue, I took my place.


After three years of slowly building our little family, this was it.


The music started, and I glanced toward the entrance, waiting to see Amelia float down that petal-strewn aisle with her wicker basket.


Instead, a tiny figure wobbled into view. My stomach dropped.


It was my three-year-old niece, Emma, my sister-in-law's so-called "miracle baby," wearing a flower crown that drooped over one eye.


She looked completely confused, barely scattering the rose petals as she toddled forward.


My heart skipped several beats. This wasn't right.


My fiancé, David, shot me a concerned glance from where he stood waiting, his brows furrowed in confusion.


"Where's Amelia?" he mouthed silently.


I turned quickly to my maid of honor, Sarah.


"Have you seen Amelia?" I whispered urgently.


She shook her head, looking around. "Not since we took pictures about 20 minutes ago."


Something was very wrong.


We paused the ceremony to search for Amelia.


My father started checking nearby rooms in the venue. An uncle went outside to search the gardens.


I stood frozen, bouquet clutched so tightly my knuckles went white, lips pressed into a thin line.


My baby girl was gone.


"She was so excited," I whispered to David as he moved to stand beside me. "She wouldn't just disappear."


But just when the whispers from our guests started turning into real chaos, someone near the back of the crowd yelled, "Wait! I hear knocking! Like... like someone knocking on a door!"


Everyone fell silent, straining to listen.


There it was again. A faint but persistent tapping sound coming from somewhere inside the building.


The sound led us down a narrow hallway, past the catering kitchen, to a dusty supply closet tucked away from the main areas.


Someone twisted the brass knob, but it wouldn't budge.


"It's locked," my cousin announced, jiggling the handle harder.


My cousin quickly fetched the venue coordinator, a frazzled woman who came running with a ring of keys, her hands visibly shaking as she tried different ones.


When the right key finally turned and the door swung open, what we found inside made my blood turn to ice.


There was Amelia, curled up in the corner like a frightened animal, her cheeks streaked with tears that had left tracks through her carefully applied makeup.


She clutched her flower basket in both hands like a lifeline, rose petals scattered around her small form. Her lip quivered as she blinked against the sudden light, and I saw genuine terror in those sweet brown eyes.


"Oh, baby," I breathed.


I dropped to my knees without caring about my dress, pulling her into my arms.


She sobbed into my shoulder, soaking the delicate lace of my wedding gown with her tears.


"It's okay, sweetheart," I whispered, stroking her hair. "You're safe now. You're okay."


"Why was I in trouble?" she whimpered against my neck. "I didn't do anything wrong. I was just waiting like you told me to."


"What?" I pulled back, looking directly into her eyes. "Honey, who said you were in trouble?"


She pointed with a shaking hand across the room, and when I followed her finger, my blood ran completely cold... (continue reading in the 1st comment)

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