* 27 years ago an entire class vanished, until a desperate mother noticed a crucial detail…

«‘They do,’ she agreed. But sometimes the truth is that we may never know everything, and that’s something we have to learn to live with.’ As Matthew parked the car Laura felt a mix of emotions washing over her—the familiar grief, the persistent hope, and now a new feeling of determination. She knew her friends meant well, but she couldn’t shake the feeling that her encounter with Principal Brooks had opened a door that had long been closed.

They stepped out into the cool, damp air, the scent of freshly turned earth lingering as they made their way through the cemetery, the rain had stopped, leaving behind a quiet, almost eerie stillness. Their footsteps were muffled by the soft ground as they walked toward Rory and Sally’s graves, close though not side by side, but still near enough that Helen and Laura had arranged them together, a small comfort in their shared grief. Laura approached Rory’s tombstone first, her heart heavy as she knelt down, placing the bouquet of flowers gently at its base, the still fresh with morning dew added a small burst of colour against the grey stone.

She ran her fingers over the engraved name, tracing each letter as if memorising it all over again. It always tore at her heart that this tombstone marked an empty grave, no body beneath it, no real closure. They had needed somewhere to direct their grief, somewhere tangible to visit, but the absence of Rory’s remains haunted her.

This stone monument was both a comfort and a With a quiet sigh she reached into her purse, pulling out the worn photograph. She held it up, studying her daughter’s face, her fingers absentmindedly brushing over the image. The ache in her chest deepened as memories flooded back, Rory’s laughter, the way she used to tug at her sleeve when she wanted attention, the last time Laura had kissed her goodbye.

Tears welled in her eyes, spilling over as she let herself grieve, the pain as raw as the day it all happened. She didn’t try to stop the sobs this time, letting them come freely. After a while, when the weight of her sorrow eased just enough to breathe, Laura wiped her tears and slowly stood.

She turned, glancing toward Helen and Matthew, who stood by Sally’s grave a few feet away, her own expression lost in quiet mourning. Laura took a deep breath and stepped forward, ready to join her, but just as Laura was about to approach Helen, something caught her eye. Laura stopped in her tracks.

In the distance, near the plot where most of the children from the school were buried, she saw a familiar figure. It was the young woman from Principal Brooke’s house. She wasn’t just passing through, she was standing still, staring down at a headstone, her hands clasped together as if in quiet contemplation.

Laura’s pulse quickened. Was this just a coincidence, or was there something more to it? Setting her grief aside for the moment, Laura observed the woman. She stood within the section of the cemetery where most of the missing schoolchildren had been laid to rest.

Many families had chosen this burial ground. It was the only proper cemetery not too far away the neighbourhood. Laura’s heart began to race.

Without a second thought, she turned in the other direction. Gently patting Helen’s arm, she murmured, I’ll be right back. Her voice barely above a whisper.

Before Helen or Matthew could say anything, Laura was already walking briskly towards the young woman. As she approached, she could see that the woman was crying, her shoulders shaking as she stood in front of one of the graves. Excuse me, Laura called out softly, not wanting to startle her.

The woman turned, surprise and fear flashing across her face as she recognised Laura. She quickly wiped her tears away, as if trying to compose herself. We meet again, Laura continued, her gaze steady.

I think I saw you at Principal Lillian’s house earlier. The woman lowered her eyes, shifting uncomfortably. She looked as though she wanted to retreat, as if Laura’s presence was making her feel exposed.

I’m sorry, Laura added quickly. I don’t mean to intrude. The woman exhaled softly, then shook her head.

It’s OK, she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper. I come here every year on this day to grieve. Laura nodded in understanding.

So do I, though I usually visit early in the morning, but today— I was late. She glanced at her watch. Four p.m. A silence stretched between them, heavy with unspoken words.

Then Laura gently asked, Who are you grieving for? Were you related to one of the students who went missing twenty-seven years ago? The woman hesitated, her lips parting slightly before pressing together again. For a moment she seemed to consider her response, then gave a slow, almost reluctant nod. Laura sensed her unease and didn’t press further, but as her eyes drifted toward the tombstone she noticed a small framed photograph placed near the grave.

The image was blurred by age clinging to the glass, but Laura could make out the outline of a young girl’s face. The woman followed Laura’s gaze and, as if realising what she was looking at, swiftly reached down and picked up the photograph, clutching it tightly to her chest. I’m sorry, Laura said softly.

I didn’t mean to invade your privacy. She met the woman’s eyes, her own filled with understanding. You must have really loved and missed your sister.

I understand that feeling. Laura took a step back, preparing to leave, not wanting to cause the woman more distress, but just as she turned the woman called out, her voice uncertain but firm. Wait, she said.

Laura paused, looking back. Why did you go to Principal Lillian’s house earlier? The unexpected question caught Laura off guard. She turned fully to face the woman, studying her expression.

There was something more than curiosity in her eyes, something deeper, something cautious. I was just asking about the day of the school trip, Laura admitted. I wanted to know if she was there when the students left, or if she went with them.

Reaching into her purse, Laura pulled out the now slightly crinkled photograph Helen had shown her. She extended it toward the woman. My friend Helen over there, Laura gestured toward Helen and Matthew, who were still standing by Sally’s grave…