I stood at my window, peering through the curtains like a curious cat.

“Who are they?” I muttered to myself, trying to make sense of what I was seeing.

The man was tall, with sharp features that made him look like he’d stepped out of a noir film.

The woman with him, though—she was something else. Pale, almost ghostly, with a distant look in her eyes as if she was there, but not really.

And then, there was the little girl.

She couldn’t have been more than four years old. Tiny thing, with big eyes full of innocence, clutching a worn-out teddy bear as if it was her only friend in the world.

She played alone in the overgrown yard, her small figure seeming even smaller against the wild grass and tangled weeds.

What a strange family!

Samuel and I had always dreamed of having kids. After years of trying, though, it became painfully clear that it wasn’t going to happen for us.

Samuel never talked much about it, always brushing it off with a shrug or a quick change of subject.

But me? I couldn’t let go of the dream. And seeing that little girl, so alone… It stirred something deep inside me.

***

A few days later, I went for my usual walk around the neighborhood. As I turned the corner, there she was—the little girl from the neighbor’s house. This time, she was dangerously close to the street.

“Hey there, sweetie,” I called out gently, hurrying over. “Let’s not play so close to the road, okay?”

She looked up at me with wide, innocent eyes, and for a moment, I just stood there, holding her tiny hand.

I led her back toward her house and knocked on the door. No answer. My hand hesitated on the doorknob.

Should I?

I took a deep breath and pushed it open, just a crack.

The house was almost empty, just a few old pieces of furniture and scattered boxes. It was like they’d moved in but hadn’t settled. Nobody was inside.

“What’s your name, sweetie?” I asked, crouching down to the girl’s level.

“Lily,” she replied, her voice as soft as a whisper.

“Well, Lily,” I said, “how about we draw some pictures?”

“I have no crayons.”

Those words cut a hole in my heart.

“Alrighty! Let’s use a stick and sand outside!” I tried to cheer her up.

She nodded eagerly, and I began tracing simple shapes with a wooden stick—a heart, a star, and the letter “A.” Lily watched closely, her eyes widening with each stroke of the stick.

“Can I try?” she asked, reaching for the stick.

“Of course,” I handed it to her, “Why don’t you try writing your name?”

She carefully drew a shaky “L” in the dirt, then looked up at me for approval.

“That’s great, Lily! You’re doing such a good job!” I encouraged her.

After a while, we moved on to another game. I pointed to some stones nearby.

“Let’s build something together. How about a castle?”

“A castle! Yes!”

We gathered the stones, stacking them one on top of the other. It was a simple structure, really, but to Lily, it seemed like the grandest thing in the world.

“Look, it’s like a tower,” she said, placing a small stone carefully on top.

“It is! And here’s another one for the other side,” I added, handing her a flat stone. “You know, this could be where the princess lives.”

Lily’s face lit up even more at the idea.

“And the prince can live over here,” she said, pointing to a spot on the other side.

I noticed how intently Lily focused on the task as if each stone was a precious gem. It made me wonder if she had ever played with real toys before.

“Thank you for playing with me.”

My heart swelled at her words.

As the sun began to set, I started to worry about what to do.

Finally, the girl’s mother appeared, almost out of nowhere. She seemed surprised to see me but didn’t show much emotion.

“Thanks,” she said flatly, taking the girl’s hand. “I was nearby all the time.”

There was no warmth, no smile—just those words. Before leaving, she added,

“Why don’t you come over for tea tomorrow?”

It wasn’t so much an invitation as an obligation. But I nodded, agreeing anyway.

I glanced down at Lily. She had been so engaged, so full of life while we played, but the moment her mother appeared, something in her seemed to change.

“Lily, it’s time to go.”

Without a word, Lily simply walked over to her mother, her small hand slipping into the woman’s cold grasp. There was no protest, no hesitation—just quiet obedience.

“Okay, Mommy.”

Lily looked back at me. “Will you come to play with me again?”

“Of course, sweetie,” I replied, my voice catching in my throat.

As I watched them disappear down the path, a sense of unease crept over me. That sadness in Lily’s eyes was like a silent plea, a cry for help that she couldn’t voice.

There was something off about this family—something I couldn’t quite put my finger on.

***

The next day, I hesitated, staring at the chipped paint on the neighbor’s door, then knocked. No answer. I knocked again, louder this time, but still nothing.

“Hello? It’s me, from next door,” I called out, hoping to hear some sign of life inside.

Nothing. The house remained eerily quiet, the silence pressing down on me like a weight. After what felt like an eternity, I hesitantly pushed the door open and stepped inside.

“Hello?”

My footsteps sounded loud against the wooden floor as I wandered through the rooms, each one emptier than the last.

Then, in the living room, I found Lily. She was sitting on the floor with a pack of cookies and a bottle of water. She was holding a piece of paper in her tiny hands.

“Lily?” I whispered, kneeling beside her.

She didn’t say anything, just handed me the note. I unfolded the paper, the heartbreaking message inside sending a cold chill down my spine:

“She’s yours if you want her. We know you’ll take good care of her.”

I stared at the words, my mind racing.