**“The Call Came at 2:17 A.M.”** The call came at **2:17 a.m.** — the kind of hour when only bad news knows your number. “Sir… we found your daughter’s necklace.” That was all the officer said before silence swallowed the line. Daniel dropped the phone. The silver locket he’d given Maya on her tenth birthday — the one she *never took off* — now meant one thing. Something had gone terribly wrong. He threw on his coat, forgetting his shoes, the house still echoing with the hum of the heater. Outside, the night air bit his skin like truth. The town was wrapped in mist, the kind that blurs the edges of everything — including hope. By the riverbank, blue and red lights flashed against the black water. Officers were scattered, searching. A small glimmer caught Daniel’s eye — there it was, lying in the mud: **Maya’s locket**, cracked open. Inside, a faded photo of her and her mother smiled back at him. “Where’s my daughter?” he asked, voice trembling between anger and prayer. The officer didn’t answer. He just looked toward the water. Daniel stepped closer, his knees sinking into the wet ground. Then he saw it — a single sneaker floating near the reeds. The same pink sneaker he’d told her not to wear because it was too bright for the woods. He screamed her name into the fog. No answer. Only the sound of water moving — slow, cruel, eternal. Hours later, when the sun broke the horizon, a figure appeared. Small. Cold. Carried by two officers. Wrapped in a blanket that couldn’t hide the truth. Daniel fell to his knees. The world went soundless. Only the locket’s photo — still in his palm — seemed alive. His wife’s face smiling. Maya’s eyes shining. He whispered, “I was supposed to protect you.” The river kept flowing. As if it hadn’t just stolen his entire world.