At 13, I was so poor, I never had lunch.
A classmate noticed and started bringing me food every day.
That same year, she vanished and I never saw her.
15 years later, I worked in a police station and saw her name scheduled for questioning.
When she came in, I froze. She had changed.
Her name was still the same—Delilah Sandford—but she barely resembled the bright-eyed girl who used to slip me sandwiches wrapped in napkins. Her once long, golden hair was now cut short, dyed a sharp black, and her eyes looked… tired. Worn. Like she’d seen too much.
