Mixed in with the tangled strands was something else—thin fibers, like fabric. As I carefully rinsed it under running water, the grime washed away, revealing a familiar pattern: pale blue plaid.
My heart dropped.
It was the same pattern as Lily’s school uniform skirt.
My hands began to shake. Clothes don’t just end up torn apart in a drain—not like this. This looked like something had been scrubbed, pulled, even damaged intentionally.
Then I saw it.
Faint but unmistakable—a brownish stain, diluted by water but still visible.
It didn’t look like dirt.
It looked like dried blood.
A chill ran through me, and I instinctively stepped back from the tub. The house was silent. Lily was still at school, completely unaware of what I had just found.
My mind scrambled for harmless explanations—a scraped knee, a nosebleed, a torn hem—but none of them explained her urgency to bathe the second she got home. Not every day. Not like that.
My hands trembling, I grabbed my phone.
I didn’t wait.
I called the school.
When the receptionist answered, I tried to keep my voice steady. “Hi, this is Lily Carter’s mom. I just… I wanted to ask if there’s been any incidents at school. Injuries, maybe? Anything unusual after classes?”
There was a pause.
