You -2019-: I See

A week later, the second card came. A photo of an empty carousel. On the back: Remember the red balloon? Leo remembered. Mia had lost a red balloon at the county fair last spring. She’d cried for an hour. He’d bought her two more. The date was the same:

The lady was silent for a long time. Outside, snow began to fall on a 2019 that was almost over. “If I send her through,” she whispered, “the crack will close forever. I’ll be alone again. In every 2019.”

Until Christmas Eve.

She reached out and touched his chest—right over his heart. He felt a warmth, like a small hand pressing from the other side. And in his mind, clear as a bell, Mia’s voice: I see you, Daddy. Always.

Leo dropped to his knees on the wet asphalt. “Mia. Baby. Where are you?” i see you -2019-

Leo started carrying the cards everywhere. He’d sit in Mia’s empty room, turning them over and over. I see you. Not “I have her.” Not “If you want to see her again.” Just… I see you. It felt less like a threat and more like a confirmation. A reassurance. As if someone on the other side of reality was holding up a mirror and saying, She’s still here. She’s just… elsewhere.

Leo drove through a thunderstorm. He reached the rest stop at 11:09 p.m. The payphone was still there, rusted and silent, its handset dangling. He picked it up. For five minutes, nothing but static. At 11:14 exactly, the static cleared. A week later, the second card came

“I want my daughter back.”

“You’re not supposed to see me,” she said. Her voice was the static from the payphone, shaped into words. “But you kept looking. Most people stop.” Leo remembered

Leo’s heart seized. Mia used to say that when they played hide-and-seek. “I see you, Daddy,” she’d giggle, before he turned around. He flipped the card. Nothing else. No return address. No plea for ransom. Just the date stamped in the corner: