01/03/2026
I saw a bracelet I had made with my missing daughter on the barista's wrist — with my voice trembling, I asked, "Where did you get it?"
At the age of 45, Christmas transitioned from a time of celebration to one I simply endured.
Seven years earlier, my daughter Hannah vanished at nineteen. That evening, she failed to return home, and that was all — no evidence, no word, just her room preserved and a phone that remained silent.
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That day, I entered a cozy coffee shop near the train station. The place was warm but noisy — Christmas songs blared, laughter filled the air, and cups knocked together. I ordered a latte without really wanting it, watching the twinkling lights glimmer in the window while I waited.
When the barista passed the drink to me, I stopped short.
Coiled around his wrist was a thick, braided bracelet, blue and gray, tied off with a small knot instead of a clasp.
I recognized it at once.
We’d created that bracelet together when my daughter was eleven, sharing a quiet winter day at our kitchen table. Hannah laughed at the uneven knot, claiming it made the bracelet unique. She wore it faithfully, right up through the night she disappeared.
As my coffee shook in my hand, I fixed my gaze on the bracelet encircling the barista’s wrist.
"Excuse me," I said, trying not to betray how unsteady I felt. "That bracelet… where did you get it?" Continued in the first comment 👇👇