What I didn’t expect was how many others chimed in with stories of their own.
“My cousin swore she saw a boy in a hot car outside the library last year. But by the time she got help, there was nothing there.”
“I always thought I was imagining it… I saw him too. Three years ago. Thought I was losing my mind.”
The comments poured in—more than thirty within the first two hours. Each story eerily similar. Each one ending with the same phrase: The boy was gone when help arrived.
Something about that made me feel less scared and more… comforted.
Because if his spirit remained, then maybe he chose to.
And maybe that meant he had a purpose.
