After Megan’s parents kick her out at eighteen, she turns her back on her family. But one day, she drives back to her childhood home, only to discover that the house is in her name and her parents have been missing. Years later, she drives by again, only this time, she sees the old house decorated for the holidays. Are her parents back?

It’s been twenty years since I last spoke to my parents. Twenty years since they kicked me out for getting pregnant.

I was 18, young and terrified, but stubborn enough to stand my ground. I still remember my dad’s voice, the anger almost chilling me to my bones.

“If you leave with him, Megan, don’t bother coming back!” he yelled. “I don’t want to see you again! You’re a mess, and instead of choosing to be better, you’re choosing self-destruction.”

I left anyway.

That same night, my mom stood quietly at the door, her arms wrapped around herself, watching me go. She didn’t say anything; she just let me walk out into the cold.

“That’s it? You’re not going to say anything? Mom, really?” I said.

She opened her mouth for a second. Instead of saying anything, she just went inside and closed the door.

They never forgave me.

But here I am, twenty years later. I’m thirty-eight, with three beautiful kids and a man who’s been by my side through it all. Evan and I were high school sweethearts, and when I got pregnant, I really thought that he was going to leave me.

“Why would I leave you?” he asked, holding the pregnancy test. “We’re in this together, Megan.”

“But what about your football scholarship to college? You’d give that up?” I asked.

“Of course, I would,” he said. “Let’s do this, Meg. You, me, and the baby!”

Just like that, I decided to tell my parents, which is how my father threw me out.

Despite everything, we built a life. A really good life. And let me tell you, I don’t regret a single thing. Evan works hard, and our kids, Ella, Maya, and Ben, are everything I ever dreamed of.

If you had told my 18-year-old self that I’d still be with him two decades later, I would have laughed through my tears.

But here we are.

Happy.

The last time I visited my parents’ house was five years ago. They had gone missing on a hiking trip in the mountains. It was supposed to be a short getaway, apparently.

Just a weekend.

But they never came back.

“I’m sorry, Megan,” our neighbor, Mr. Smith, said when I went over to ask about my parents. “You really didn’t hear about it? The incident?”

“What incident? What are you talking about?” I asked, an uneasy feeling taking over me.

“They went hiking, Megan. You know, the usual long weekend trips that they make? They left the keys here for me to feed the dog. But at the end of the weekend, they didn’t return.”

“What do you mean?” I asked.

“When they didn’t come back, I reported it to the police, and a search party was sent out. The officers said that all they found were their abandoned backpacks on a cliff,” he sighed.

“No… bodies?” I asked, my voice threatening to break.

As strained as our relationship was, I always expected my parents to be here, at home. For them to always be within those four walls for when I needed them.

I always counted on them to be there for the day I decided to bring my children to meet them.

And now?… they were gone.

“No, sweetheart,” Mr. Smith said. “No bodies, no footprints, nothing. They were just gone. They vanished without a trace.”