The afternoon sun casts a golden glow over the playground, the sound of kids laughing and swings creaking filling the air. You and Rafe sit on a nearby bench, watching your 2-year-old daughter, Abby, as she toddles around, her giggles the sweetest sound.

“She’s got your attitude,” Rafe smirks, stretching his arm across the back of the bench.

You chuckle, sipping your coffee. “Yeah? Then you’re in for a handful.”

For just a second, you glance down at your phone. Rafe looks away too—maybe at some dad passing by, maybe just lost in thought. But when your eyes snap back to the playground, your heart stops.

Abby’s gone.

Your cup drops, coffee splashing onto the pavement as you jump to your feet. “Abby?” Your voice is sharp, panic laced through it.

Rafe’s already moving, his expression turning from confusion to sheer terror. “Abby!” He shouts her name louder, eyes darting across the playground.

She was just there. Just laughing, just running. And now—nothing.

Your heartbeat pounds in your ears as you scan every corner, every face. Parents, kids, strangers. Your chest tightens.

Then—Rafe spots something. He grabs your wrist, pointing toward the park’s exit where a small figure in pink overalls is waddling toward the street, completely unaware.

“Abby!” you both yell, sprinting.

Your daughter turns at the last second, her tiny face lighting up. “Mommy!”

Rafe scoops her up in an instant, holding her so tight it’s like he’s afraid to ever let go. Your hands shake as you run them through her soft curls. “Baby, you scared us,” you whisper.

Abby just giggles, completely oblivious. “Saw puppy!” She points at a dog across the street.

Rafe exhales a shaky breath, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “You can’t run off like that, princess.” His voice is hoarse, still full of fear.

As you hold your little girl close, you and Rafe exchange a look—one that says everything.

Never again.