Dennis was doing his best. As a single father still adjusting to life without his wife, Sarah, he poured everything into raising their son, Dylan. Their days had settled into a quiet rhythm—until something strange started happening. The left socks began to disappear.
At first, it was just one or two. A black sock went missing—easy enough to blame on the washing machine. But then a gray one vanished. Then a red one. By the fifth sock, Dennis realized it wasn’t just a coincidence.
He started marking each pair with a tiny dot to keep track. One morning, while rummaging through the laundry basket, he asked, “Dylan, have you seen this sock?”
“No, Dad,” Dylan replied through a mouthful of cereal. “Maybe it’s playing hide and seek?”
Dennis raised an eyebrow. There was something about his tone—a flicker of guilt. “You sure?”
Dylan quickly turned his attention back to his cereal. “Maybe check under the couch?”
Dennis did. Then the washer. Then the garage. Even the fridge, just in case. No socks. Only a few lost LEGO pieces and an old five-dollar bill. What made it worse was that these were no ordinary socks—they were fun, colorful socks Sarah had given him. Little reminders of better days.
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