The four years after my husband Simon disappeared were some of the hardest of my life. He’d gone missing during a solo hike, and despite search efforts, we never found a trace. Our kids and I had to learn to carry on without him, though not a day passed that we didn’t wonder what had really happened.
Then, one quiet afternoon, something incredible happened.
I was lying on a blanket in our backyard, watching the clouds drift by, when a familiar shape darted into view—Simon’s dog, Buddy. I hadn’t seen him since the day Simon vanished. What stunned me even more: he was carrying Simon’s old hiking jacket.
I tried to call Buddy over, but he turned and ran. Without thinking, I followed.
We ran for nearly 20 minutes before reaching a wooded area near our neighborhood. My legs were burning, but I kept going. Finally, we arrived at a hidden cabin tucked away among the trees. Its roof sagged slightly, and moss clung to the sides, but it looked sturdy. Buddy waited by the door, tail wagging gently, the jacket still clenched in his jaws.
I slowly stepped inside.
The cabin was a single room, lit only by dust-speckled sunlight filtering through small windows near the ceiling. The air smelled of damp wood and earth. Leaves and pine needles littered the floor, as if time had paused inside.
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