For weeks, a little girl from across the street waved at me day and night. I couldn’t shake the haunting look in her eyes. When I finally went to see who she was, nothing could’ve prepared me for the heartbreaking truth waiting behind that door.

Every evening, I would watch this little girl from my window. She was always there, a small, petite figure no older than five standing by the window, her tiny hand waving at me. Her eyes, fixed on mine, held an intensity that sent shivers down my spine. Who was she? What did she want from me?

turned to my wife, Sandy, who was curled up on the couch with a book. “Babe, she’s there again. The girl I told you about.”

Sandy looked up, her brow furrowed. “The one who’s always waving at you?”

I nodded, feeling a pang of sorrow. “Yeah. There’s something… I don’t know. Something in her eyes. It’s like she’s trying to tell me something.”

Sandy set her book aside and joined me at the window. “Oh, Arnie,” she said softly, placing a hand on my shoulder. “Maybe she’s just a lonely kid. Have you tried waving back?”

I shook my head, my eyes still fixed on the little figure across the street. “No, I can’t explain it, Sandy. It feels like more than that. Like she’s calling out to me.”

Sandy’s grip on my shoulder tightened. “Honey, you’re scaring me a little. It’s just a kid waving. Don’t read too much into it, okay?”

I tore my gaze away from the window and forced a smile. “You’re right. I’m probably just overthinking things.”

As I pulled the curtains shut, I couldn’t shake the feeling that I was turning my back on something important.

That night, sleep eluded me, my dreams haunted by the image of the little girl crying out for help.

“Don’t leave me,” she sobbed in my dreams. “Please, don’t go.”

I woke up in a cold sweat, Sandy’s concerned face hovering over me.

“Arnie? Are you okay? You were talking in your sleep.”

I sat up, my heart racing. “I… I don’t know. That girl. She was in my dreams. She was crying.”

Sandy’s eyes widened with worry. “Maybe we should talk to someone about this. A therapist, maybe?”

I shook my head. “No, I think I need to do something. I can’t keep ignoring this.”

At the break of dawn, I woke up exhausted. My head was pounding from last night’s nightmares. The aroma of freshly made pancakes wafted up from the kitchen, but even the promise of my favorite breakfast did little to lift my spirits.

I trudged downstairs, where Sandy greeted me with a steaming cup of tea and a plate of golden pancakes.

pancakes.