The morning after her perfect wedding, my sister vanished no note, no goodbye, just silence.

For ten years, we lived with nothing but questions. The last time I saw Laura,

she was barefoot on the backyard dance floor Daddy had built that morning.

Her lace hem was stained with barbecue sauce, spilled punch, and good old Iowa dust,

but she was glowing joy wrapped in lace. We leaned over the lemonade table,

both flushed and sticky from the summer heat. “You’re really married now,”

I teased. “I know,” she said, smiling. “Isn’t it wild?” Luke waved from across the yard, laughing with his groomsmen.

She waved back, but for just a second, her smile faltered. I didn’t think much of it then.

Now, I know better that look was the beginning of goodbye. The next morning, she was gone.

The motel room was spotless. Her wedding dress lay neatly folded on the bed. Her phone sat on the nightstand.

Police searched fields, dragged the pond, questioned Luke over and over. Nothing.

She had vanished like wind through corn. Life shrank without her. Mama stopped humming while she cooked. Daddy’s shoulders sagged. Luke moved away.

And I unable to let go moved into her old room. I boxed her things and stored them in the attic,

telling myself I’d open them when I was ready. I wasn’t ready for ten years

. Then, on a rainy morning, I went looking for an old photo album.

At the bottom of a box, I found a white envelope. My name on the front. Laura’s handwriting.

The date the morning after her wedding. Emily, I’m sorry. I couldn’t stay. I’m pregnant.

No one knows. Not even Luke. I felt like I was living someone else’s life. I had to find my own. If you ever want to find me, here’s my address.

That night, I drove to a small Wisconsin town. Down a gravel road to a yellow house with chipped paint and a porch swing.

A little girl sat on the steps, drawing hearts in chalk. She looked up and smiled. “Is your mom home?” I asked.

She darted inside. Then Laura appeared older, softer, but still my sister. We hugged tight, ten years of loss melting into one embrace.

Maddie, her daughter, wasn’t Luke’s. Laura had fallen in love with someone else before the wedding.

She ran not from shame, but toward a life she couldn’t ignore. She had a husband now,

a quiet home, a garden, and a daughter she adored. When I came home,

Mama asked if I’d found her. I said no. Later, I burned the letter. Laura was alive, safe, and loved. That was enough.