My name is Larissa, and I’m an ordinary woman trying to juggle the demands of life. Between work and everything else, I sometimes lose sight of what truly matters. However, nothing could have prepared me for the shock of returning to my childhood home, only to find it reduced to rubble and my mother missing. This is our story.I hadn’t seen my mom in person for a few months, although we talked on the phone often. Her voice always carried a warmth that made everything feel okay. I missed her more than I’d admit, but life had a way of getting busy. Work, errands, and other responsibilities took over. Every time we spoke, she’d ask, “When are you coming home, sweetheart?” I’d always reply, “Soon, Mom, soon,” but somehow, that “soon” kept slipping away. One day, after a particularly tough week, I decided to surprise her. Without telling her I was coming, I planned to see her face light up when I walked through the door.

The thought kept me smiling during the entire drive. As I turned onto our old street, memories of bike rides, summer days, and my mom’s laughter flooded back. But when I saw what was left of our home, my heart sank. The house was gone, reduced to a pile of broken bricks and scattered wood. I couldn’t breathe. I jumped out of the car, running toward the rubble, shouting, “Mom?” But there was no response, only the sound of the wind.Suddenly, a voice called out, “Hey, looking for someone?” I turned and saw Tom, a guy from high school who had always made me uneasy. My mom had been his teacher, and he resented her for his poor grades, never accepting responsibility for his lack of effort. “Tom?” I asked, confused. “What happened here?”