Every day, I would come across the same doll in my home—until one day I unraveled its meaning and identified who was behind it

Elise’s life was predictable — until the dolls started appearing. First on her doorstep, then inside her locked home. Every time she threw one away, it came back. For weeks, she questioned her sanity, until the night she caught a shadowy figure in her yard clutching that same doll.

I never believed in ghosts until one showed up at my doorstep.

Not the transparent, rattling-chains kind of ghost, but something far more personal — a reminder that no matter how many lives I saved, I couldn’t outrun the ones I lost.

My name is Elise. At 37, I was exactly where I wanted to be: a top pediatric surgeon at a prestigious hospital, with a corner office and a reputation for steady hands even in the worst emergencies.

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