“She always told me she didn’t belong here, but I couldn’t understand it. Not until I heard the voice in the dark did I realize—she truly wasn’t our daughter.”

It started quietly enough, a whisper on the wind, a fleeting comment that didn’t seem to carry any weight. But as the weeks passed, the words began to echo in my mind, louder and clearer with each night. “I don’t belong here.” Emma, our adopted daughter, would say it just before falling asleep, her eyes wide and distant, as if something unseen lingered in the shadows. At first, I thought it was just the ramblings of a child, a stray thought left over from a life we knew nothing about. But something in her voice made me doubt my own assumptions.

Emma had been with us for over a year, and during that time, we had come to love her as our own. She was bright, kind-hearted, with a smile that could light up the darkest room. But there was something… different about her. A quiet sadness that sometimes clouded her features, as if she were remembering something that haunted her.

It was in the dead of night when it first happened. I was awake, unable to sleep, when I heard it. A soft murmur coming from the hallway, so faint I almost mistook it for the wind. I crept out of bed and followed the sound, my bare feet silent on the cold floor.

As I reached her room, I saw her standing by the window, her small figure bathed in moonlight. She was speaking to someone—or something—though her words were not clear.

I stepped closer, and she turned, her eyes meeting mine. But there was a strange look in them, as if she didn’t recognize me at first. A chill ran through me, but I forced myself to speak.

“Emma? What are you doing up?”

She hesitated, then softly said, “I was talking to them.”

“Who, sweetheart?”

She didn’t answer right away. Instead, she walked over to me, her little hand reaching for mine. “The voices. They call to me… from far away. They want me to come back.”

Her words sent a shiver down my spine. I knelt beside her, trying to steady my breath. “What voices, Emma? What do you mean?”

“They’re not from here,” she whispered. “Not from this place. I… I don’t belong here, Mommy. I was someone else before.” Her voice trembled as if she were holding back tears. “I don’t remember all of it, but sometimes… sometimes I dream about it.”

That night, I held her close, trying to comfort her as best as I could, though my own heart was racing. I thought it was just a bad dream, maybe a sign of the trauma she had experienced before coming to us. But the next night, it happened again.

“Mommy,” Emma said quietly, waking me from a deep sleep. “I had the dream again.”

“Which dream, sweetie?” I asked, trying to hide my unease. I’d heard about children having vivid, unsettling dreams, but something about hers felt… wrong.

“The one where I’m not me,” she whispered. “I’m someone else, and I’m running through a place that doesn’t feel like home. The trees are tall, and the sky is dark. There’s a sound, like something calling my name… but it’s not you, it’s someone else.” Her eyes were wide, filled with fear and confusion. “And sometimes, I hear them in the night, too. They say I have to come back… to where I came from.”

I tried to reassure her, to calm her, but as the days passed, the dreams grew more vivid, more real. She would wake up in the middle of the night, screaming, her body shaking with terror. The things she said, the way she described these places in her dreams—it was as if she were recalling memories, not from a past life, but from another world entirely. A place where she belonged, where she had once lived, but a place that was now unreachable.

One night, after another particularly disturbing dream, Emma woke up in tears. I pulled her close, stroking her hair as she sobbed against my chest. “I’m scared, Mommy,” she cried. “I don’t want to forget… I don’t want to forget who I was.”

“Shh,” I whispered, my heart breaking. “You’re safe here, Emma. You don’t have to remember anything you don’t want to.”

But deep down, I knew something wasn’t right. These dreams… they weren’t just dreams. They were memories—or visions—of something that she had once known. A world she came from. And the more she spoke of them, the more the fear inside me grew.

The next evening, I decided to follow her, to understand what she was experiencing. She had wandered out into the garden again, standing by the old oak tree in the back, staring at the sky with an intensity I had never seen in her before.

I crept closer, hidden behind the curtains, watching her small form bathed in moonlight. She muttered to herself again, her words too soft to make out, but there was a deep sadness in her tone that made my chest tighten. And then… I heard it.

A voice. So faint I almost couldn’t believe it.

“Emma.”

I froze, my heart pounding in my ears. The voice came again, this time louder, more distinct.

“Emma, come back.”

I felt my legs go weak beneath me as I stepped back, unable to move, my breath caught in my throat. I knew it was impossible, but I swore I heard that voice calling her name—coming from beyond the garden, from somewhere far, far away. A place that couldn’t possibly exist. And yet, there it was.

“Mommy,” Emma’s soft voice called out from behind me. I turned to see her standing there, her eyes wide, filled with the same fear she had in her dreams. “Did you hear it, too?” she asked, her voice trembling.

I didn’t know how to answer. Because in that moment, I realized that she wasn’t just a little girl having nightmares. She was someone else. And whatever world she came from—whatever it was that was calling her back—was far more dangerous than I could ever imagine.

…
To be continued ❤️❤️❤️

The Forgotten World

I could barely breathe as I turned to look at Emma, her small body trembling in the dim moonlight. The shadows from the garden stretched across the yard like reaching fingers, and for the first time, I felt like we were being watched. A cold dread crept through my chest, settling deep in my bones.

“Sweetheart,” I began, my voice trembling despite my efforts to sound calm, “What do you mean? Who’s calling you?”

Her wide, frightened eyes met mine, and in them, I saw a depth of fear that I had never seen in her before. It was as if she were no longer the little girl I had adopted, but someone lost, trapped in a world between two realities.

“The voices,” she whispered, her voice barely audible, as if she were speaking to herself more than to me. “They’re calling me back. They say I belong with them. I have to go back.”

I knelt down in front of her, my heart racing. Go back? To where? To whom?

“Who are they, Emma? Please, tell me,” I pleaded, my hands trembling as I reached for hers, but she pulled away, stepping back toward the garden. Her face was pale, her gaze unfocused, as if she could see something I couldn’t. She took another step, looking over her shoulder at me, her eyes distant.

“They’re not from here, Mommy. They’re from… somewhere else,” she said, her voice growing quieter, almost as if she were talking to herself. “They’re waiting for me.”

My breath caught in my throat. “Somewhere else?” I echoed. “What do you mean, Emma? Where is this place?”

She hesitated, as though trying to grasp something just out of her reach. “I don’t know,” she whispered. “But it’s like… like it’s a place I’ve always known. A place I… belong.”

The air felt heavier, the garden darker. A distant sound—the same voice I had heard earlier—came again, this time louder and more insistent. It sent a chill down my spine.

“Come back, Emma.”

The voice was unmistakable now, and as it echoed through the garden, the ground beneath me seemed to shudder, as though the earth itself was reacting to the call. I stood up, my body trembling. “Emma, no,” I said, more urgently this time. “You’re safe here with us. You don’t belong to anyone else. You belong here, with your family.”

But Emma wasn’t listening. She took another step forward, her eyes locked on something far off in the distance. I couldn’t see it, but I knew in my gut that whatever it was, it wasn’t from this world.

“Emma!” I called out desperately. “Please don’t go. You don’t know what’s out there!”

But she didn’t stop. Her feet moved almost of their own accord, drawn by something unseen, something powerful. My heart pounded in my chest, and I took a hesitant step toward her.

Before I could reach her, a strange shift occurred. The wind picked up, swirling around us in a violent gust, the trees above us groaning and creaking as if the entire world was alive and awake. The garden, which had once been peaceful, now felt alien, strange, and threatening.

Then, I saw it. Through the haze of shadows, a figure appeared in the distance, tall and shadowed, standing at the edge of the trees. It was cloaked in darkness, its form barely distinguishable from the night itself. I knew immediately—it was the source of the voice, the one calling to Emma.

“Stay away!” I shouted, running forward to pull Emma back, but as I reached for her, she stopped. Her small hand held out, as if she were waiting for something—or someone.

“I have to go,” she said softly, her voice no longer trembling, but calm, as if the decision had already been made. “I’m sorry, Mommy. But I have to go home.”

My world tilted, and for a brief moment, I felt a deep, indescribable loss. As if something precious, something irreplaceable, was slipping away from me. But this wasn’t just a dream. This wasn’t just a nightmare. Something real—something terrifying—was happening.

With a final look back at me, Emma stepped forward, walking slowly toward the figure in the shadows. Her small feet barely made a sound on the soft earth as she moved further away from me, toward the darkness.

“Emma, no!” I cried out, my voice breaking, but she didn’t turn. She walked steadily, her face illuminated by the pale moonlight, her gaze fixed on the figure ahead.

The Truth Unveiled

I stood there, frozen in place, watching my daughter walk away, unable to move, unable to stop her. The shadows grew deeper as she moved closer to the figure, and just before she disappeared into the dark, I heard a voice.

It wasn’t Emma’s.

It was a deep, resonating whisper that seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere all at once.

“She is ours,” it said, and the words chilled me to the bone. “She always was.”

The world seemed to shift around me, as if reality itself was bending, warping into something unrecognizable. I tried to move, but my body felt heavy, paralyzed by the weight of the words and the presence that surrounded me.

Then, a sudden surge of energy—raw and unfiltered—burst through the ground beneath me, forcing me to my knees. I gasped, my lungs filled with cold air as I tried to stand, but my legs wouldn’t cooperate. My heart raced as the air around me became thick with an oppressive force.

And then, through the darkness, a voice I hadn’t heard before echoed in my mind.

“You’ve kept her here too long.”

I looked up, my eyes wide with terror, but there was nothing to see. Just darkness, suffocating and consuming.

“She doesn’t belong to you,” the voice continued. “You’ve kept her from what she truly is. What she was always meant to be.”

A deep, unnatural silence followed. My breath came in short, frantic bursts as I tried to make sense of the words. But there was nothing to understand. The truth had already been revealed.

“Who are you?” I whispered into the void, feeling the cold grip of fear tighten around my heart.

But no answer came. Only the sound of Emma’s footsteps fading into the distance.

And then, I saw it. A vision. A flash of light, a burst of color, and in that instant, I understood.

Emma wasn’t just a little girl. She was a key—an anchor between two worlds. A world that had long been forgotten, and a world that would never truly understand her. The shadows that had called her home weren’t from the past—they were from the future, from a time when she would return to where she truly belonged.

I couldn’t explain it, but I knew one thing for certain now. Emma was not meant to be mine. She had never been mine, and whatever world she had come from was calling her back. It wasn’t a simple matter of adoption. It was something far greater than that. Far more complicated.

I ran toward the figure, my heart pounding with one singular thought: I had to stop her. I couldn’t let her go.

But just as I reached the edge of the garden, I saw it. The figure that had been calling to Emma. It wasn’t a person at all. It was a shape—a vast, swirling cloud of dark energy, pulsating with light. It loomed like a presence from another dimension, a being that existed outside of time and space.

And then, as if acknowledging my approach, the cloud parted, revealing Emma standing at the center of it, her face peaceful, her eyes closed. The darkness around her seemed to hum with an energy that could tear the world apart.

“Emma!” I cried, my voice breaking as I reached for her.

But she didn’t move. She stood still, as though waiting for something.

And in that moment, I knew. I knew I had no right to take her back. I had no right to hold her here. She was not meant for this world.

The darkness surged again, pulling her into the light.

And in one final, fleeting moment, as the last vestiges of the figure disappeared into the night, I whispered a final goodbye.

“Go, Emma. Go home.”

__To be continued…

The Final Crossing

For a long moment, everything was silent. The shadows that had once loomed so large seemed to recede into nothingness, as though they had never existed at all. The air that had been thick with an oppressive force was suddenly clear, and the storm that had churned inside me faded to a dull hum in the distance. I stood there, motionless, heart racing, as I stared at the empty space where Emma had been just moments before.

She was gone.

The weight of the realization crashed over me, and I sank to my knees, tears streaming down my face. The world felt hollow, like an endless void had opened up beneath me, threatening to swallow everything. I couldn’t explain why I felt this way. She wasn’t my daughter—not really. But she had been. She had been with us, in our home, as our child, and now she was… gone.

But deep down, I knew. I had always known this moment would come. I just never expected it to hurt so much.

The silence that followed was deafening. It was as though the universe itself was holding its breath, waiting for something—anything—to break the stillness.

I stood up, wiped my eyes, and looked around. The garden was still dark, but the trees no longer seemed menacing. The wind had died down, and the air, once thick with tension, was now still, almost peaceful. The world had shifted, but the place itself hadn’t changed—only I had. I was left standing alone, with nothing but the weight of the past and the knowledge that Emma had crossed over to whatever world called her.

“Mommy?”

I froze. The voice, soft and small, came from behind me. My heart skipped a beat, and I spun around, my breath caught in my throat. There, standing in the distance, was Emma.

She was no longer surrounded by the shadowy figures, no longer lost in the strange pull that had taken her moments before. She was standing there, looking just as she had the day I found her. Her clothes were the same, her face the same—soft and innocent. But something had changed. She seemed… older somehow, as though the burden of the world she had been called back to had left a mark on her.

I stumbled toward her, my mind reeling. “Emma?” I whispered, my voice shaky. “Is it really you?”

She nodded, her eyes gentle, but there was an unfamiliar sadness behind them. “It’s me, Mommy.”

I reached for her, my arms trembling, but she stepped back, her gaze turning to the horizon, where the last remnants of the night sky still clung to the edges of the world.

“I had to go back,” she said softly, her voice filled with a quiet resolve. “I couldn’t stay. But I’m not the same person anymore.”

I felt a pang in my chest at her words. “But you’re still my daughter, right?” I asked, my voice cracking. “You’re still Emma.”

She shook her head slowly, the faintest smile tugging at her lips. “I’m still someone you know. But I am not the same girl you found in the field. That girl is gone. She… she never belonged here. Not really.”

The words hit me harder than I expected, and a wave of guilt rushed over me. Could I have stopped it? Could I have kept her here with us? Was it selfish of me to want to keep her by my side, knowing that she wasn’t meant for this world?

“I’m sorry, Mommy,” Emma whispered, her eyes filled with an ancient sadness. “I wish I could stay. But my place… it’s somewhere else. I have to go back to where I came from.”

“But Emma, you’re safe here,” I pleaded, my voice breaking. “You belong here. With us.”

She took a step forward, her hand gently brushing mine. “I know. And I’ll always carry that love with me, Mommy. But the voices… they were calling me home. I have a purpose there, something I have to fulfill. It’s part of who I am.”

Tears blurred my vision as I looked into her eyes, searching for any trace of the little girl I had raised, the one I had held so close. She was still there, but now she carried the weight of something far beyond me. Something I could never fully understand.

“I’ll never forget you,” Emma said softly, her voice almost a whisper. “You were my family. You gave me a place to belong when I had none.”

I choked back a sob, my heart breaking as I realized that I had to let her go. The moment was slipping away, and no matter how much I wanted to fight it, I couldn’t change what she had become.

“I love you, Emma,” I whispered, my voice raw.

“I love you, too, Mommy.” She smiled gently, her eyes glowing with something I couldn’t name—peace, acceptance, and something even deeper. “And don’t worry. I’ll always remember you. I’ll always be with you, even when I’m far away.”

As she turned and began to walk toward the horizon, her form growing more distant with each step, I stood frozen, unable to move. She was slipping away from me, and no matter how much I wished I could stop it, I knew I had to let her go.

The last glimpse I had of Emma was her small figure, walking alone into the distance, fading into the darkness like a dream slipping through my fingers.

The Revelation

The days that followed were filled with an overwhelming silence. Emma was gone. She had left, and I was left with the echo of her absence, a space that could never be filled.

I spent countless hours wandering through the house, looking at the little things she had touched, the toys she had played with, the small clothes that now seemed so empty. It felt like a part of me was missing, like something I had always known was lost to me, never to be recovered.

But in the stillness, I began to realize something—something I hadn’t allowed myself to fully understand before.

Emma had never truly belonged to this world. She was a part of something ancient, something beyond our understanding. The voices she had heard were not just a product of her imagination or some lingering trauma. They were a call—a call to return to where she truly belonged.

I had raised her. I had loved her. But now, I had to accept that her purpose was greater than anything I could give her. She was not just my daughter. She was a being of a different world, one that needed her, one that she needed to return to.

And in my heart, I knew that Emma was going to be all right. The journey she had begun wasn’t over. It had just changed. And I had to let her go to find what she was meant for.

She had come into our lives for a reason, and now, that reason had been fulfilled. She had found what she had been searching for all along—her true home, her true purpose.

The End.