Twenty years ago, when my husband was just beginning his career as a reporter, he was offered a position working for an American publication in Cairo. It was an incredible opportunity and an exciting adventure for him, so we moved there.
We rented a cozy apartment on the second floor, and below it was a large garden where our 8-year-old daughter, Tara, loved to play. Over time, we settled into our new life, and I found employment there too.
That morning, I kissed Tara on the forehead and left for work while my husband stayed home to work on an article. When I returned home that evening, I saw several police cars parked outside our building.
My husband told me that Tara had gone out to play in the garden as usual and then suddenly vanished. He searched everywhere for her but couldn’t find her, so he called the police. My heart pounded against my ribs.
For weeks afterward, everyone searched for Tara. The police, neighbors, complete strangers — everyone helped look for her. But NOTHING. No one had seen her.
After a year of searching, we relocated back home to Ohio. My life was shattered into pieces. Twenty years have passed, but the pain has never faded. Not a single day goes by without me thinking about Tara and wondering what really happened to her.
Last night, I came home from work and picked up the mail. I tossed it onto the table, but one POSTCARD immediately stood out from the rest.
I picked it up and saw a picture of Cairo on the front. The postcard was from Egypt. There was an Egyptian stamp and postmark on it. My hands were shaking so badly that I could barely keep from dropping it.
It was anonymous. There was an ADDRESS written on the back, and it wasn’t far from our town. I grabbed my jacket and drove there immediately.
It was a row of rental garages. I found the garage number written on the postcard and unlocked it. The moment I saw WHAT was inside, I dropped to my knees.
(The chilling discovery inside the garage will leave you breathless! Click “Next Page” to continue reading…)
