I was standing eleven feet away, but I didn’t immediately go to my daughter. My attention had shifted to something still inside the collapsed box. One balloon had remained behind, attached to a thin silver string taped to the bottom. At the other end was a small plastic hospital bracelet. Emily reached it before I could. She picked it up, turned it over, and began trembling. Then she whispered, “Mum.” I asked what was wrong. Her answer made my stomach drop. The bracelet had her full name printed on it, including her maiden and married surnames. Her date of birth was correct, too.

But there was another line beneath it. A date. Tomorrow. Jake immediately called the police, while Deborah retrieved her order folder and showed the officers the original invoice. It clearly stated that two hundred pink helium balloons had been ordered and paid for. The white box had been stored in my garage since Thursday evening. Unfortunately, the garage had a side door leading directly into the garden, and its bolt hadn’t worked since 2019. One officer asked whether we had security cameras. We did. And when we checked the recording, we discovered something that changed everything.