My roommate and I lived together for two years. She was bright, full of life, and the kind of person who could light up a room just by walking in. Then, one day, she vanished. No note, no warning—just gone. The police got involved immediately. Her family was devastated. For months, we searched everywhere, clinging to hope. But with no leads, no signs, and no trace, the case eventually went cold. Even her parents, after a while, stopped believing they’d ever find her. Five years later,
I was preparing to sell the house we once shared. Her room had stayed untouched for years, like a time capsule. As I cleaned, I moved her dresser for the first time—and behind it, I noticed a hole in the wall I’d never seen before. Curious, I reached inside. My fingers brushed against something—paper. I pulled out a stack of crumpled notes. My heart stopped when I read them: “If I ever disappear,
