Alex’s heart raced. “Yes. She… she helped my son. We’ve been looking for her for months. Do you know where she is?”
Mrs. Miller sighed. “I don’t. But three years ago, we had a girl named Katie in our system. She was eight then. A very unusual child. She always talked about having a ‘mission,’ that she had to help someone. The staff thought she just had an overactive imagination.”
“What happened to her?”
“One day she told us she had to find a boy and ‘give him back the light.’ We didn’t know what she meant. A week later, she walked out of the group home and never came back. We filed a missing persons report, searched everywhere, but nothing.”
The woman paused. “It’s been three years. We feared the worst. But when I heard about your foundation and the story of a girl named Katie helping a blind boy see, I thought it had to be her.”
Alex grabbed his phone. “Ethan, get down to the office. Now.”
Twenty minutes later, the three of them were driving to the outskirts of town. The group home was a weathered two-story building with a small playground in the back.
The director, an older woman with gray hair, met them in her office. “Katie…” she said sadly. “Yes, I remember her. She was a light. Always helping the younger kids, comforting the ones who cried at night.”
“Did she say where she was going?” Alex asked.
“No. One morning her bed was just empty. We searched the whole county. Nothing.”
The director stood up. “Would you like to see her room? We haven’t changed much.”
They went upstairs to a small room with four beds. The director pointed to one. “This was hers.”
Ethan looked around and froze. On the wall above the bed was a drawing done in colored pencils. It showed a boy in a white suit sitting on a bench under a tree. Next to him stood a girl with messy hair, reaching out to him. Rays of light were coming from her hands.
“That’s… that’s me,” Ethan whispered. “And her. But how?”
The director stepped closer. “She drew that six months before she left. We asked her what it was, and she said, ‘That’s my future.'”
Alex felt a chill run down his spine. She knew. Somehow, she knew.
“Did she leave anything else?” he asked hoarsely.
The director opened a drawer and pulled out a thin notebook. “Just this. Her journal. We read it looking for clues, but it was mostly just thoughts.”
Alex took the notebook with trembling hands. On the first page, it said: “My Journal. Where I write about waiting for my purpose.”
He flipped through the pages. The entries were short.
“Went to the square again today. He wasn’t there.”
“The teacher asked why I go there every day. I can’t explain it. I just know I have to.”
“Soon. I feel like I’ll meet him soon.”
Alex reached the last entry, dated the day they met.
“Today is the day. I woke up and knew: today I meet the boy I have to help. I don’t know how I’ll do it. But I believe when the time comes, I’ll know. My purpose is almost finished.”
There were no more entries. Alex closed the notebook and held it to his chest. Tears were streaming down his face.
“She waited three years for this,” he whispered. “Three years of going to that square every day to wait for my son. And I… I treated her like a nuisance. I chased her away.”
Ethan hugged his father. “Dad, she knew. Look at the drawing—she’s smiling. She was happy she could help me.”
The director said quietly, “After she left, we checked hospitals, police records, everything. There was never a trace. It was like she just finished what she came to do and moved on.”
“She was real,” Alex said firmly. “And she changed our lives.”
He looked at the director. “We’re going to keep looking for her. But even if we don’t find her, we’re going to help other kids in her name. That will be our way of honoring her.”
When they left, Ethan was carrying the drawing from the wall. The director had insisted he take it.
“Dad,” the boy said quietly, “do you think she was an angel?”
Alex stopped and looked at his son. “I don’t know, son. But I know she was a miracle. And if we can’t find her, we can at least carry on what she started.”
He squeezed his son’s hand. “We’re going to help people. Anyone who needs it. That’s for Katie. Wherever she is.”
Ten years passed.
Ethan was now a medical student specializing in ophthalmology. His career choice was easy: he wanted to help people see the world the way he could. Every morning when he opened his eyes, he thanked God for the gift of sight. And he always thought of Katie.
The foundation his father started was thriving. Over ten years, they had helped thousands of children. Alex had aged, his hair turning gray at the temples, but his eyes were kinder. He still went to the town square every year on that anniversary, sat on the bench, and left flowers.
Ethan often volunteered at a community outreach center the foundation funded. It was his idea: not just medical help, but food, warmth, and human connection.
One ordinary fall afternoon, while Ethan was serving soup to the guests, he looked up and froze. Standing in line was a young woman in her early twenties. She was thin, wearing a simple dark jacket, with dark hair pulled back in a ponytail. But it was her eyes—those deep, dark eyes he remembered from a decade ago.
“Katie!” he whispered. The ladle slipped from his hand, clattering onto the floor.
The young woman looked up and went still. For a few seconds, they just stared at each other, stunned.
“Ethan!” her voice was shaky. “You… you can see?”
He ran around the counter, ignoring the confused looks from the other volunteers.
“I can. Because of you. I’ve seen everything for ten years.”
Katie covered her mouth, tears welling up. “I was so worried. I wondered if it was temporary, if something went wrong…”
“Everything went right,” Ethan said, taking her hands. “Where have you been? We looked everywhere for you.”
They sat at a corner table. Katie told her story, her voice wavering. “After that day, I was scared. Your father was so angry, and people were staring… I thought I’d get in trouble, or they’d send me back to the home. I left town.”
She wiped her eyes. “I lived in the next county, worked odd jobs, went to night school. I always thought about you. I wondered how you were. A month ago, I came back here and saw ‘The Katie Foundation.’ I couldn’t believe it. That’s my name.”
“Dad named it for you,” Ethan said, still holding her hands. “He hasn’t forgiven himself for how he treated you. He goes to that square every year to apologize to the air.”
Katie looked down. “He doesn’t need to apologize. He was scared. Any parent would be, seeing a stranger touch their kid like that.”
“No,” Ethan insisted. “He needs to do this. He promised ten years ago that if we found you, he’d make it right.”
Ethan pulled out his phone and dialed his father. “Dad, get down to the community center. Now. I found her. I found Katie.”
There was a long silence on the other end, then Alex’s voice, thick with emotion: “I’m on my way!”
Comments are closed.