Entry after entry, her words painted a picture of a young girl in distress, a side of her that she had hidden well behind smiles and laughter. She spoke of a secret online world where she felt she could express herself freely, where she found a community that understood her pain. But even there, she felt lost and alone at times.

By the time I finished the first notebook, I was sobbing. My heart ached with a guilt so profound it was almost physical. How had I missed this? How had I not seen the signs of her suffering?

Among the notebooks, there was also a small, ornate box. Inside, I found a collection of photographs and trinkets—small mementos she had collected over the years.

There were ticket stubs from family outings, a dried flower from our garden, a friendship bracelet, and other tokens that held special meaning for her.