The night before my best friend—just 16—vanished without a trace, she handed me a $5 bill and said, “I owe you money. Take this bill!”
It felt random, almost playful, so I just shrugged and dropped it in my savings jar without thinking twice.
Three weeks later, while cleaning my room, I suddenly remembered it. I opened the jar, pulled out the bill, and something strange caught my eye. A faint blue mark near the edge. I lifted it closer to the light.
My blood ran cold.
In tiny, rushed handwriting were the words:
“No matter what happens, you will stay in my heart.”
A chill crawled up my spine. On any other day, it could’ve been a sweet note between friends. But knowing it was written the night before she disappeared made it feel like a hidden goodbye.
I ran to the police with the bill, hoping it meant something, hoping it would spark a lead. They logged it, shrugged, and said it wasn’t enough to go on.
Ten years have passed. She was never found.
But I still keep that $5 bill in a sealed envelope.
Sometimes I take it out, trace the faint ink with my thumb, and wonder whether she was scared, planning something, or trying to reach out in the only way she could.
Not a single day goes by that I don’t think about that message—and whether it was her silent cry for help.
