"Please save me!" read the waitress the note left by the child on the table. It could have been a cruel joke, but the woman decided to get to the truth.
#storiesfromthebox #cautionarytale #liveyourbestlife #sadstory #familystory #kindstory #sadlovestory #audiostory #amazingstory #lifestory
It all began with a note. Debbie sat in the staff room on a plastic stool, her back against the cold wall. In her hand, she held a white napkin. The hastily scrawled lines in a child's handwriting were etched into her memory:
"My name is Alice. Alice Littman. Please help me, I'm in danger!!!!!!"
The excessive exclamation marks made the message scream for attention. It was a cry for help. Debbie immediately knew who had left the note.
That very girl. She was hard to miss. Thin, pale, and beautiful with long chocolate-colored hair tied in a low ponytail and big brown eyes. She was about twelve.
Debbie had noticed her the moment she entered the cafe accompanied by her parents. They arrived late, almost at closing time. Alice's parents were obviously well-off, which Debbie could tell not only from their appearance but their demeanor.
The man exuded an air of superiority and arrogance, while his wife looked down on others with contempt. They were the kind of wealthy people who always seemed dissatisfied with the service or the food quality.
Debbie had been a waitress at this cafe for almost seven years, and that time had taught her a lot about people. When your salary depends on it, you learn quickly. Any mistake could lead to a complaint, jeopardizing her monthly bonus. Every penny mattered to Debbie.
The quiet girl followed her parents. Debbie thought it was strange. Usually, children and parents walk together.
Or they let the children go first. After all, this is a family cafe. The woman had seen many families. And here... the daughter walked behind her parents, silent, indifferent, like a shadow.
Once the family settled at a table in the center of the room, Debbie approached to offer the menu. The father acknowledged her without making eye contact. Respecting their space, Debbie stepped back, knowing they would call her when ready to order.
As closing time was nearing, she had numerous tasks left, including wiping down the bar and restocking the shelves. However, her attention was drawn to the new customers.
The woman immediately noticed that the girl was dressed a little too strangely. Despite the summer heat of July, the girl was dressed as if it were fall, wearing long, dark, baggy pants, sneakers, and a long-sleeved T-shirt.
"Could it be a fashion trend with teenagers these days? No, it doesn't seem so," Debbie mused, having encountered countless adolescents. Contrarily, during summer, girls of this age usually accentuate their youth and beauty with more revealing and form-fitting attire.
There are, of course, adherents of various subcultures, though Debbie wasn't particularly knowledgeable about them. But Alice didn't seem to belong to any of these groups either.
Typically, nonconformist teenagers accessorize with symbolic trinkets, dye their hair vibrant colors, and apply bold makeup. Debbie was open-minded about such expressions, thinking youth is the best time to experiment with one's appearance.
However, Alice seemed to resemble a nun more than a teenager. She wore closed black clothing, absent any makeup, and her gaze was blank, mostly directed downwards. Alice lacked the usual youthful energy, cheerfulness, and curiosity.
Debbie wondered if the girl was ill. She had encountered children with special needs before.
The father of the family ordered coffee for himself and his wife, a milkshake for their daughter, and pancakes with fruit fillings for the whole family.
They ate dinner quickly. Debbie, an onlooker, was engrossed in her own world but kept stealing glances at the family. She was particularly interested in the girl who ate her pancakes without much enthusiasm.
It appeared as though she was eating out of necessity rather than pleasure, her pale, pretty face devoid of any emotion. Her parents conversed and even smiled among themselves, but they never addressed their daughter as if she didn't exist.
Debbie silently empathized with the girl. Her own father was the same - indifferent, cold, and disinterested in his only daughter's life.
However, Debbie's mother made up for the lack of attention from him. She would listen to Debbie, comfort her, and shower her with love when needed. Despite her demanding work schedule, Debbie's mother always knew when her daughter needed support.
Debbie, in her 40s, struggled to accept her passing. Her father, who lives in another city with a new family, has always been distant and is now completely out of touch.
It felt as if they weren't related. Debbie didn't have any regret, likely because she never had a close relationship with her father.
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