For weeks, I stayed up late watching camera footage, desperate to find out who was stealing from my grocery store. Every morning, more dairy products disappeared. I’d spent my whole life building this shop—retirement was never the plan. This store was my life.

Then a customer asked why my shelves were so empty. When he mentioned kids, my heart twisted. I hadn’t heard that word in years. My daughter ran away 15 years ago, leaving only a note. I searched, begged the police, but she vanished.

When the thefts got worse, I finally installed cameras. One night, I saw a hooded figure sneaking in. The police brushed me off, so I hid in the store alone. Hours later, I caught him—a terrified teenage boy. When I saw his eyes, my heart stopped.

They were hers.

He ran. But days later, I found him again… and followed him home.

And there she was.

My daughter. Alice. After 15 years.

She looked older, worn… but still my little girl. The boy was her son—my grandson.

Fifteen years of silence, and suddenly, I had everything back.

A family. A second chance.

Moral: Sometimes, what’s stolen leads you back to what was lost.