For weeks, a little girl from across the street waved at me—day and night. There was something eerie about the intensity in her eyes. It felt like she was trying to convey something, and I couldn’t shake the nagging feeling that I needed to find out what. When I finally decided to discover who she was, the heartbreaking truth behind that door left me shaken to my core.

Every evening, without fail, I’d see her—a small figure, no older than five—standing by her window, waving at me. Her gaze never wavered, following me whenever I passed by, as though she was silently reaching out. The whole situation was unsettling. Who was she? What was she trying to say?

One night, I mentioned her to my wife, Sandy, as we sat together in the living room. “She’s at the window again, that little girl I’ve been telling you about,” I said. Sandy set her book aside and walked over to join me by the window. “You mean the one who’s always waving at you?” she asked, intrigued.

I nodded, a strange sadness settling over me. “Yeah, but there’s something about the way she looks at me. It’s like she’s trying to tell me something, like she needs help.”

Sandy, ever the practical one, gave my shoulder a reassuring squeeze. “Arnie, she’s probably just a lonely kid looking for attention. Have you tried waving back?”