Three years had passed since my mom disappeared without a trace. The police had no leads, and our family had been left in a painful limbo. One evening, as I was going through my daily routine, my phone buzzed with a missed call. My heart skipped a beat when I saw the caller ID: it was my mom’s number. I hesitated, my mind racing with possibilities. What could this mean, and what should I do next? Trembling, I redialed the number, but there was no answer. Desperation clawed at me as I tried again and again, each ring echoing in the silent room. Finally, I decided to visit the last place we saw her, hoping for any clue. As I approached the abandoned cabin, my phone buzzed again. This time, it was a text message from her number. The message contained a single word: “Help.” My heart pounded as I frantically called the police and rushed to the location the message indicated. When I arrived, I found my mom, disheveled but alive, locked in a hidden room. She had been kidnapped and held captive all these years, but now, thanks to a stroke of luck and determination, she was finally free and back in my arms.