Twenty years ago someone stole my sister.

They say Leonie got into a man's car. She was never seen again. It was the day before her fifteenth birthday.

But what if she was never taken? What if the truth is right here, all along, in the house where we grew up. The house I've come back to, trying to piece the past together.

A notification flashes on my phone. Photos on social media. I stare, chilled, at old pictures of my childhood home. Our front door, the gardens outside the widow where I sit now. They're tagged: #leonieshouse.

A shiver of unease runs down my spine.

Who knows?

What do they know?

I keep saying that I don't remember.

But I do.