Cats have their routines, their little rituals, and Luna’s favorite was curling up by the window to watch the snowfall. But that night, she was nowhere to be found. Felix snoozed on a chair like he owned the place, his paw draped over his eyes, blissfully unaware.

I sat in the armchair, sipping whiskey, letting the warmth of the fire and the soft glow of Christmas lights lull me into quiet reflection. Judith was away on business again. Another last-minute trip. Another silent night without her.

I never liked being alone during Christmas week, but she’d convinced me it was important for her career and we’d make up for it on Christmas Eve.

I’d heard it all before. Still, I let her go. I always did.

I was just about to refill my glass when I heard a sound from upstairs.

At first, I brushed it off. This house made noises. It creaked, it groaned, and sometimes, the heating vents rattled like old bones. But this wasn’t that. This was… a voice, muffled like it was behind something thick.

I set the glass down slowly, my heart already thudding like a warning drum.

Felix didn’t stir. I grabbed the fireplace poker, testing its weight in my hand as I moved to the stairs. My fingers curled tight around the cold iron.

Up the stairs, the sound grew clearer. A soft, rhythmic cry. The sound pulled me to our bedroom. It was coming from the closet.

“Luna?” I whispered, nudging the door with my foot. No answer. The voice kept going, repeating every few seconds like a recording on a loop. My grip tightened on the poker.

I yanked the door open.

Luna shot out like a bullet, her gray fur puffed up like she’d seen a ghost. She darted between my legs and bolted down the hallway. I let out a shaky breath, chest tight with relief. Of course. She must have gotten trapped. Cats get into everything.

But that voice hadn’t stopped.

It was coming from the corner, from Judith’s old red suitcase. Luna must’ve knocked it over.

I froze.

“Promise me you’ll never open it,” she’d said once, years ago. “It’s just personal stuff. Nothing you’d care about.”

I’d promised, like a fool. We’d been married a year at that point. I’d trusted her.

The voice echoed again. Two syllables, over and over. “Mama.”

I dropped to my knees. My breath came short and shallow. I told myself it was a toy. One of those sound-activated dolls. But Judith didn’t keep toys. She didn’t like kids. Never wanted them.

Judith would be so mad if I broke my promise to her, but I couldn’t just leave her suitcase with that child’s voice playing from somewhere inside it. I had to know what was going on.

The zipper on the suitcase snagged halfway, forcing me to tug it harder.

The sound of metal teeth opening was loud in the quiet room. I peeled back the lid. A digital recorder sat on top. Its tiny speaker crackled.

“Mama.”