My heart skipped a beat. “What do you mean, sweetie?” I asked, trying to keep my voice steady as I glanced toward the hallway.
Lucas leaned in, lowering his voice. “Real Mom. She doesn’t like it when you move her things,” he whispered, glancing over his shoulder like he expected someone to be watching us.
The way he looked at me was so serious, like he was sharing a secret he wasn’t supposed to. I forced a smile, nodded, and gave his hand a gentle squeeze. “It’s okay, Lucas. You don’t have to worry. Let’s finish up our puzzle, alright?”
But that night, as Ben and I lay in bed, my mind raced. I tried to tell myself it was just a kid’s overactive imagination. But each time I closed my eyes, I’d hear Lucas’ words, see the way he’d glanced nervously toward the hallway.
When Ben was finally asleep, I got up quietly, heading to the attic. I knew Ben kept some of Irene’s old things in a box up there. Maybe if I could see them and find out more about her, it would help me understand why Lucas was acting this way.
I climbed the creaky stairs, my flashlight slicing through the dark, until I found the box tucked in a corner, dusty but well-kept.
The lid was heavier than I expected, as though it had absorbed years of memories. I pulled it off and found old photos, letters she’d written to Ben, and her wedding ring wrapped carefully in tissue. It was all so personal, and I felt a strange pang of guilt going through it.
But there was something else. A few items looked freshly moved, almost as if they’d been handled recently. And that’s when I noticed it: a small door in the corner, half hidden behind a stack of boxes.
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