Chapter 158 Childhood Diary

Chapter 158 Childhood Diary

Stephanie's POV

A photo of Yasmin was embedded in the headstone.

After all these years, Yasmin's face appeared clearly before me once again.

In the photo, she looked exactly as I remembered—not a single thing had changed.

The only one who'd changed was me.

I didn't know if Yasmin would still recognize me if she saw me now.

A breeze drifted in from the fields beyond the cemetery, brushing softly against my cheek like Yasmin's gentle touch.

I crouched down and placed the small bouquet of white daisies I'd bought along the way in front of the headstone.

I reached out, my fingers tracing lightly over the photo on the stone.

"Yasmin, I came to see you," I said softly.

The distant wind stirred, making the daisy petals tremble slightly.

I lowered my gaze to the little white flowers, suddenly unsure what to say.

I'd prepared so much to tell her.

About everything Kaitlyn had done, about the truth behind the medical examiner and those two corrupt cops, about how she really died.

But now, facing this quiet stone marker, all those heavy memories felt strangely light—so light they didn't need to be spoken aloud anymore.

She probably already knew everything.

I stayed crouched there, running my fingers over and over across her face in the photo.

"I found Emma," I finally said.

"She's doing really well now. She opened a counseling practice here in town. She said when I get married, she'll definitely be there."

I smiled faintly. "She also told me that when you were little, whenever you cried, your mouth would open really wide. She said it was hilarious."

I told the headstone so many things.

About my life over these years, my regrets, the happy moments, and those sleepless nights filled with worries.

I wanted to share every single experience I'd had with Yasmin, like telling her a story.

Another gust of wind came, and I heard soft footsteps behind me.

Christopher walked up and stood quietly, not interrupting.

I took a deep breath and slowly turned to look at him. He didn't ask anything, just stepped forward and gently took my hand.

I nodded and slowly got to my feet.

"Yasmin, I gotta head off. Don't miss me too much. I'll come visit all the time," I whispered. "When my wedding rolls around, I want you there. I'll always save a seat for you."

I stood there, gazing at Yasmin's photo for a long moment before finally turning around and following Christopher out of the cemetery.

Emily and Rufus were waiting outside the iron gate. When they saw me emerge, both of them visibly relaxed.

Emily walked up and took my hand without a word.

We didn't need to say anything.

We understood each other perfectly, sharing an unspoken connection.

Just like Yasmin and I used to.

A sudden evening breeze swept past from behind. Instinctively, I turned back and waved gently at Yasmin's headstone.

Like she was saying goodbye.

Back in the car, exhaustion washed over me, and I fell into a deep sleep.

When I opened my eyes again, the car had stopped on a street at the other end of town, in front of an old two-story house standing by the roadside.

It took me a few seconds to realize—this was the house I'd lived in as a child.

The paint on the walls had long since faded and peeled, sparse moss grew on the porch steps, and everything bore the marks of time.

I pushed open the car door and stepped out, standing before the rusted iron fence, staring at this quiet old house as a complicated mix of emotions welled up inside me.

In that moment, it didn't feel like just an old building—it felt like a long-lost relative.

No matter how long I'd been gone or how far I'd traveled, it had stood here quietly, waiting for me to come home.

Christopher came to stand beside me. "I had someone clean it up a bit. Want to go inside and take a look?"

I was surprised. "When did you arrange that?"

"Last night after you fell asleep. I contacted a local cleaning company." His tone was casual. "You rarely come back here. I didn't want you to just stand outside looking at it."

Warmth flooded my chest. I couldn't find the words, so I just squeezed his hand tightly and pushed open the iron gate in front of us.

The weeds in the yard had been cleared away. A few grass roots still clung to the cracks between the stone pavers, but overall it looked far tidier than I'd imagined—not the desolate wasteland I'd feared.

I walked along the old stone path toward the house, stepped onto the porch, and gently pushed the wooden door.

The door creaked open slowly.

Sunlight filtered through dusty windows, casting slanted beams of light across the floor.

The living room sofa was still in its old spot, covered with a grayish-white dust cloth. An antique wall clock in the corner had long since stopped, its hands frozen at ten seventeen.

I stood in the empty living room, taking in this space I hadn't set foot in for nearly twenty years, and those memories buried deep and sealed away by time slowly came back to life.

"There's a storage room upstairs," I said. "A lot of my childhood things should still be up there."

Christopher followed me up the stairs.

The storage room door was stuck. He turned sideways and gave it a gentle push with his shoulder before it finally opened.

The room was dim, filled with several dust-covered cardboard boxes and piles of old clothes and miscellaneous items.

I crouched down and went through the boxes one by one. When I got to the third one, my fingers brushed against the edge of a hardcover notebook.

I pulled it out and blew the dust off the surface.

The cover was decorated with cartoon stickers I'd loved as a kid, their corners already curled and worn.

I opened to the first page and saw my own childhood handwriting, wobbly pencil letters: [Today Yasmin and I went to the beach. She taught me how to swim. I was really scared, but she held my hand the whole time.]

Before I could read any further, someone snatched the notebook from my hands.

I looked up to see Christopher standing a few steps away, flipping through my old diary with a growing smile.

"Christopher! Give it back!" I immediately lunged for it.

He stepped back smoothly, dodging me, and read aloud, "Today a boy in class gave me an eraser. Yasmin said he definitely likes me. I think she's talking nonsense, but I kept the eraser anyway."

"Christopher!" My face instantly burned red as I chased him around the cramped room. "Stop reading! Give it back!"

He laughed, weaving around the cardboard boxes like a mischievous kid, holding the notebook high above his head while continuing to flip through it.

"I said I'd never like that boy because he's not as good-looking as Yasmin!"

"Christopher!"

I chased him all the way down the stairs.

He circled around the dust-covered sofa in the living room. I finally managed to grab his shirt, and we both lost our balance, tumbling onto the couch together.

The dust cloth shifted askew as fine particles of dust rose in the sunlight.

I ended up on top of him, stretching up on my toes to reach for the notebook he still held high. "Give it!"

He looked down at me, eyes full of laughter. "Stephanie, you were way more mischievous as a kid than I imagined."

I glared at him, face still flushed. "Just give it back already!"

He finally laughed and handed the notebook back to me, then reached up to smooth the messy strands of hair by my ear.

I sat up straight, clutching my old diary, and flipped through a few more pages. Suddenly I noticed one page had been torn out.

The yellowed edge of the remaining paper showed a clean, deliberate tear—clearly someone had removed it years ago.

I stared at that torn edge for a long time, a strange premonition rising in my chest.

Who tore it out? When? I had absolutely no memory of it.

Christopher sat beside me, following my gaze to the missing page. He didn't press me about it, instead changing the subject. "By the way, I looked into this house's property records."

I turned to look at him.

"After your parents moved out, this house was never sold or transferred. The deed has been registered under the same person's name the whole time. But that person isn't your family, and it isn't you."

I froze instantly. "Then whose name is it registered under?"