***Alissa Blake***
My parents always had secrets. I knew that since I was a child when I started to realize that some questions never had answers. But now that I had real reasons to doubt everything, it seemed stupid not to try to find out something.
Morgan was at school. The house was empty, and I had time.
I climbed the stairs carefully, listening to each creak of the floor as if someone might catch me red-handed. Old habits. I walked down the hallway and went straight to my father’s office.
The door was unlocked. I stepped inside and closed it behind me, my racing heart nearly tearing through my chest. It was a small room but meticulously organized. Shelves filled with religious books, a spotless desk, and a cross hanging on the wall. Everything in there had been arranged to show that they were the picture of a traditional, moral family.
Except I knew the truth, so that didn’t stick.
I went straight to the desk, and the first drawer was full of church paperwork—donations, events, tithe records. The second, personal documents. The third… locked.
Hm. Interesting.
I looked around and started opening other drawers, rummaging through things without leaving a trace. It took me less than a minute to find a set of keys at the back of the bookshelf.
I picked one and tried it on the locked drawer.
Click. Got it!
For a second, I thought about backing out, about just locking it again and pretending I had never tried. But then I remembered Morgan. I remembered the things she said without realizing it.
I remembered that if they were hiding something, I needed to know.
I opened the drawer. Fuck it.
And what I found was… strange.
A wooden box. Small, with a golden clasp. It looked like an old jewelry box. I picked it up carefully and opened it.
The first item inside was a silver chain with a small pendant. When I held it in my hand, a chill ran down my spine.
I knew this.
I saw myself, six years old, holding that same chain in my tiny fingers, asking my mother why I never saw her wearing it.
And then, one day, it disappeared.
I set the chain aside and went back to the box. There were letters. Some yellowed with age, others more recent. What made me hold my breath was the name of one of them.
Eva Callahan.
I blinked, my heart pounding. What the fuck? The first and last name of Morgan’s teacher.
My mind started spinning. This was weird.
My mother never mentioned knowing anyone by that name. So why would she have a letter from her locked away?
A chill ran down my spine, almost as if I could already tell this shit was about to blow up in my face.
I took a deep breath and opened the envelope. The handwriting was cursive and firm, written in blue ink. The paper was old but well cared for. They really wanted to keep this.
"I hope you forgive me one day. I had no choice."
This didn’t make sense.
My mother had always been cruel. She always made a point of reminding me that I was a burden in her life. But this? This sounded like guilt.
Why would she have something written by this woman? And what the hell did this teacher have to do with any of it?
Maybe it would be better to close this damn box, put everything back, and pretend I never saw anything. But I wasn’t that person anymore. Not after everything.
I opened another letter, this time without hesitation.
"I'm sorry. I hope she’s okay. I pray for her every night."
What the fuck?
My eyes skimmed over the words quickly, searching for a clue, something that made sense. But there was nothing but this. Scattered sentences, hurried handwriting, as if the person was writing in a rush.
I sank into my father’s chair, trying to process. This woman was clearly talking about someone. But who?
I ran my hands over my face, frustrated.
This had to mean something.
I went back to the box, digging through more papers. A document here, a receipt there, a photo—Wait.
A photo.
My fingers trembled as I pulled out the thicker piece of paper. It was old, worn at the edges. And in it, three people.
A young woman, with a bright smile. Dark hair, light eyes. Beside her, a man I had never seen before, a bit older, with a serious look.
And in her arms, a baby.
My heart pounded.
The woman looked too young to be my mother. And this man…
I didn’t remember him, but he almost seemed familiar.
My eyes flicked back to the chain, then to the letters, then to the photo again.
Nausea churned in my stomach.
My hands shook so much that I almost dropped the photo.
If this woman was Eva Callahan…
Why did my mother have a picture of her?
Why did she have letters from her?
I heard a noise and jumped to my feet, my entire body tingling.
What was I trying to find here?
What kind of secret was this?
Maybe it was just a coincidence. Maybe Eva Callahan was just an old acquaintance, someone from church or from town, and all of this was just my mind coming up with crazy theories.
But something inside me screamed that it wasn’t.
I put everything back in the box just as it was.
Locked the drawer, returned the keys, and pretended I hadn’t seen anything.
But I knew I wouldn’t stop there.