Then the lawyer handed me a sealed envelope.
“She left a special clause for her daughter-in-law,” he said, passing it to me.
At first, I didn’t. But then I remembered—the attic. A little door she had once snapped at me never to open.
We drove to her house. The place felt smaller without her, quieter somehow. Behind a faded curtain, we found the attic door. My hand shook as I slid the key into the lock.
The door creaked open, releasing the scent of cedar and dust. Inside sat an old trunk.
I lifted the lid.
Inside were dozens of journals.
The Woman I Never Knew
Her handwriting filled page after page.
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