The attic had been closed since I moved in. But the door wasn’t locked that night.
Inside, the walls were covered in photos of Ethan — from childhood to adulthood.
In nearly every picture, it was just him and his mother.
“After the accident, it was just you and me. They blamed me, but I only kept what was mine. I won’t let anyone take you away.”
My heart pounded. On the last page was a photo from our wedding — my face torn away.
I ran to Ethan and handed him the journal. He stared at it in silence for a long time before whispering,
“When I was ten, my father died in a house fire. They said my mother might have caused it, but they couldn’t prove anything. Since then, she’s never let me out of her sight.”
Confrontation
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