Chapter 1 – THE LETTERS HIDDEN IN THE ATTIC

The silence in our living room was absolute, shattered only by the sound of my own ragged breathing.

I stared at the letter in my hands, Grandma’s familiar, loopy cursive blurring through my tears.

Ask your mother what happened to the letters I wrote you every birthday.

I looked up. My mother was completely frozen. The righteous indignation that usually fueled her every interaction with me had vanished, replaced by a pale, terrified guilt.

“Mom?” I asked, my voice barely above a whisper. “What is Grandma talking about?”

Dad stepped forward, putting a protective hand on Mom’s shoulder. “Hannah, now is not the time. Mr. Harris needs to leave, and we are mourning.”

“No,” Mr. Harris said quietly, standing his ground by the front door. “I have fulfilled Mrs. Whitmore’s instructions. I will see you all on Saturday. Hannah, if you need anything, my office is open.”

He let himself out, closing the door softly behind him.

I didn’t take my eyes off my mother. “Six years. Since I was twelve. Grandma stopped sending me birthday cards. I thought her memory was failing early. I spent nights crying because I thought she had forgotten me.”

“Hannah,” Mom started, her voice shaking. “You don’t understand.”

“Where are they?” I demanded, taking a step toward her.

“I threw them away,” Mom blurted out.

The room seemed to tilt. “You threw away letters from my grandmother?”

“She was poisoning you against us!” Mom yelled, tears finally spilling down her cheeks. “Every letter was filled with money, telling you to save it so you could leave this house. Telling you that you didn’t have to share everything with Chloe. She was trying to divide our family!”

I felt a coldness settle in my chest. “She wasn’t dividing us. She was trying to protect me from you.”

Chloe, who had been standing silently near the staircase, suddenly spoke up. “Aunt Sarah, you said the money was from you.”

I whipped my head around. “What?”

Chloe looked panicked. “The envelopes. The cash Aunt Sarah gave me every year to buy my school clothes. She said it was a gift from her and Uncle Tom.”

Dad turned to look at Mom, genuine shock on his face. “Sarah? What is she talking about?”

Mom backed up until she hit the edge of the sofa. “Chloe needed nice things! The kids at school made fun of her. Hannah didn’t care about clothes, she only cared about books!”

“You stole my birthday money from my dying grandmother,” I said, my voice eerily calm, “and used it to buy Chloe’s wardrobe. For six years.”

Daniel, my brother, rubbed his face. “Mom. Tell me that’s not true.”

“I did it for the family!” Mom cried out, grabbing Dad’s arm. “To keep the peace!”

“You didn’t keep the peace,” I whispered. “You just made sure the war was only fought against me.”

I turned away from her, unable to look at her face for another second. I walked toward the hallway closet to grab my coat.

“Where are you going?” Dad demanded. “You are not walking out of this house, Hannah!”

“I’m going to Aunt Ruth’s,” I said, pulling my jacket off the hanger.

As I reached into the pocket for my car keys, my hand brushed against something strange. A small, hard rectangle hidden deep in the lining of my winter coat.

I pulled it out.

It was a velvet jewelry box. The exact same one Grandma had given me for my tenth birthday. The one Mom had emptied to give the necklace to Chloe.

I flipped the lid open.

Inside wasn’t a necklace. It was a folded piece of paper and an old, tarnished brass key.

I opened the paper. It was my mother’s handwriting.

Tom, I couldn’t destroy the last batch. If Hannah finds them, she’ll leave us. Keep this key safe.

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