Buried Truths

The dream started in her old house—but this time, it wasn’t just a false memory. It was actually hers. A day she had lived.

The sun had been bright outside, pouring warm light into the quiet home she hadn’t stepped foot in for years. After her parents’ funeral, Ryleigh returned to her parents home. Grief had a way of pulling you toward familiar things, even if they hurt to touch.

The apartment in the city had become unbearable. Too loud. Too empty. Too full of reminders that life had kept moving while hers had stopped.

She was folding her clothes into neat piles, transferring her life piece by piece into her parents’ bedroom. The master closet was larger than the one in her childhood room, and though it felt invasive at first, something in her needed to be close to them. Needed to belong again.

She slid hangers along the rod, clearing space beside her father’s old winter coat and her mother’s silk blouses, still smelling faintly of lilac.

Then, tucked behind a stack of shoeboxes, something caught her eye.

A black file box. Locked.

Her brow furrowed. She didn’t remember it.

She knelt and pulled it out, the metal cold in her hands.

There was a key taped underneath the box. Old, almost forgotten.

When she turned it, the lock gave with a faint click.

Inside: documents. Folders. Certificates.

She flipped through quickly—her parents’ marriage license, insurance papers, a notarized will. Then—at the bottom—an envelope with her name on it.

Her stomach dropped.

Inside, she found the unthinkable.

An official certificate: Closed Adoption.

Her name. A date from before her second birthday. Signatures—legal, formal.

Ryleigh couldn’t move.

Tucked behind the certificate was a sealed court record. A judge’s decision. Signed confidentiality. A single letter, yellowed at the edges, written in someone’s careful hand.

“For her safety and ours, she must never know. No contact. No ties. It’s the only way.”

Her ears rang.

She had her mother’s laugh. Her father’s quiet way of holding in pain. She was their daughter!

But none of it was true.

The dream blurred—her fingers trembling, her breath catching. The closet faded into a wash of color and memory until—

She woke.

Cold cement. Dim light.

Her cell.

Ryleigh bolted upright, chest heaving.

Another tray of food waited on the table—this time, something warm. Mashed potatoes, roasted vegetables, a piece of meat she couldn’t quite name. Water. A metal fork. And another note.

Her fingers unfolded it, hands still shaking.

The next steps are the most important.

—D

She stared at the paper for a long time, slowly eating the food on the tray.

Whatever that dream had been—it wasn’t just memory. It was truth. Buried truth her mind had clawed its way back to. They had hidden it from her, and now it was here, breaking open inside her like a second loss.

The door unlocked again, drawing her attention sharply.

A man stepped in—one she hadn’t seen before.

He was massive, like the other, but younger. Strong jaw, dark hair swept back from his face, and striking green eyes that locked onto hers the moment he entered. He didn’t speak. Just gave a small nod and gestured for her to follow.

She hesitated, then rose to her feet. Her muscles still ached, but her legs held steady.

He led her through the halls in silence. No flickering lights this time—just a steady hum and smooth concrete. Ryleigh studied the way he moved: controlled, efficient, like someone trained to protect or destroy. Yet there was no threat in his posture.

The bathroom they reached was clean and simple. A towel. A bar of soap. A new set of folded gray clothes rested on a bench inside.

She stepped in and turned. He was already walking away and shitting the door, a lock clicked.

For a brief moment, she allowed herself to breathe.

She showered slowly, letting the hot water run over her as if it could rinse away the lingering echoes of her dream. She touched her face, her arms, as though expecting to find someone else in her skin.

Dressed in fresh clothes, she followed the green-eyed man back in silence. He opened her cell. She stepped in. He reached behind his back and pulled out a hair comb. He handed it to her. He walked out of the door and locked it without a word.

Ryleigh sat on the mattress, back against the wall. She ran the comb through her hair.

Her mind spun.

The note. The dream. The old woman’s warning. The silence. The guards who never spoke.

Nothing made sense.

She was no one. Just Ryleigh. College graduate. Night-shift waitress. Grieving daughter.

And now?

Now she wasn’t even sure who she was anymore.

Sleep took her without warning, dragging her down into a black, dreamless void.

The bolt snapped again.

She startled awake to the sound of the door opening.

The same man from before—the towering figure who had entered with the steel-eyed woman—stood in the doorway.

This time, he spoke.

“Come with me,” he said. “Margaret is expecting you.

Ryleigh’s legs felt stiff as she stood. The man in the doorway—tall, broad, and silent as ever—waited with the same unreadable expression. She hadn’t heard his name, hadn’t heard any names beyond the mysterious D and now, Margaret. Still, there was something about the way he moved that demanded obedience. Not cruel—just certain. Like he knew what came next and wasn’t worried about whether she did.

He didn’t cuff her or bind her wrists. Just turned and walked.

She followed.

The hall was colder than she remembered. Bare concrete walls stretched endlessly in either direction, lit by dull overhead lights that flickered every so often. The scent of damp stone and rust clung to everything, a metallic weight in the air. She realized then just how deep underground she must have been. A place designed to keep people in, not out.

They passed heavy doors—some sealed tight, others cracked open just enough for her to catch glimpses of emptiness beyond. No other voices. No signs of life. Just the echo of her bare feet on concrete and the occasional soft click of the man’s boots.

After several turns, they reached a staircase. It spiraled upward—tight, narrow, claustrophobic. Ryleigh’s legs burned as she climbed, but she kept going, step after step, driven by the sliver of curiosity wedging its way past her fear.

And then—they reached it.

A final iron door stood at the top, flanked by thick bolts and a keypad.

The man pressed something she couldn’t see, and the lock clicked.

The door opened.

Light spilled in—blinding after the hours, or days, spent in that underground tomb. Ryleigh flinched and raised a hand to shield her eyes. The brightness pierced her skull like a blade, sharp and painful. She staggered a step back, blinking hard.

The air changed too.

No longer thick and still, it rushed over her skin in a soft, fragrant wave. Grass. Pine. The faint scent of blooming flowers and distant rain. Fresh air.

She took a slow breath—and another—realizing just how starved her lungs had been. Her eyes adjusted by degrees, and the world came into focus.

A forest stretched beyond the hilltop entrance, wild and vast. Trees soared overhead, their leaves flickering in the breeze. Sunlight spilled through their branches in golden stripes. The sky was a deep, cloudless blue.

It was beautiful.

And she hadn’t even realized how much she missed the sky.

A lump rose in her throat. She couldn’t speak.

The man waited silently at her side. No rush. No threats. Just presence.

“Where… where are we?” she managed.

He looked ahead. “You’ll find out soon.”

Then he gestured for her to follow, and together they started across the grass, toward a large stone building in the distance. Nestled in the trees. Waiting.

Toward Margaret.

And, Ryleigh feared, toward answers she wasn’t ready to hear.