CHAPTER SEVEN: COLT & CHAPTER EIGHT: THE BASEMENT

Lissa always said she married young because she found something rare—someone who saw her, even in the moments when she tried so hard to disappear. Colt was that someone.

They met in their early twenties, back when Lissa still carried her trauma like a second skin, soft-spoken and always bracing for the next emotional blow. But Colt? He was steady. Kind, but not naive. Protective, but never controlling. And most importantly, he loved her without trying to fix her.

Now, nearly a decade later, he still looked at her like she hung the stars.

She watched him from across the room as he wrestled with a squeaky cabinet door in the kitchen, his tool belt slung low on his hips, a pencil tucked behind one ear. He was tall and lean, all calloused hands and sun-worn freckles, with a quiet smile that made her heart ache in the best way.

Lucas sat nearby on the floor, lining up his toy trucks in perfect rows and talking non-stop about dinosaurs and the possibility of a “rock treasure” by the river. Colt nodded and asked questions like it was the most important conversation he’d ever had.

This was what Lissa clung to when the house began whispering to her again—memories from her childhood bleeding through the walls. She focused on the life she’d built, the love she still had.

Colt hadn’t hesitated when she suggested moving back to her hometown, even knowing what it meant.

“If it helps you sleep at night,” he’d said, brushing hair from her face. “Then it’s the right move for all of us.”

He never asked for the full story, though he knew there were parts she still couldn’t say out loud. But he didn’t need the details to offer his support—he trusted her judgment, always had.

“I know it’s not easy being here,” he said now, tightening a screw. “But I’m proud of you.”

Lissa smiled softly, her eyes glistening. “Thanks for not thinking I’m crazy.”

He stood, crossing the room and wrapping his arms around her waist. “You’re the bravest person I know, Liss. And you’re not alone. Not in this house, not in this town, not ever.”

And just like that, the shadows that lurked in the corners of her past seemed to recede for a moment.

Chapter Eight: The Basement

The basement door had always creaked the same way—long, slow, and aching, like it didn’t want to be opened. Lissa stood at the top of the stairs, her hand hovering just above the doorknob. It had been years since she’d stepped foot down there. Decades, even.

Lucas was at daycare, Colt was out running errands, and the house had fallen into that eerie kind of silence that made her skin prickle. Maybe that’s why she’d come to the door at all. Maybe part of her needed to remember. Or maybe it was because she’d heard something—faint but sharp—last night. Like something shifting beneath the floorboards.

She opened the door.

The scent hit her first. Damp concrete, rust, and something else… older. Forgotten. She took a slow step down, the wooden stairs groaning under her weight. The single lightbulb at the bottom cast long shadows that danced across the walls.

Boxes lined the far wall, stacked haphazardly. Some were labeled in her mother’s neat script, others untouched for years. She noticed one pushed far into the corner, hidden behind a rolled-up rug and a broken chair.

Curiosity tightened her chest.

She approached it, her fingers trembling slightly as she brushed off the dust. The box was unmarked. Inside were old photo albums, loose Polaroids, and a few objects wrapped in yellowed tissue. Her breath caught when she saw a familiar journal, one she hadn’t laid eyes on since she was fifteen.

Her hands shook as she opened it. Page after page of entries, some written in her mother’s hand… but a few were hers. Scrawled in angry, frightened lines.

She flipped through quickly—too quickly—and then stopped cold.

There was a name.

One letter.

T.

Lissa staggered back, suddenly chilled to the bone.

The box hadn’t been left behind by mistake.