Chapter 2: What Was Hidden Under My Floor
I stayed silent for almost a full minute.
Diane kept saying my name through the phone, but I barely heard her.
My mind was racing.
What could possibly be inside that bedroom?
My old clothes?
My documents?
Something I had forgotten?
No.
The fear in my father’s voice told me it was something else.
Something bigger.
“What did you find?”” I finally asked.
Nobody answered.
That scared me more than anything.
“Dad?””
The phone shifted.
I heard him take a shaky breath.
“Can you just come here?””
I looked at the house behind me.
My house.
The first place I had ever owned.
The first place where nobody could tell me I didn’t belong.
“No.””
Diane immediately started crying harder.
“Please don’t do this.””
I almost couldn’t believe what I was hearing.
Don’t do this.
The same woman who had packed my bags for me emotionally three days earlier was asking me for compassion.
“Diane,” I said slowly, “you told me I wasn’t family.””
“I was angry.””
“You meant every word.””
“I didn’t.””
“You watched me leave.””
Her breathing became uneven.
“I know.””
“And Dad watched too.””
That was when the line went quiet.
Because she knew.
He knew.
They both knew exactly what they had done.
Finally, my father spoke.
“You deserve an explanation.””
I stared at the driveway.
“Then explain.””
He hesitated.
“I can’t over the phone.””
That answer made my skin crawl.
“What happened?””
Another pause.
Then he said something that made my stomach drop.
“The room wasn’t empty.””
I frowned.
“What does that mean?””
Diane interrupted.
“There was something behind the wall.””
The words hung between us.
Behind the wall.
I remembered the master bedroom.
The wall behind my dresser.
The wall I had painted myself two years earlier.
“What did you find?””
My father’s voice became almost a whisper.
“Come home and see.””
I should have refused.
Every part of me wanted to refuse.
But curiosity is a powerful thing.
And so is the need to know why the people who abandoned you suddenly look terrified.
Forty minutes later, I was standing outside the house I had left.
The same front door.
The same porch.
But somehow it felt like someone else’s home.
Diane opened the door.
She looked completely different.
Three days ago, she stood there with confidence.
Now she looked exhausted.
Her makeup was smudged.
Her hands wouldn’t stop shaking.
Lily stood behind her.
Her eyes were red.
She looked like she hadn’t slept.
Nobody said hello.
Nobody hugged me.
Nobody pretended things were normal.
My father appeared in the hallway.
“Thank you for coming.””
I looked at him.
“I didn’t come because you asked.””
He lowered his eyes.
“I know.””
That was the first honest thing he had said in years.
He led me upstairs.
Every step brought back memories.
The hallway where I used to hang Christmas decorations.
The bathroom where I cried after my mother died.
The bedroom door at the end of the hall.
My old bedroom.
Diane stopped before opening it.
“Before you see this…”
She swallowed.
“I need you to understand something.””
I crossed my arms.
“What?””
She looked at me.
“I never knew.””
I said nothing.
She opened the door.
The room looked almost the same.
But my furniture was gone.
My bed had been moved.
My dresser was pushed against another wall.
And behind where my dresser used to stand was a large hole.
A section of drywall had been removed.
Inside the wall was a small metal box.
My father walked over and picked it up.
“It was hidden here.””
I stared at the box.
“Who put it there?””
Nobody answered.
My father placed it on the bed.
The lock was broken.
Inside were papers.
Old photographs.
A flash drive.
And an envelope.
My name was written across the front.
My blood ran cold.
My handwriting.
I knew it immediately.
I picked up the envelope.
“When did I write this?””
Diane looked away.
“That’s why we came.””
I opened it carefully.
Inside was a single piece of paper.
The words were faded.
But I recognized them.
Because they were mine.
A memory came rushing back.
I was twenty-five.
My mother had been gone for years.
I was still struggling with the emptiness she left behind.
One night, I had found an old box of her belongings in the attic.
Inside was a journal.
A journal I wasn’t supposed to read.
I remembered sitting on the floor for hours.
I remembered crying.
Because my mother had written about secrets she had discovered before she died.
Secrets about my family.
Secrets about my father.
But I had never told anyone.
I had hidden everything.
Until now.
I looked up.
“What did you open?””
My father looked away.
Diane answered.
“We found the box after Lily moved your furniture.””
I looked at Lily.
She flinched.
“I didn’t know,” she whispered.
“Then what happened?””
Lily’s eyes filled with tears.
“Mom was moving the dresser, and we heard something fall.””
Diane looked at the floor.
“The wall was already weak.””
I stared at the papers.
“You read this?””
Nobody spoke.
That was answer enough.
My father stepped closer.
“There’s something else.””
He picked up the flash drive.
“When we opened this…”
He stopped.
His face changed.
“What?””
He looked at me.
“It had a video.””
My heart started beating faster.
“A video of what?””
My father didn’t answer immediately.
Instead, he looked toward the hallway.
Like he was afraid someone else might hear.
Then he said:
“A video your mother recorded the night before she died.””
The room went completely silent.
My fingers went numb.
My mother.
A video.
After all these years.
A thousand questions hit me at once.
Why was it hidden?
Why was my name on the envelope?
Why did my mother leave something behind?
And why had my father looked more afraid than sad?
I picked up the flash drive.
“Where’s the laptop?””
Diane looked at my father.
My father looked at Diane.
Then Lily whispered something that made my entire body freeze.
“Because the video wasn’t only about your mother.””
May you like
She looked at me with tears in her eyes.
“It was about Dad.””
