My stomach dropped.
Because suddenly I realized…
Daniel hadn’t locked it with some special security system.
He had only locked it to keep people away.
The door slowly opened.
The hinges screamed.
A wave of cold air hit my face.
Then came the smell.
Stronger.
Closer.
My hand flew over my mouth.
The basement was dark.
The only light came from the small window near the ceiling.
I stepped down one stair.
Then another.
“Hello?”
My voice sounded unfamiliar.
No answer.
I turned on the basement light.
And then I saw it.
A room.
Not storage.
Not junk.
A room.
A room that looked like someone had been living there.
There was a small bed.
A chair.
A table.
Children’s drawings taped to the wall.
And on the table…
A framed photograph.
I walked closer.
My heart was pounding.
Because the woman in the picture was smiling.
She was holding little Emily and Grace.
It was Rachel.
Daniel’s dead wife.
But that wasn’t what made my blood run cold.
It was the date written on the back of the frame.
A date that made absolutely no sense.
Because the photo had been taken…
Two years after Daniel told me Rachel had died.
I dropped the frame.
My hands started shaking uncontrollably.
“No…”
I whispered.
“No, no, no…”
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