~ELENA~

The attic is a frozen shrine.

Boxes stacked against the walls, an old sofa, a broken mirror, a typewriter, doll houses with missing parts… but what makes my stomach twist is the wall covered in photos.

Not ordinary photos.

Photos of the triplets’ mother….with her face scratched out.

Scratched out violently, over and over, deep enough to tear the paper.

“What the hell…” I whisper.

A chill trickles down my spine.

Something glimmers in the corner of the room—an old wooden chest with a metal latch.

I go closer to it and take a good look at it. The letter “S” is written on it.

It must be her...