Chapter 2 - Whispers in the Night
Dinner was a silent, agonizing affair. Helena sat at the head of the long dining table, slicing her roast beef with surgical precision, ignoring Sarah’s attempts at conversation. Unable to stomach the tension, Sarah excused herself early, retreating to her old bedroom on the second floor.
The room had been stripped bare, turned into a cold, lifeless storage space. Only her old wooden vanity remained. Restless and unable to sleep, Sarah tossed and turned as a violent summer storm began to lash against the windowpanes.
Around midnight, a strange sound broke through the rumble of thunder.
Thump. Thump. Creak.
It was coming from the attic directly above her ceiling. Sarah frowned. Her mother lived alone, and Helena’s bad knees made it impossible for her to climb the steep attic stairs.
Driven by an uneasy curiosity, Sarah grabbed her phone, using its flashlight to guide her way down the dark hallway to the attic door. To her surprise, the heavy padlock that had sealed the door for over a decade was unlocked, hanging loosely from the latch.
Heart pounding in her throat, Sarah pushed the door open and climbed the dusty stairs. The flashlight beam swept across stacks of old furniture and cardboard boxes. But in the far corner, something caught her eye.
May you like
A perfectly preserved wooden crib, draped in a pristine, hand-knitted pink baby blanket. Next to it was a small nightstand with a framed photograph. Sarah approached slowly, her breath hitching. The photo was of a young Helena, smiling warmly—a expression Sarah had never seen on her face—holding two identical newborn twin girls.
Sarah gasped, her hand flying to her mouth. She had never had a twin. She was an only child. Or so she had been told.
