The first thing I noticed was the basement door. It was always locked, a jarring contrast to the rest of the warm, slightly messy house filled with crayon drawings and toy piles. When I asked Daniel about it, he gave a practical, dismissive answer about storage, old tools, and keeping the girls away from dangerous paint cans. It made sense at the time, so I let it go. But children have a way of gravitating toward the things we try to hide. I began to notice a strange pattern: Grace would often linger in the hallway, staring at the brass knob when she thought I wasn’t looking. Emily would drift toward it and then scurry away with the guilty look of a child who had nearly spoiled a surprise.
