The hinges of the wooden chest creaked as Cherry slowly pried it open, her breath catching in her throat. Dust and the scent of aged paper filled the air, a stark contrast to the sterile luxury of the house that surrounded her. It was as though she had unlocked a piece of time, a secret her mother had left behind, tucked away where no one would find it.
Inside, neatly folded fabric lay on top—a delicate silk shawl, pale blue, its edges embroidered with golden thread. Cherry ran her fingers over the material, recognizing it from old photographs of her mother. It had been one of her favorites, always draped elegantly over her shoulders.
Beneath the shawl, there were stacks of papers tied with faded ribbons. Her fingers trembled as she pulled out a small bundle of yellowed letters, their edges curling with time. The handwriting on the envelopes was delicate and familiar.
Her mother's.
Cherry's chest tightened as she untied the ribbon, her hands shaking as she unfolded the first letter.
"My dearest Ethan,
I saw you today, standing in the garden, lost in thought. You always look so far away, as if you exist in a world that I cannot reach. I wonder if you know how much I long to be part of that world. I wonder if you ever truly see me."
Cherry's fingers clenched around the fragile paper. The words were raw, filled with unspoken longing. She swallowed hard, moving on to the next letter.
"Ethan, today was our anniversary. I don't think you remembered. That's alright. I told myself from the beginning that love isn't always about what is returned—it's about what is given freely."
Her vision blurred. These letters had never been sent.
One after another, they spoke of a woman who had loved with her entire heart but had never received the love she had hoped for in return. Anaya had poured her soul onto these pages, writing letters she had never dared to give to Ethan.
A sharp lump formed in Cherry's throat.
Why had her mother never sent them? Had she feared his indifference? Or had she known, deep down, that nothing would ever change?
As Cherry carefully set the letters aside, her gaze landed on something beneath them—a stack of old paintings.
Her breath caught as she pulled them out, one by one.
The first was a portrait of her father, younger, his dark hair tousled, his sharp blue eyes full of determination. It was beautifully detailed, painted with delicate brushstrokes that captured him in a way Cherry had never seen before. There was no coldness, no distance—just a quiet intensity, a kind of admiration that made her heart ache.
Her mother had painted him with love.
She flipped through more paintings—some of landscapes, some of flowers, but each one carried the same softness, the same warmth. These were the things her mother had loved. The things she had wanted to preserve.
At the bottom of the chest, something small and metallic glinted in the dim light.
A ring.
Cherry's breath hitched.
She picked it up carefully, recognizing it immediately. Her mother's wedding ring.
It was simple, elegant, with a small gemstone embedded at its center. But something was off. As she turned it over in her palm, she noticed something engraved on the inside of the band.
To my beloved Anaya.
Cherry's lips parted.
Her father had engraved this?
But if he had, why had her mother hidden it away?
A shiver ran down her spine as her gaze fell on the last object in the chest.
A diary.
Bound in deep red leather, its edges were worn with time. Cherry's pulse quickened as she reached for it, her fingers brushing over the cover.
This was it.
The truth.
She took a deep breath, carefully opening it—
THUMP.
A loud sound echoed from the hallway outside, making her jolt.
She snapped the diary shut, her heart hammering in her chest.
Footsteps.
Someone was out there.
Cherry's hands tightened around the diary as she rose to her feet. Slowly, she moved toward the door, pressing herself against it, listening.
"…You have no right to be here."
Her father's voice. Cold. Sharp.
Cherry's breath caught. Who was he talking to?
"I came to see Anaya. Not you."
Her uncle.
Cherry's stomach twisted. Her uncle had already visited earlier. Why had he come back?
She leaned in closer, barely daring to breathe.
"You act as if you ever truly cared about her," her father continued, his voice low, but laced with something dangerous.
Her uncle let out a sharp laugh. "And you act as if you ever loved her."
Silence.
Cherry's pulse pounded in her ears.
Then, her uncle spoke again, his voice colder this time.
"She deserved better, Ethan."
Cherry could hear the tension in her father's silence. And then—
"I never asked her to love me."
The words were like a slap.
Cherry's breath hitched as she pressed a hand against the door.
Her uncle let out a sharp exhale. "No, you didn't. And that's the worst part, isn't it?"
Another silence. Then—footsteps, retreating down the hall.
A door closed.
Cherry swallowed hard.
She knew her father and uncle weren't close, but she had never truly understood why. Until now.
Her uncle had always carried a bitterness toward Ethan—a resentment that went beyond mere disagreements. It was about Anaya.
Cherry turned her gaze back to the chest, her heart still racing.
There was more to this than she had ever realized.
Her father had never asked her mother to love him.
But she had.
And now, Cherry was holding the proof of that love in her hands.
Slowly, she turned her gaze back to the diary.
The answers were inside.
And tomorrow, she would read them.