PART 2: BENEATH THE FLOORBOARDS
A thick, damp odor of earth and stale air rushed up the stairwell, making my stomach twist in immediate anxiety.
I pulled out my phone, clicked on the flashlight, and slowly guided the beam down the steep wooden steps into the darkness.
Grace squeezed my fingers, pointing her tiny index finger toward a small, dimly lit corner at the far end of the basement floor.
“Mommy’s room is right down there,” she whispered, her voice echoing unnaturally in the vast, hollow subterranean room.
Step by step, I descended the creaking stairs with the girls hovering nervously behind me at the very top of the landing.
As the light hit the back wall, my jaw dropped—instead of junk, I saw a carefully arranged living space filled with old dresses, photo albums, and a tiny makeshift bed.
Resting on top of a central table was an unopened wooden box wrapped in heavy chains, surrounded by recent handwritten letters in Daniel’s handwriting.
(The shocking truth inside the letters is about to be exposed! Click “Next Page” to continue reading…)
