Laura brought warmth into my life after Elise’s passing, and Tessa quickly bonded with her. “Daddy, she’s alright,” my daughter’s bright eyes seemed to say. After we married, we moved into Laura’s inherited Victorian home, where Tessa excitedly planned for “pink walls and rainbow curtains.”
Three weeks later, I left on a business trip, trusting Laura and Tessa were adjusting well. But when I returned early, Tessa clung to me, whispering, “New mom acts differently when you’re not here.” She spoke of strict rules, the locked attic, and eerie noises. My heart twisted.
That night, I questioned Laura. She dismissed the attic concerns: “It’s just dusty old stuff.” But late at night, I heard strange thuds and saw a glow from under the attic door. Something felt off.
Tessa’s fear deepened. She sobbed over harsh punishments, saying, “She took my toys because I left them on the floor!” I confronted Laura. She defended her strictness but wavered. “I just want stability,” she admitted, guilt flickering in her eyes.
I let it go—for now. But the locked attic, the noises, and Tessa’s fear lingered. Something wasn’t right.
