The house filled with little things again—cartoons in the morning, toys on the floor, school papers everywhere. It was chaotic, but it also felt alive.
After a few weeks, my sister asked if she could use the basement to organize some old items and clear space. I agreed, thinking it would help her feel more comfortable.
I didn’t pay much attention after that. I was busy, and I trusted her.
Three months later, my neighbor knocked on my door one morning.
“You might want to check your basement,” she said carefully.
Something about her tone made my stomach drop.
I walked outside and headed toward the basement entrance. Behind me, my sister rushed out, trying to stop me.
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