EPILOGUE
The attic smelled of dust, old cedar, and long-forgotten memories.
A shaft of afternoon light slanted through a narrow window, cutting across stacks of cardboard boxes and bins labelled in Ava's precise handwriting.
"Christmas Decor," "Baby Clothes," "Old Journals."
Lily was now fifteen and much taller than Ava had ever expected. Her thick curls were pulled into a messy bun, and there was a quiet intensity in her dark eyes that reminded Ava of someone with a complicated past full of regrets and hidden identities.
She wore one of Alex's oversized sweatshirts and a pair of cutoff shorts, bare feet padding softly across the floorboards.
She wasn't looking for anything in particular. Just poking through the past, the way curious teenagers often do when the house is too quiet and the world outside feels far away.
She pulled out a weathered box marked only with her name: "Pearl."
