Chapter 2 You Look Too Much Like Her

I washed the frosting off my face in the kitchen sink.

My hands were shaking, I didn't cry.

I told myself not to cry, I had cried enough in this house.

I didn't hear him come in, but I felt him standing behind me.

Caleb Langford.

My sister's husband, My husband now. Tall Quiet Dressed in black, as always.

That was her dress, he said.

His voice was low. Tired Cold.

I didn't know, I said again. I just picked it from the closet.

You should've changed.

I turned to face him. "It's my birthday."

He looked at me for a long time. His eyes weren't angry but they weren't kind either.

You looked just like her, he said quietly too much like her."

I stepped back, Then maybe you should've married someone else.

He walked closer Slowly, I didn't move.

This marriage was supposed to be simple, he said. No emotions No trouble, Just take care of Ash That was the deal.

I've done everything for him, I said. And he hates me.

He's seven. Caleb said, He's hurting

He told me I should've died instead of her.

Caleb said nothing.

That silence hurt more than words.

He stepped closer reached out, and touched my face wiping a spot of frosting from my cheek.

His fingers stayed there too long.

You even smell like her, he whispered Rosewater.

I pulled away, Stop it.

He didn't.

He leaned in like he was about to kiss me but I turned my head.

Do you want me? I asked. Or do you just want her back?

He stared at me, breathing heavy. Then he stepped back.

I have work to do, he said.

He turned and walked out of the kitchen.

Left me standing there alone again.

I listened to his footsteps fade down the hallway toward his study the one room in the house I was never invited to enter. The door closed with a soft click that seemed to echo through the empty kitchen.

I wiped the last smudge of frosting from my cheek and looked at my reflection in the window. The sun had begun to set, casting the kitchen in shadows that made me look older, tired. Or maybe that wasn't the shadows at all.

I thought about what Ash had said earlier about a letter in the attic. Clara's words, waiting for me. The thought sent a shiver down my spine.

In the three months since the funeral, I had avoided any deep investigation into my sister's life. It felt wrong, intrusive. But now I wondered if I'd been deliberately kept in the dark.

I made my way upstairs quietly, The house was large six bedrooms, three bathrooms a finished attic Too big for a family of three. Too big for what remained of them.

The door to Ash's room was slightly ajar. I peeked in to find him sitting on his bed, drawing furiously in a notebook, He didn't look up but I knew he sensed my presence.

I'm sorry about the cake,I said softly.

No response.

I'll make another one tomorrow. We can decorate it together if you want.

His pencil stopped moving, My mom always made my birthday cakes She never bought them.

I didn't buy it either, I baked it myself.

He finally looked up at me, His eyes so much like Clara's were red rimmed Did you use her recipe?

The question caught me off guard No. I didn't know she had a recipe.

She wrote them all down in a blue notebook. Dad keeps it in his desk drawer, He returned to his drawing She said recipes are like memories you can taste.

My throat tightened, It sounded exactly like something Clara would say.

Ash, I said carefully, can you tell me more about what you found in the attic? The letter?

His pencil moved faster across the page, It's in a wooden box with flowers carved on it. Behind the Christmas decorations.

Thank you. I hesitated, then asked, Do you want to come with me to look for it?"

He shook his head without looking up, Dad doesn't like me going up there Says it's dangerous.

The warning in his voice was clear. Whatever was in that attic, Caleb didn't want anyone poking around.

I waited until after dinner a silent, tense affair where Caleb barely looked at me and Ash pushed his food around his plate. Once they had both retreated to their rooms, I quietly made my way to the pull down attic stairs in the upstairs hallway.

The steps creaked under my weight as I climbed. The attic was dark, illuminated only by the faint moonlight filtering through the small window I pulled the string on the bare bulb hanging from the ceiling, and yellow light flooded the space.

Boxes were stacked neatly against the walls labeled in Clara's flowing handwriting. Wedding. Baby clothes. Christmas Photos.

I moved to the Christmas boxes and looked behind them. There, pushed against the wall, was a wooden box with delicate flower carvings across the lid.

I reached for it, my heart racing. As my fingers touched the worn wood, I heard a creak on the stairs behind me.

"What are you doing up here, Riley?

I turned to find Caleb standing at the top of the attic stairs, his face half in shadow. In his hand was a single red rose just like the ones Clara had carried on their wedding day. Just like the ones that had covered her casket.

I asked you a question, he said, stepping closer. What are you looking for?

I clutched the box to my chest, The truth.

His eyes fixed on the wooden box and something flashed across his face anger Fear.

Some truths are better left buried, he said quietly.

Like how the fire started? I challenged.

He went very still. What has Ash been telling you?

Enough to make me wonder. My fingers found the latch on the box. Clara tried to call me the night before she died She was upset. Said she needed to tell me something important.

Caleb stepped closer, the rose hanging limply at his side. Don't open that box, Riley.

Why not?

Because once you do, there's no going back. His voice dropped to almost a whisper, And I can't lose you too.

The way he said it made my blood run cold Not with fear, but with something else entirely. Something I wasn't ready to name.

I looked down at the box in my hands, then back at Caleb. Did you kill my sister?

He didn't answer. Instead, he held out the rose to me, its petals dark red in the dim light.

Happy birthday, Riley, he said.

And as I reached for the flower, a single drop of something dark fell from its stem onto the wooden floor.

It wasn't water