HANNAH

Entry for January 15th, 1965

Diaries are stupid. I hate them. But I need you. I need your blank pages, and this ink I hold in my trembling hands. God forbid someone should find this and discover what I have hidden beneath the floorboards in my bedroom.

VIC

Entry for January 16th, 1965

I am frantic. I cannot breathe. Terrified to pen the confession hiding in my veins. What have I done? How could I have been so careless? I was so sure I had secured it safely—hidden away from all. Alas, I am a fool. My sins will surely find me out, as the Good Book declared it, and when my past finally catches up to me, I will perish.

HANNAH

Entry for January 18th, 1965

It has been three days. Three days since I made this terrifying discovery. The words have been seared into my brain. I cannot unsee them, though I have pleaded with God to wash my memory clean. To whom can I turn? There is none I deem trustworthy. The very souls who wander these halls are now strangers to me. This cannot be real, these nightmares I’m now living. May God take my life from me. Death is a sweet alternative to this.

VIC

Entry for January 18th, 1965

My thoughts plague me. Night and day I am consumed. Where do I go from here? How do I even begin to rectify this problem when I don’t even know who has possession of my secret? The clue I discovered tells me little of this person who now holds the power to destroy me. I can feel it burning my fingers as it sits in my palm. One blue ribbon, shiny and pristine. Who could its owner be? I imagine endless possibilities. A fine chap who used the ribbon as mark for the pages of his books. A mere school girl, innocent of what she had stumbled on and lifted from my satchel. I will not give thought to the third option tormenting my mind. I cannot conceive how it could be true…

HANNAH

Entry for January 21st, 1965

I am closed in my small attic, towering above those who insist on carrying out their facade. Smiling when I am around them. Laughing as though their secrets haven’t completely destroyed me. And destroy me, they have. I am beside myself, for today I discovered a new secret. The journal now rests on my writing desk, mere inches from where I sit. No longer hidden beneath the floorboards, we are not yet friends, but I must continue to peruse the contents within, which binds us in a most unfortunate companionship. I now know who owns the book. A confrontation is a must. I cannot quiet the storm in my chest. It refuses to subside. I must go to him.

VIC

Entry for January 22nd, 1965

Today I pine for what was lost. My tears slam the pages as I write my woes. I long for the child of my youth. This child whom I once cradled to my chest and shushed the wailing. I still see the day my world spun out of control and my hand was forced into making a decision. I can still hear the words that forever altered my being. “She will never belong to you, Vic. She will never know you. I wish I had never known you.”

HANNAH

Entry for January 27th, 1965

I will not confront them. Let them continue to think I am an ignorant fool. I see it now. I look nothing like my father. In my heart of hearts I believe I have known the truth all this time. In my sixteen years of living, I have learned enough to trust the whispers of my heart. Today I did a horrid thing by sneaking Mother’s keepsake box from beneath her bed, but I am glad I made the choice to do so. My true father—this hidden mystery—was a handsome boy. I favor his eyes and feel I have his nose. My heart no longer screams from panic. A curious warmth has replaced the feeling. I long to know him, and know him I shall. On the back of the picture was this name: Victor Manuel. I will find him. And when I do, there will be no more secrets.

VIC

February 22, 1965

My pen has been discarded. My heart is in my throat. My daughter stands before me, beautiful, and seeking answers. God, help us both…