As my aunt and I drove into the quiet neighborhood of Evergreen Valley, I couldn’t help but focus on the greenery. It was a sharp contrast from the bustling streets of Detroit, Michigan. My aunt and her sister, my mom, used to live here before they moved to Michigan.

My aunt, Preston, glanced at the rearview mirror with her hazel eyes and noticed my furrowed brows, “You alright, Cass?”

My attention refocused at her. I adjusted my position and nodded, “Yeah.” Leaning back into my seat, I put in my earbuds and looked out the window.

The black car soon pulled to a stop on the driveway of a one-story, navy blue house. Aunt Preston got out of the car and I soon followed. I gently slammed the car door and opened the trunk, grabbing two small bags, mine and hers.

“Be a dear and get your parents’ bags? I wanna put them in the attic first before we do anything.” She pointed at a dusty box while struggling to hold her heavy bag.

I grabbed the box and opened the door just like a football player would tackle a training dummy. As I found my way towards the hallway, my arms put the box down, and reached for the string that lowered the attic ladders. I cautiously climbed up with the huge box since they looked old and ricketty.

My eyes gazed around the suprisingly clean space. Stepping onto the floor with my boots, I accidentally tripped on the box, causing its contents to spill over. I winced, picking it back up and grabbed some of the stuff. Before I could finish, something caught my eye.

It was an envelope that was covered in coffee stains. On the back, it read, ‘To my love, Verena, May 22, 1993’ in scrawled writing. Verena was my mom’s name. Curiously, I opened the letter carefully. My hands unfolded the creased paper and read it.

“Verena, the world isn’t safe anymore. They’re tracking me down and I hope I can make it in time. Be strong for Cassandra, I love you. Signed, Owen Robinson.”

Without a second thought, I dug through the box with my knees up. My inquisitive mind had to be fed with more information. When I was little, my aunt once told me that my dad died before I was born and no one knew why. Maybe this was the missing part of that mystery.

I found three more letters in the chronological order before May 22. Before I could study them further, I heard my aunt call, “Cass! Where are you? I need help getting the other ones down!”

My brows furrowed and I shoved the letters into my pocket. Climbing down the ladder, I heard a thud from outside. I rushed out, only to find that Aunt Preston dropped a box. My legs crouched down and helped her picking it up.

As I held the box, I carefully pulled out the letters, “Aunt Preston? What are these?” I handed them to her.

She turned around to look at me. Her face twisted into a quizzical expression, “Where did you… find those?” Her tone was almost wary, one that made my spine tingle. Did she know what happened to my dad?

“I found them in my folks’ box.” I started slowly. Aunt Preston nodded with shrunken pupils. I blinked and rushed into the house. I needed to know what she knew.

As I unpacked my clothes inside the box, my mind swirled with a bunch of questions. I glanced behind me, making sure Aunt Preston wasn’t there. My hands grabbed the wrinkly envelope, scanning the words, ‘To Owen, love Verena. December 1, 1991.’

“Happy Hanukkah, my love! Wish you could have been here for the first menorah lighting. Doctor says Cassandra is doing amazing. I’ve stored something in your lunch box. Love, Verena.”

My eyes widened. Soon as night fell, I snuck into the attic. I grabbed the box where my parents’ stuff was held and scourged through. I found my mother’s diary. ‘Keep out, Preston!’ it read. Stuffing it into my jacket, my eye caught a glimpse of a locket.

Holding it up, I snapped it open and there was a small, black and white photograph of my mom and my dad smiling while holding a baby. That was me.