When Grandma died, she left me her house—along with a single, strange note. It read:
“Burn everything in the attic.”
I didn’t listen. And what I found up there would destroy everything I thought I knew about my family.
I’d always known I’d end up alone one day… but I didn’t think it would happen so soon.
One moment, Grandma Elinor was still here. The next—bam—she was gone.
Mom died when I was ten. Dad? Never met him. But Grandma… she was my world. I’d been by her side those last six months in the hospital. Every single day. Every night.
After the funeral, I found myself in the lawyer’s office, bracing for whatever news Grandma had left behind.
The lawyer opened a folder and smiled gently.
“Elinor left you a residential home. Fully. No debts.”
Then he pulled something from a drawer and handed it to me.
“She also left you a personal letter.”
I unfolded it slowly. The handwriting was a little shaky, ink smudged like she’d been in a hurry:
“Marie. If you’re reading this, it means I couldn’t make it back home. Burn everything you find in the attic. Don’t look. Don’t open. Just burn it. It’s important. I love you. Grandma.”
“What…?” I murmured aloud.
The lawyer tilted his head.
“Something wrong?”
“She wanted me to… burn the attic?”
“That’s not a legal instruction. Not part of the will—just her personal request.”
I left without another word, walking the whole way home. When I reached our quiet street, the silence around the house felt heavy—like it knew I was alone now.
I glanced upward. The hallway ceiling hatch stared back at me. The attic. The one Grandma warned me about.
I gave a crooked smile. “Feels like I’m in some strange movie.”
I pulled the ladder down. Whatever Grandma was protecting me from… maybe I needed to see it.
“I’m sorry, Grandma,” I whispered, climbing up.
The hatch creaked open. A wall of dust hit my face, making me sneeze.
I didn’t realize it then, but this was the moment I made the biggest mistake of my life.
I stayed in the attic much longer than I planned—hours, maybe more. Box after box, piece after piece of Grandma’s life surrounded me.
There were old birthday cards I’d made as a kid, with stick figures and wobbly hearts. Hairpins. Buttons in tiny jars. A broken clock. Photo albums that smelled like the past.
Tears slid down my face as I whispered, “Why did you want me to burn this, Grandma? This is you. This is us.”
I heard her voice in my mind:
“Don’t throw that out, Marie! That’s from the first cake we baked—the one you salted instead of sugared!”
Another memory came back:
“Careful with those mittens, honey. I knit them when your mom was your age.”
Everything felt full of love… until I found the chest.
It was old, heavy, scratched, and sealed with a rusted lock. I’d never seen it opened—not once, not in all my years of playing and hiding up here.
“The key…” I muttered.
I knew exactly where to look. Grandma’s jewelry box. The one she kept beside her bed.
I rushed downstairs, yanked open the drawer, and there it was—a tiny, rusted key. My hands shook as I ran back up.
The key slid into the lock with a click. Inside, there were yellowed envelopes tied with twine, faded photographs, and papers.
One photo made my breath catch—it was me as a little girl, holding the hand of a man I didn’t know.
On the back, in Grandma’s neat handwriting:
“My son and my granddaughter. Thomas and Marie.”
My heart thundered. There were more photos. And letters—dozens. All addressed to Grandma’s house. All from before I was five years old.
I picked one up:
“Please, Mom. Let me see her. I miss her laugh. Just one hour. Please.”
Another read:
“It’s been months. Does she still ask about me? Does she remember my voice?”
I clutched the paper, my eyes burning. “Grandma… why did you keep him from me?”
The last letter was from the year I turned five—the same year we moved houses. And just like that… the letters stopped.
Grandma had hidden me from her own son. But why?
I slipped one letter into my coat pocket. “I’m going to find you, Dad. If you’re still out there… I need to know.”
I didn’t realize Grandma had locked that chest to protect me.
I used the address from the letters and found his house.
When the door opened, the man from the photo stood there. His eyes widened.
“Marie?”
I nodded. He laughed, grabbed me, and spun me around like I was still five.
“I can’t believe it. My little girl!”
We went to a pizzeria nearby. He told stories, smiled endlessly, and watched me like I might disappear.
But he never invited me into his house. When I suggested staying outside on the porch, he waved it off.
“Let’s go to your place instead. Maybe stop by Grandma’s grave tomorrow. You don’t mind, do you?”
“It’s late… it’s 80 miles away,” I said.
“I’d really prefer to drive tonight,” he replied, smiling politely but firmly.
That should have been my first warning.
But I was too happy. Too hungry for affection. Too eager to believe I had a father now.
We drove to my place. He said he was tired, so I made the couch for him and went to bed.
That night, I woke to creaking upstairs. The couch was empty.
I grabbed a flashlight and climbed the attic ladder.
“Dad?”
“Why aren’t you sleeping?” he snapped.
“I heard noises…”
“Then close your ears and go back to sleep! What are you, some spoiled princess?”
I froze. This wasn’t the man from the pizzeria. This was someone else entirely—someone tearing through Grandma’s chest, tossing things onto the floor.
“Dad… what are you looking for?”
“None of your business, kid. Go to sleep.”
“Why are you talking to me like this?”
He laughed bitterly.
“Oh yes. Here it is. No more sneaking into my girlfriend’s place while her husband’s gone. No more sleeping in her shed.”
“What?”
“You’ll just cook, clean, and do your chores. Daddy’s moving in now. Be a good little daughter.”
“You should leave.”
“Oh no, sweetheart. Your grandma kept the money and this house from me for years. Now I’ve got the documents—half of this house is mine.”
“No! Grandma left it to me. I have the will.”
“She lied. We bought it together, in both our names. She just told you I was gone.”
“There must’ve been a reason…”
“Your mother died, she blamed me. She was sick. I had a drink now and then, but that wasn’t my fault.”
“So Mom got sick because of you?”
“Don’t start with that! I live here now. You listen to me, or find another place to live.”
He clutched the paper like it was gold.
“Daddy’s home.”
For a week, I lived beside that lie—pretending, avoiding, hoping he’d leave. But he didn’t. He smoked in the kitchen, changed the locks, barked orders.
I cried once. Then never again.
If he could dig into my grandmother’s life, I could dig into his.
I went back to the house he wouldn’t let me enter. A young woman answered the door.
“Hi… I’m Marie. I think we might be related.”
Her eyes darkened.
“He found you?”
I nodded.
“Come in.”
Inside, she handed me water and gave a bitter laugh.
“He told me you were his girlfriend.”
“What?!”
“He’s not my boyfriend. He’s my father. And I can’t get him to leave.”
My blood ran cold.
“I’m Olivia. Your… stepsister, I guess. But no time for that. We need to get rid of him.”
Two weeks later, we had a lawyer. We pooled savings, sold jewelry, and borrowed from neighbors.
Turns out, Grandma had updated the deed years ago. And legally, because my father abandoned the property and didn’t maintain it for over 15 years, his claim was gone.
He was also wanted—for theft, assault, violating a restraining order. It didn’t take much to have him removed.
The court ordered him out, sentenced him to community service, and put him under supervision.
After all my years wishing for a father, I finally understood—some men don’t deserve the title.
Outside the courthouse, Olivia smiled softly.
“I always wanted a sister.”
I squeezed her hand.
“I always wanted to stop feeling alone.”
We walked away—two women, free at last. No longer daughters of a monster.