The years passed.
I moved out.
The arguments faded because I stopped asking questions.
But Victor remained.
He was always there.
Sometimes he repaired loose steps on our porch.
Sometimes firewood mysteriously appeared after storms.
When my boots split open during high school, a nearly new pair appeared beside my backpack.
“Where did these come from?” I asked.
“Church donation,” Mom answered too quickly.
I glanced outside.
Victor was brushing snow from the front steps.
Even then, I didn’t understand.
My Mother’s Final Request
Cancer changed everything.
The woman who once carried heavy grocery bags with ease became fragile and thin.
Two weeks before she died, I sat beside her hospital bed.
She reached for my hand.
“Fiona.”
“I’m here, Mom.”
“You have to promise me something.”
I leaned closer.
“Rest. We can talk later.”
“No.”
Her fingers tightened around my wrist.
“Victor.”
Immediately, my stomach tightened.
“Not this again.”
“Promise me you’ll keep feeding him.”
I couldn’t hide my frustration.
“Why him? Why has it always been him?”
Tears filled her eyes.
“I never put him before you.”
“It felt like you did.”
Pain crossed her face.
“I know. And I’m sorry.”
“Then tell me why.”
Instead of answering, she looked toward the door.
“If Mark comes around after I’m gone, don’t let him touch the blue box.”
I frowned.
“Uncle Mark?”
“Promise me.”
“What does Mark have to do with Victor?”
Her grip tightened.
“He’ll erase him completely.”
“Erase who?”
“Please, Fiona.”
I wanted answers.
Instead, I saw fear in her eyes.
And so I made the promise.
A few days later, she was gone.
The Blue Box
After the funeral, relatives filled the house.
Among them was my Uncle Mark.
I caught him sorting through my mother’s belongings.
“What are you doing?” I asked.
“Helping.”
“By going through her things?”
His calm smile appeared instantly.
“The house needs organizing.”
“I’ll decide what stays.”
His smile faded.
Then I remembered what Mom had said.
“The blue box.”
Mark’s expression changed.
Only for a second.
But I saw it.
“What did Stephanie tell you?” he asked carefully.
“Enough.”
His eyes narrowed.
“Leave old pain buried, Fiona.”
That warning stayed with me.
The Truth Begins to Surface
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