Chapter 25
Chapter Twenty-Five
Julianna
Moving isn’t exactly fun. I haven’t done it in several years for a reason. This time though, I left most of my belongings at the apartment, only bringing clothes and the essentials. After all, this is temporary. And even that feels like too much. The bulk of what I hauled here belongs to Rayne—boxes of her stuffed animals, toys, and fragments of a life that’s been packed and repacked too many times in too few months.
I want this place to feel different for her, a space where she can unpack and see everything she owns, laid out and hers, not crammed into boxes like an afterthought because my apartment is tiny. Even some of Elena’s things are here, pieces of her life I couldn’t bear to leave behind.
The first box I pull from the stack in Rayne’s room is marked Memories in Elena’s loopy handwriting. My fingers hesitate on the lid, the scrawl both familiar and foreign. It’s just a cardboard box, worn at the corners, the tape faded and peeling. But it feels like more than a box. Like it’s holding more than just belongings—it’s holding history. Secrets.
I know I shouldn’t hesitate. I should be unpacking, setting up the room so Rayne has something, anything, that feels like hers. But instead, I sit cross-legged on the new rug we unrolled this morning. The room smells faintly of fresh paint and the lavender cleaner I scrubbed into every corner yesterday. It’s still mostly bare—a bed frame without sheets, a dresser, a few empty shelves waiting to be filled.
My hands hover over the box before I tear the brittle tape, the sound unnervingly loud in the still room. The flaps fall open, revealing what’s inside.
On top is a framed photo of our mom. I pause as I pull it free, her smile catching me off guard. It’s wide and warm, her eyes crinkling at the corners like they always did when she was truly happy. The last time I saw this photo was at her funeral. I run my thumb along the edge of the frame, the glass cool against my skin. What’s it doing here? Why would Elena pack this away?
I set the photo aside, digging deeper. The next thing I find is a bundle of letters tied with a ribbon that’s frayed and faded with age. The paper is yellowed, the edges curling slightly, and the handwriting is unmistakably Mom’s.
My hands tremble as I untie the ribbon, the knot coming loose like it’s been waiting for this moment. The first thing I notice is the names on the envelopes: mine, Oscar’s, Elena’s. There’s even one addressed to all three of us.
I stare at the letters, my breath shallow, my pulse thrumming in my ears. Her voice is in those pages. Words she left behind, words I never expected to see.
I pick up the one meant for all of us, my fingers shaking so badly I almost drop it. The envelope is brittle, the paper threatening to crumble as I slide the letter free.
The first line hits me like a blow I didn’t see coming.
My loves, if you’re reading this, I’m already gone. But there are things I need you to know—things I didn’t say when I had the chance.
Her voice floods my mind, so clear, so alive it’s like she’s sitting beside me, speaking the words aloud.
My vision blurs, the edges of the room fading as I’m pulled into the letter. The paper feels too fragile in my hands, like it might disintegrate if I hold it too tightly, but I can’t let go.
I’m sorry for the times I failed you. For the moments I wasn’t enough. I tried—I want you to know that. I tried to give you everything, even when I didn’t have much to give.
The knot in my throat tightens, and I have to blink rapidly to keep the tears at bay.
Elena, my brave girl, I see so much of myself in you. I hope you find what makes you whole. I hope you find peace and stop lashing out so everyone hurts the way you hurt. Oscar, you’ve always been the glue that holds us together. I know you’ll be fine, take care of yourself and your little sister. And Julianna, my dreamer, my heart—I hope you never stop believing in the beauty around you.
Her words wrap around me, each one a mixture of comfort and pain, digging into places I’ve tried to ignore.
The words blur again, this time from tears welling in my eyes. I swipe at them angrily, my hands shaking as I fold the letter and place it back in the bundle. I can’t do this right now. Not when I’m sitting on the floor of Rayne’s room, surrounded by things she took and never gave back.
The next item I pull out is a scrapbook, the cover worn and peeling at the edges. Inside are photos of our childhood—birthdays, vacations, random candid shots of us playing in the backyard. There’s one of Elena and me sitting on the front porch, our knees scabbed, our faces smeared with dirt. She’s grinning, holding up a worm she’d just dug out of the garden, while I’m mid-shriek, my hands raised in protest.
I laugh bitterly. She kept all of this. All these pieces of our childhood, pieces of Mom, pieces of me. She packed them up, claimed them as hers, and left me with nothing. I still don’t understand why she did that. Why she had the right and not us.
My hands shake as I close the scrapbook and set it aside, my chest tight with anger and grief. How dare she? How dare she take all of this, hoard it like some kind of dragon guarding its treasure, and leave me in the dark? Did she think I didn’t care?
The questions swirl in my head, each one louder than the last, until they’re a cacophony I can’t ignore. I dig deeper into the box, pulling out more photos, more letters, more fragments of a life I thought I’d lost.
My hands land on a small jewelry box at the bottom of the pile. I open it to find Mom’s locket, the one she used to wear every day. When I open it, the picture of our family—all five of us is still there. The chain is tangled, the gold tarnished, but it’s unmistakable. I pick it up, the metal cool against my skin, and a sob escapes before I can stop it. This was mine. She promised it to me when I was ten, said she’d give it to me when I was older.
“Elena,” I whisper, the name slipping out like a curse and a prayer. I clutch the locket in my hand, the sharp edge of it pressing into my palm. “How can I forgive you for doing this to me? To Oscar?”
The anger burns hot and fast, consuming the grief that’s been sitting heavy in my chest since the day she died. I’m furious at her, furious at myself for not fighting harder, for not demanding more, for not being there when it mattered. And now it’s too late. She’s gone, and I’m left with a box of memories she stole from me and a million questions that will never be answered.
“Julianna, are you okay?”
The small voice pulls me back, and I look up to see Rayne standing in the doorway, her stuffed rabbit clutched tightly to her chest. Her eyes are wide, her expression wary, like she’s not sure if it’s safe to come closer.
I wipe my face quickly, forcing a smile that I know doesn’t reach my eyes. “Hey, Ray. What’s up?”
She doesn’t answer, just shifts her weight from one foot to the other, her gaze flicking to the open box beside me. I hesitate, then hold up the locket. “This was your grandma’s,” I say, my voice softer now. “Did your mom ever show it to you?”
Rayne shakes her head, her grip on the rabbit tightening. My heart aches as I realize how much she’s lost, how much she’ll never get to know about the woman who raised her, the family she came from. I set the locket back in the box and reach out to her, my hand hovering uncertainly.
I show her the picture of Mom. “This is her, my mom. She died when I was twenty-two. I still miss her.”
She gives me a sad smile, but maybe this is it. Maybe this is the one thing we have in common. We both lost our mothers.
“Do you want to help me unpack? We can go through some of these together.”
She hesitates, then nods slowly, stepping into the room. It’s a small gesture, but it’s enough to keep me from breaking apart completely. I’ll unpack the anger and the grief later. Right now, I’ll focus on her. On us. On the family we’re trying to build from the pieces Elena left behind.