Chapter 1
Mia stood outside the house with the red door.
It didn’t feel so long ago that she’d stood beside her mother in that exact spot—she’d only been a little girl then, and she’d immediately wondered how difficult it would be to climb the magnolia tree.
Her mother had scolded her when she’d asked, and again when she’d reached up to touch the little gold sign fixed to the wall by the door.
But the sign that once announced Hope’s House was no longer there, and the front door that had once shone was now faded, the paint peeling.
The home had stood derelict for some years—owned by a charitable trust since her great-aunt’s passing—but it was soon to be demolished to make way for a new housing development.
Which was why Mia was here, invited by the trust to go through and make sure there was nothing of sentimental value left behind.
They’d given her a key to come and go as she pleased over the next couple of weeks, but she was hoping to find whatever she wanted to save today, and be done with it.
Mia put the key in the lock and turned it, stepping into a dusty yet perfectly preserved home.
The furniture was still here, all covered in plastic and earmarked to be given to a women’s shelter, but Mia had been told to take any personal effects she wanted, including Hope’s collection of art.
Otherwise, what was left would be cleared before the house was demolished.
Returning to visit so many years later was like a walk down memory lane, and Mia studied a large painting in the hallway.
She’d always liked it and made a mental note to request it, along with the other paintings in the house, before walking through to the kitchen.
Mia pulled the blinds up and stared out at the fading patio furniture, hating how overgrown the garden had become.
She remembered running around playing while her mother and Hope had coffee one afternoon.
Her great-aunt had told her that she loved nothing more than seeing a child enjoy the sunshine, barefoot on the grass, and she remembered thinking how nice Hope was, and not at all like most other old ladies she’d met.
But now the weeds were as tall as the grass, and the trees and hedges had grown unruly, the polar opposite of what they’d once been.
She had a look around the living rooms before heading back through the house and deciding to go upstairs.
The guest rooms that had once played host to the pregnant women who’d sought refuge there were mostly empty, save for the beds and wardrobes, but most interesting was the room Hope had used as her office.
Mia went in, glancing around and taking in the desk and shelves, but it was the rug that she couldn’t take her eyes off, and she had the overwhelming urge to roll it up and take it with her.
She didn’t know why, but something about the colours and the pattern resonated with her, and she found herself wanting to take something from Hope’s personal space.
But when she was barely halfway through rolling it, something caught her eye between two of the floorboards.
It was almost as if the boards didn’t match, and she gave one a gentle pull, her fingers easily slipping between the boards to do so.
What do we have here?
Mia bent lower, her knees protesting against the hardwood floor as she pulled up the other loose board and reached in.
There were seven small, dusty wooden boxes in a line, and when she reached in for the first one, she saw that there was a name tag attached to the string sealing it shut. Each one was the same, and each bore a different woman’s name.
Did Hope hide these down here?
Mia sat back and looked at each of the boxes, not quite sure what to do with her discovery. But as much as she wanted to open one of them to see what was inside, she couldn’t—it would have felt like opening another person’s diary. They’re not mine to open. They’ve been hidden here for a reason.
She would have to call the lawyer who’d handled Hope’s estate.
There was every chance he’d know what to do, and Mia had the strongest feeling that the boxes needed to be reunited with whomever they’d been left for.
Surely Hope wouldn’t have hidden them if they weren’t important?
But then again, she wondered if they were supposed to remain hidden if she’d gone to such lengths to ensure they could never be found.
Mia stood, looking around for a bag or something to put the boxes in, and deciding that she’d keep looking through the office in case there were more treasures hidden. But after looking everywhere, she couldn’t find anything more than papers and a worn, black leather diary.
Just look under the floorboards once more. Something kept directing her back towards the gap in the floor, and so Mia lowered herself to her knees again and reached around, using the torch app on her phone to see if there was anything else.
And then her fingers connected with another box, and a bottle.
She pulled them both out and sat back to look at them.
The smallish bottle had a green tinge to it, and there was a pretty, albeit old-fashioned, image of a fairy on the front.
She set it aside, deciding to take it with her since it had obviously held some importance for Hope to hide it, and then looked at the box.
It was different to all the others—it didn’t quite match in size and was made from a different, more greyish colour of wood, as if it might have been older—and this one bore no name.
Until she gently opened it and found a little card name tag inside, stating the name Hope.
The writing was different to that on the other boxes, too, and much to Mia’s disappointment, the box was otherwise empty.
Mia had no idea what any of it meant, but it had certainly piqued her curiosity, and she knew then and there that she was going to find a way to reunite those little boxes with their intended recipients, if she could.
They might have been long-buried, but if they’d been precious enough for Hope to hide away for safekeeping, then she knew only too well that they might contain an important link to the past. Perhaps even a memory that someone might not even know they were waiting for.
Besides, she was certain the lawyer had said that Hope kept meticulous records, which meant that there was every chance there would be a connection between the name on each box and someone on file.
Or at least, she hoped so.