Chapter 6 - The House Where Her Past Was Buried
A woman’s voice came through the phone and whispered: "Delia, if Jesse takes you to that house, you will finally remember who betrayed you."
Delia stared at the message while Jesse watched her reaction.
But one thing on the photograph attached to the message made them both freeze: A child’s drawing taped to the old house window.
Three words were written beneath it: "Come home, Delia."
Jesse realized someone had been waiting for her to return for years.
The car was silent.
Too silent.
Delia sat in the passenger seat staring out the window while the city lights passed by.
Normally, she hated uncomfortable silence.
She filled empty spaces.
She apologized too much.
She explained herself even when nobody asked.
But tonight was different.
Tonight, every answer created another question.
Her entire life had become a collection of hidden doors.
And every person around her seemed to have a key.
Except her.
Jesse drove with both hands on the steering wheel.
His eyes stayed focused on the road.
But Delia noticed something.
He kept checking the rearview mirror.
Not once.
Not twice.
Constantly.
"You think someone is following us."
It was not a question.
Jesse glanced at her.
"Yes."
She nodded slowly.
"Good."
He looked surprised.
"Good?"
"At least you’re finally honest."
That sentence hurt him.
She could tell.
But she did not take it back.
"I’m sorry."
Jesse frowned.
"For what?"
"For trusting you."
The words were quiet.
But they landed harder than anger.
Jesse looked away.
"You shouldn’t apologize for that."
"Why?"
"Because I’m the one who made you believe I was someone else."
Delia looked at him.
"Who are you really, Jesse?"
He was silent for a long moment.
Then he answered.
"Someone who spends his life finding people before they disappear."
She waited.
"And your mother?"
His grip tightened on the steering wheel.
"I found her."
The answer made Delia freeze.
"What?"
"Years ago."
Her voice dropped.
"You found my mother?"
Jesse nodded.
"But I was too late."
The pain in his voice was real.
Not an act.
Not a performance.
Delia looked at him differently.
"Then why didn't you tell me?"
"Because she asked me not to."
"She knew about me?"
"Yes."
The answer came immediately.
Too immediately.
Delia turned toward him.
"She knew I existed."
"Yes."
"She knew where I was."
"Yes."
Her eyes filled.
"Then why didn't she come back?"
Jesse had no answer.
And that was the answer she hated most.
The car continued through the empty streets.
Finally, they reached the place.
A small house at the edge of the city.
Old.
Quiet.
Hidden behind tall trees.
Delia stared through the windshield.
Something inside her moved.
She had never seen this place before.
But some part of her recognized it.
The shape of the windows.
The front steps.
The wooden fence.
A memory buried so deep it felt like someone else’s.
"I know this place."
Jesse looked at her.
"You remember?"
She shook her head.
"No."
She touched the glass.
"I just..."
Her voice disappeared.
Jesse turned off the engine.
"We don’t have to go in."
Delia looked at him.
"Yes, we do."
He studied her face.
"You’re scared."
"Of course I am."
She looked at the house.
"But I’m more scared of never knowing."
They got out.
The night was quiet.
Too quiet.
Jesse moved slightly ahead.
Delia noticed immediately.
"You’re doing it again."
"What?"
"Protecting me."
"Yes."
"Stop."
He looked back.
"What?"
She stepped beside him.
"I don’t need you standing in front of me."
A pause.
Then she added:
"I need you standing with me."
For a moment, Jesse said nothing.
Then he nodded.
Together, they walked toward the house.
The front door was locked.
Jesse examined the frame.
"No forced entry."
Delia frowned.
"What does that mean?"
"It means whoever came here had a key."
Her stomach tightened.
"Someone still comes here?"
Jesse did not answer.
Because he noticed something on the door.
A small scratch.
A symbol.
The same broken circle from Clara’s necklace.
He touched it.
"Your mother used this symbol."
"Why?"
"To mark places she trusted."
Delia looked around.
"And this place?"
Jesse looked at the house.
"This was the most important one."
He reached into his pocket and pulled out a key.
Delia stared.
"Where did you get that?"
Jesse looked uncomfortable.
"Your mother gave it to me."
The anger returned immediately.
"She gave you the key to my childhood home?"
"Yes."
"And you never told me?"
"Because she made me promise."
Delia laughed softly.
"A promise."
She shook her head.
"Everyone keeps making promises around me."
Jesse looked at her.
"Delia."
"No."
She looked at the key.
"Open the door."
Jesse hesitated.
Then inserted the key.
The lock turned.
The door opened.
Slowly.
Inside, everything was exactly as if someone had left yesterday.
Not years ago.
A small table.
Old photographs.
A child’s toys.
A faded painting on the wall.
Delia stepped inside.
And immediately stopped.
Her breathing changed.
"What is it?"
Jesse asked.
She touched the wall.
"I remember."
He moved closer.
"What?"
"The sound."
"What sound?"
She closed her eyes.
"My mother singing."
For a moment, nobody spoke.
Then Delia walked deeper into the house.
Every step brought another fragment.
A red blanket.
A wooden chair.
A small box on a shelf.
She picked it up.
Her hands shook.
"What is this?"
Jesse looked.
A name was written on the top.
Not Delia.
Not her mother.
Another name.
A name she had never heard.
"Who is this?"
Before Jesse could answer, they heard something.
A noise upstairs.
A floorboard.
Someone walking.
Jesse immediately changed.
The warmth disappeared.
The protector returned.
"Stay here."
Delia grabbed his arm.
"No."
"Delia."
"No more secrets."
She followed him.
They climbed the stairs slowly.
Every step echoed.
At the end of the hallway was a closed door.
A child’s drawing was taped to it.
The same drawing from the photograph.
The same words.
Come home, Delia.
Jesse looked at the door.
His face became serious.
"That room was never supposed to be opened."
Delia stared.
"Why?"
He didn’t answer.
Because he heard something.
A voice.
From inside.
A woman.
Crying.
Delia stepped forward.
"Hello?"
The crying stopped.
Silence.
Then the door handle moved.
Slowly.
Someone was on the other side.
Jesse reached for Delia’s hand.
The door opened from inside.
May you like
And a voice whispered:
"I’ve been waiting for you, daughter..."
