FLASHBACK ENDS
The sunlight spilled through the dusty windowpane, casting golden lines across the wooden floor. Rose stood still, her fingers gently resting on the window frame, as if trying to touch time itself. Everything looked the same, but she felt entirely different — older, stronger… and yet, uncertain.
It had been years since she'd last stood in this house. Years since she'd heard the creak of the old floorboards beneath her feet, or smelled the faint scent of lavender and something metallic that always lingered in the walls.
She didn't hear her aunt approaching at first. But then, soft footsteps echoed behind her, followed by a familiar voice — weaker, more fragile now.
"Rose," Aunt Marian whispered.
Rose turned slowly. Her aunt looked pale, worn, her once-proud shoulders now hunched with age and something heavier — guilt.
"I didn't think you'd come back," Marian said, offering a half-smile that didn't reach her eyes.
"I wasn't planning to," Rose replied quietly.
There was a pause — one of those thick silences that carry weight and meaning.
"I have something to tell you," Marian said, her voice trembling. "Before… before I go. My heart isn't what it used to be. I don't have much time, and you deserve to know the truth before I leave this world."
Rose's heart skipped. She didn't move, didn't speak. But her eyes narrowed — just slightly. She didn't trust this woman. Not anymore.
Marian stepped forward, her eyes glistening now. "Your parents… they didn't die in an accident."
The words fell like a stone in still water, sending waves of cold through Rose's chest.
"What?" Her voice was barely above a whisper.
Marian took a shaky breath and sat on the edge of the old armchair near the window. "Your parents… they were murdered. By me. By Mr. Whitlock. And by Ms. Moore."
Rose staggered back as if struck.
"We wanted the estate," Marian continued, her voice hollow. "Your father was planning to move away. He wanted to sell everything — leave Greyson. He didn't want the family home, didn't care about the land. But I did. I thought it was owed to me. After everything. And Whitlock… he had his own debts. Moore… well, she was always greedy. We made a plan. We sabotaged the brakes of their car that night. It wasn't fate. It was us."
Tears brimmed in Rose's eyes — not because of sorrow, but from rage trying to claw its way out.
"You knew," Marian said softly, meeting her eyes. "When you were just a little girl, you saw something that night. You drew it. Over and over again. In your sketchbook. You told me about the shadows and the voices and the sound of metal. I panicked. I couldn't risk you remembering. So I gave you something. A medicine. Something to make you forget."
Rose's breath caught. That strange syrup. The headaches. The fog that had hung over her for so many years. It all made sense now.
"You stole my memories," Rose whispered.
"I thought I was protecting you," Marian said, her voice cracking. "Or maybe I was protecting myself."
Rose backed away. Her hands trembled. She wanted to scream — to rage. But her voice was calm, and cold.
"And why did Jake?" she asked suddenly.
Marian looked up, surprised. "He found out. Not all of it, but enough. He was digging around — trying to protect you. He saw the danger. When Ms. Moore started getting nervous, she threatened to expose us unless we paid her more to stay quiet. She knew Jake was watching her. She panicked. Jake confronted her. It got out of hand. He didn't mean to kill her… but when he did, it was to protect you. Because we had started to fear you'd remember."
Tears slid down Rose's cheeks.
"You all thought I'd remember through my sketches," she said numbly.
Marian nodded. "Your hands remembered, even when your mind didn't. The things you drew… they were close. Too close."
"And Jake?" Rose asked. "Why didn't he tell me?"
"He tried," Marian admitted. "He left hints. That tattoo? It wasn't just a mark — it was a symbol of the truth he carried. But he couldn't let you remember too fast. He was scared it would shatter you. He wanted to protect you from the darkness… even if it meant keeping you silent."
Rose's knees felt weak. She sank to the floor slowly, the truth crawling over her like a shadow.
Jake had never betrayed her. He had never used her. He was trying to protect her — from the monsters in her own home.
"I loved him," she whispered. "And I hated him for nothing."
Marian stood now, walking slowly to the door. "I don't ask for forgiveness. I just… I needed to tell you. The rest is yours to do with as you please."
Rose didn't answer. She stared at the floor, at the grains in the wood, at the shadows dancing on the walls. The silence was no longer empty. It was full of ghosts — full of voices, forgotten drawings, and the sound of brakes that had never failed by accident.
She looked up at the window again, and for the first time, she saw it not as a place of retreat… but a stage where a buried truth had waited all these years to rise.