The Apartment in Sedona
Clara’s apartment felt like a museum dedicated to a stranger. Ten years of her life had passed without my knowing a single detail. Mark was nowhere to be seen; Dad mentioned they had broken up barely a year after the betrayal. Serves them right, I thought bitterly, taping up a heavy cardboard box.
Dad was in the kitchen sorting through dishes, his hands shaking. To give him some space, I tackled Clara’s bedroom closet. Deep in the back, hidden beneath a stack of old winter coats, was a locked, vintage wooden chest.
Curiosity overrode my anger. I searched her jewelry box on the nightstand, found a small brass key, and unlocked the chest.
As the lid creaked open, I froze.
Inside the Box
Inside lay a thick, leather-bound journal, a stack of medical documents dating back eleven years, and a sealed envelope with my name written on it in Clara’s erratic, shaky handwriting.
My heart hammered against my ribs
