Page 69 of Shattered By Grace

The air in the room felt cold, colder than before, and she shivered despite herself. This house felt as though it were holding secrets just beyond her reach, waiting to be discovered.

Her hands shook as she read the last line. She could almost feel him there with her, his presence enveloping her in the same way the house seemed to breathe around her. But then, in the silence, she realized he was gone. She was alone.

I’m not ready for this... I’m not ready to lose you all over again.

The tears came faster, slipping down her cheeks in hot, endless streams. She didn’t even realize when her legs gave out beneath her, sinking to the dusty floorboards.Why does this feel like it’s happening all over again?

Her heart fractured anew, the pain sharp and unrelenting. She could almost hear his voice, soft and so reassuring. “I’m here, sweetheart… I’m right here.” But he wasn’t. His words on the page felt like a final goodbye she wasn’t ready to accept.

I should’ve done more. I should’ve saved you. Why did you have to leave me?

She let the tears flow, her body trembling with the force of her sobs. She clutched the letter to her chest as if it could somehow bring him back, somehow fill the emptiness left behind.I’m alone, Dad. I don’t know how to do this without you.

Looking down at the letter again, she saw his love in every line, every stroke."Why did you have to leave me?"she whispered into the quiet room, her voice breaking.You promised you’d always be there. Why did it have to be you?

Silence answered her, the house creaking around her, offering no comfort as she lost all track of time. She hugged the letter closer, wishing for just one more moment, one more chance to tell him she loved him.

But he was gone, and all she had were his words and the ache in her heart.

As she sat there and listened to the wind whistle around the old house, she finally managed to re-read the letter. Her gaze faltered, and her heart stopped when she wondered aloud, “I wonder if they found the notebook?”

Chapter Thirty-Two

"Where did you leave it, Dad?" she murmured into the empty room, as if he might hear her or send down some kind of sign.

She had already searched her old room—nothing. The place had been cleared out shortly after she was put into witness protection. It felt strange to be back in there, surrounded by the absence of everything she once knew. Memories of her father helping with homework, of him reading bedtime stories when she was younger, surged through her, painful and sweet.

Standing outside his bedroom door, she hesitated, trying to gather the courage to step inside.

Her breath hitched as she stepped across the threshold, the familiar smell of old wood and dust filling the air. The room, once filled with her father’s presence, was now empty, stripped bare. Nothing remained. She stood in the center, feeling the weight of the emptiness pressing in on her chest.

Tears blurred her vision as she scanned the room, her hand trembling as it brushed across the bare walls. “Where are you?” she whispered hoarsely, as though he might answer, as though he might be hiding somewhere. The dresser was gone, the bed,too. Every corner, every inch of the room felt like a cruel mockery of what it used to be.

She stumbled forward, her legs weak, her heart heavy. The room felt suffocating, the silence deafening. Her father’s presence was gone, but the memories crashed over her in waves—his laugh, his reassuring voice, the touch of his hand on her shoulder. They were all gone, erased, just like everything else in this house.

She couldn’t take it. She had to leave.

But as she turned toward the door, a sudden thought stopped her in her tracks. Her chest tightened as the memory hit her.My closet.The hidden panic room entrance in her old room—the one with the pass-through that led directly to Dad’s office.

Her heart skipped a beat. The notebook. Her father’s notebook.

A wave of urgency hit her, pushing her forward.Why didn’t I think of looking there first?

She turned and bolted back toward the stairs, her footsteps echoing through the house like a desperate call. She rushed into her old room, her hands shaking as she fumbled at the closet door. The hidden passage was still there, just like she remembered. She pried open the hidden panel, her breath shallow, the sound of the house creaking under her frantic movements. The tight, dark space behind the closet felt like a refuge, a place where her father had hidden the one thing she needed to find. She reached up, her fingers brushing against the ceiling, and there it was. A red leather-bound notebook sitting in the rafters, hidden in plain sight.

That was truly smart, Dad.

Her heart pounded in her chest as she carefully grabbed it and nearly dropped it because her hands were slick with sweat. She opened it, her eyes scanning the familiar handwriting. Arush of emotion flooded her chest, and she couldn’t help the sob that escaped.

The notebook. Her father’s legacy.

The next morning, after a restless night and a scalding hot shower that did little to wash away the weight pressing down on her, Victoria sat at her table. Her damp hair clung to her skin, the faint scent of soap lingering, but she barely noticed. In front of her sat three things: the red leather notebook, the folder from Adams, and her father’s letter.

She exhaled sharply, reaching for the bottle of wine and pouring a generous glass. The deep red liquid swirled as she lifted it to her lips, taking a slow sip, letting the burn settle in her chest. But her eyes never left the objects in front of her.

The past. The present. The truth.

It was all sitting right there, staring back at her, daring her to open it.

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