Part 1

For as long as I could remember, my mother always cooked an extra meal every day, carefully placing it in a container before walking it out through the back door. I grew up believing that she cared more for the man behind our house than for me, especially when our own home was struggling. I never understood why Victor mattered so much, or why she refused to explain his presence. Even after her death, I continued the routine she left behind, feeding him out of obligation and unresolved anger that never fully left my chest.

The day after the funeral, I went to deliver the meal again, expecting the usual silence behind the fence. Instead, I saw Victor standing near the house holding something in his hand that made my breath stop immediately, my mother’s missing silver locket, the one she had said was lost when I was a child, and in that moment I realized nothing about my past was what I believed it to be.