FINDING A LOCKED BOX UNDER OUR BED WITH MY SISTER’S NAME CARVED ON IT
I felt the hard corner dig into my fingers reaching under the bed for a shoe. It was a small wooden box, old and slightly scratched, hidden near the headboard where the dust gathered thick and grey. Dust motes danced in the sliver of light from the hallway as I pulled it out, noticing the tiny, rusted lock glinting dully.
He walked in then, drying his hands on a towel, and his face just… froze. The casual air vanished instantly. “What’s that?” he asked, too quickly, his voice tight and sharp. I shook the box gently; something small and metallic rattled inside against the wood. On the bottom, barely visible under the grime, were carved initials. A.M. My sister’s initials.
My stomach twisted into a hard, painful knot. “Why is this under *our* bed? And why does it have Alice’s initials carved right into it?” The cold metal of the lock felt heavy, accusatory, in my palm. He stepped closer, his eyes flicking wildly from the box to my face, that tight, panicked look still there, mumbling about forgotten junk from before we moved in.
But it wasn’t junk. It felt deliberately, meticulously hidden. The air grew thick between us, silent except for my own shallow, shaky breaths. This wasn’t just an old box; this was something he didn’t want me to find, something clearly tied to my sister, something that felt deeply wrong in my trembling hand.
Opening it, one picture fell out showing them kissing at her wedding.
👇 *Full story continued in the comments…*He lunged for the photograph, but I snatched it back, my fingers curling around the glossy surface. “This is Alice’s wedding,” I said, my voice trembling but firm. “Why do you have a picture of you kissing my sister at her wedding hidden in a box under our bed? A box with her initials on it?”
His forced calm cracked. “Look, it’s not what you think,” he stammered, running a hand through his hair. “We… we were close. Before she met Tom. It was just a goodbye kiss. A moment of nostalgia.”
Nostalgia? My blood ran cold. “Nostalgia so strong you had to lock it away for years? Nostalgia so powerful you couldn’t tell me you even *knew* her?”
He flinched. “I was going to tell you. Eventually. It just… it felt complicated. With you and Tom being so close. I didn’t want to cause any trouble.”
I laughed, a harsh, humorless sound. “Trouble? You’re married to me! Alice is dead! What kind of trouble could it possibly cause other than the fact that you were apparently in love with my dead sister and never told me?”
More pictures spilled out as I shook the box, a cascade of stolen moments: Alice and him laughing at a picnic, Alice leaning against him on a park bench, his arm wrapped possessively around her waist. Each one a betrayal, a silent testament to a history I never knew.
“It was just a crush, okay?” he pleaded, his voice rising in desperation. “A stupid, teenage crush! It didn’t mean anything.”
But it did mean something. It meant that our entire relationship, built on what I thought was honesty and trust, was a lie. It meant he’d been carrying this secret, this hidden longing for my dead sister, for years. It meant that every time he looked at me, did he see a pale imitation of the woman he truly desired?
“Get out,” I whispered, the word barely audible.
“What?”
“Get out. Now.” My voice was stronger this time, laced with a pain that felt like a physical wound.
He stared at me, his face a mixture of disbelief and fear. “Please, don’t do this. We can talk about it. We can work through this.”
I simply pointed to the door. He hesitated for a moment, then, with a defeated sigh, he turned and left.
Alone, I sank onto the edge of the bed, the weight of the small wooden box heavy in my lap. I opened it again, running my fingers over the photographs, trying to reconcile the man I loved with the man in these pictures. I couldn’t. He had taken a part of my sister with him, a part I could never reclaim.
Inside the box, beneath the photographs, was a small, folded piece of paper. I unfolded it carefully. It was a note, written in Alice’s delicate handwriting.
“If you’re reading this, it means I’m gone. I’m so sorry. I should have told you sooner. But I can’t marry Tom knowing how much I feel about you. You deserve to know the truth. I’m breaking things off with Tom. Wait for me.”
My breath caught in my throat. She was going to leave Tom. She loved him. And then…
Suddenly, everything clicked into place. The accident. The timing. The way he never talked about Alice. The way Tom had always seemed strangely distant.
My hands trembled as I reached for my phone. It was time to find out what really happened the day my sister died. This wasn’t a story of a harmless crush. This was something much darker, much more sinister. And I was going to find the truth, no matter the cost.