In "Family Ties," the Moretti family is everything, or so they thought. But beneath the surface of loyalty lies a web of betrayal and lies. In the heart of this tangled mess, the Morettis struggle to find their footing, torn apart by secrets and dec...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
After I read the note, I asked Shanice to come with me to Athena's old childhood home to find her journal.
"How is this supposed to help us find Athena?" Shanice asked, her skepticism clear.
"Maybe something in the journal will lead to how to find her," I said, trying to sound confident.
"What's the real reason you want that journal?" she pressed.
"I don't know, maybe I was hoping it will shed light on some things," I admitted.
"Like what?" she asked again, her curiosity piqued.
"I don't know much about my mom. She's not really an open book. She's lied about everything. This journal will have her truth... the real her," I said, walking down the hallway, scanning for any clue.
"We've checked every room except this one," she pointed out as I turned the knob on the final door. It was locked.
"This must be the room," I said, pulling out a hairpin to pick the lock. With a few quick twists, the door clicked open.
We walked into the room, which looked like a time capsule from the '90s, a teenager's room frozen in time.
"I'm guessing this was your mom's old room," Shanice said, glancing around at the posters and vintage decor.
"Yeah," I replied, feeling a strange sense of familiarity.
"So, I'm gonna address the elephant in the room. You don't think it's strange that your mother has kept her old room like this for over twenty years?" she asked, her voice tinged with concern.
"Maybe she couldn't come to terms with everything, but I'm sure the journal's in here," I said, starting to search through the drawers while Shanice began looking in the closet.
"Hey, I think I found something," Shanice called out. I walked over to her and saw a box filled with photographs.
"What is this?" I asked, taking a closer look.
"It's pictures of bruises. They have dates on them: June 14, 1993, August 21, 1994. There are over a hundred pictures of this stuff. The latest year was 1997. You think your mom was documenting her abuse to tell someone?" she said, her voice shaking.
"Maybe that's when she told Elias because I was born in 1997. We need that journal. Think, where would a scared teenager hide her journal with all her secrets?" I said, pacing the room. As I walked near the bed, we heard a creak in the floor.
"The book is in the floor," Shanice said, moving the rug aside.
We pried up the floorboard and there it was—the journal.
"We found it," I said, picking it up, my hands trembling.
"Are you going to open it?" she asked. I froze, staring at the worn cover.
