Bambina - secrets revealed

1. I need answers

Six months has passed, and I still feel the pain stabbing me. Raphaelle has been supportive and a bit strict, but his strictness... maybe it's what I need. I have been hurting, deeply, and my wound is still bleeding. But even when though the bleeding bleeds, I've learned to live with it.

People say that time heals. But that's a lie. We just get used to the pain, but it's there, even though we've forgotten. Scars never fade.

The shadows of my memories haunts me, even now as I walk through the park. I take a seat on the bench, just waiting for Danielle's parents to come home from work. They have given up hope of ever finding her. They don't know. They can't know. If I tell them, they'll tell the police, and I'll be just as bad as her. Even worse, I'd betray the love of my life. I can't do that.

I'm waiting, impatient. They've invited me over to look over her things. I only have one thing in mind, one thing that can give me answers. There's no truly moving out if I never learn the truth. The whole of it, through her eyes. I need her diary. She kept all her secrets in there, everything she'd never tell. Not even me. Or maybe I'm supposed to say definitely not me. As apparently the Danielle that I knew didn't even exist. I sigh.

The park bathes in an amber glow. My thoughts swirl around Danielle and the secrets she might have left behind. The image of her smiling face, now a haunting memory, flickers in my mind. My chest tightens, and I grip the bench, feeling the rough wood beneath my fingers.

Raphaelle's voice echoes in my head, his words a mixture of comfort and sternness. "You need to move forward, not just exist in the shadow of her memory," he had said. But how can I move forward when every step I take feels like dragging my feet through thick mud? Danielle's absence is a wound that refuses to heal, and time, contrary to the popular saying, has done nothing but deepen the ache. I still can't comprehend how she could do this... but she has. I've even seen the messages, the proof, there are no lies to this.

My phone buzzes, jarring me from my reverie. It's a message from Danielle's parents, informing me they're home and I can come over. My heart races. This is it. The answers I crave, the closure I desperately need, might be within reach. I rise from the bench, my legs feeling heavy as if they're reluctant to carry me towards a truth that could shatter my already fragile world.

The walk to Danielle's house is a blur. Each step feels like I'm walking on broken glass, the anticipation and fear intertwining in a painful dance. When I arrive, the familiar façade of her home looms before me, a place once filled with laughter and love, now a repository of secrets and sorrow.

Danielle's parents greet me with weary smiles, their eyes hollow with the pain of loss. We exchange pleasantries, but there's an underlying tension, a shared understanding of the gravity of this visit. They lead me to her room, a place I haven't entered since the game night. How happy things were then... and behind all that happiness... she was plotting to have me killed. It's a tragedy. The door creaks open, revealing a space frozen in time. Her scent lingers in the air, a mixture of vanilla and something floral, a cruel reminder of her presence.

I step inside, my gaze sweeping over the familiar objects – her favorite books, the photographs of us together, the little trinkets that held so much meaning. My heart aches with the weight of memories. Her parents leave me alone, respecting my need for privacy.

I move to her desk, my eyes searching for the diary. It's not in its usual spot. Panic flares momentarily, but then I see it, partially hidden under a stack of papers. My hands tremble as I pick it up, the floral cover worn and familiar. I hesitate, feeling like an intruder in her most private thoughts, but I have to know. I need to understand why she did what she did, why she would... when I thought we were friends. It's the only way I can ever imagine letting this go.