When nothing goes right, turn left

Her Name in Shadows

Veronica's fingers trembled as she flipped through the pages of the folder.

At first, it didn't make sense. Financial records. Legal documents. Strange transactions marked with dates before she even moved to this town.

Then she saw "her own name".

Highlighted. Circled. "Linked" to names she didn't recognize—but one she did.

"Smith."

A knot tightened in her stomach.

Why was she tied to him? To all of this?

She skimmed through more papers, eyes scanning desperate lines of text, until one phrase caught her breath:

"Guardianship Transfer—Hilary Carter"

Guardianship.

Her mother hadn't just moved her to this town. "She legally transferred something under her name."

Something about her.

Her pulse pounded.

Then—footsteps.

Not outside. "Inside the house."

She shoved the folder back into the hidden compartment, heart racing as she pulled the floorboard into place.

The footsteps grew closer.

She barely turned in time before "Hilary stood in the doorway."

The tension was suffocating.

"What are you doing in here?" Hilary asked, voice calm but cold.

Veronica's throat went dry.

Hilary's sharp eyes darted to the desk, the bookshelf, "the floor."

Then back to Veronica.

"You were looking for something."

Veronica willed her heartbeat to slow, forced herself to swallow the terror clawing up her throat.

"Should I be?" she asked, keeping her voice steady.

Hilary stared at her—too long, too knowing.

Then, finally, she said, "No."

But Veronica knew that was a lie.

And Hilary knew she knew.

Veronica barely slept. Every time she closed her eyes, the words from the documents swam in her mind—"guardianship transfer, financial records, her name intertwined with Smith's."

She had to know what it meant.

But she had to be careful.

The next morning, she played it cool—acted like nothing had changed. She sat through breakfast, answered her mother's usual questions with clipped responses, and waited until Hilary left the house.

Then, she moved.

The study was still intact, the floorboard untouched. But Hilary wouldn't have hidden everything in just one place.

Veronica scanned the shelves, the locked cabinets. The desk drawer "shouldn't have been interesting—except for one detail."

A key.

Small, silver, tucked beneath a stack of unimportant papers. "A key her mother had deliberately concealed."

Veronica felt her pulse quicken.

What did it open?

She tucked it into her pocket, "already knowing where she'd go next"