I am ashamed to admit we searched her room once, guilty as thieves. There were no inexplicable envelopes, pens, or books. She must have hidden them elsewhere, or perhaps carried them always. The emptiness was the worst. It made her secrecy seem deliberate, airtight. She knew exactly what she was keeping from us.
We couldn’t deny she was thriving. Her grades improved, voice steadied, and confidence rocketed. She came home humming under her breath, as if some secret melody carried her. She looked more like herself and yet, entirely changed. Happiness should have comforted us. Instead, it unnerved us more.