Part 3: The Forgotten Room
For the next two weeks, I couldn’t look at Barbara the same way. When she waved to me in her fluffy robe, smiling warmly, all I could see was the quiet, methodical rage she packed into heavy contractor bags at 7:00 AM.
One evening, my wife and I noticed a moving truck pulled up to Barbara’s driveway.
An older couple stepped out, looking exhausted and distraught. As I walked down to get our mail, I overheard the woman speaking to Barbara near the porch, her voice cracking with emotion. “Barbara, please… he’s been missing for six months. The police said you’re still not letting them search the basement storage.”
Barbara’s face turned completely cold. Her polite neighborhood demeanor vanished in a split second. “Arthur made his choice when he walked out, Mrs. Vance,” she said, her voice sharp as glass. “There is nothing of his left in this house.”
My heart dropped into my stomach. Arthur was her husband. The man whose face had been scratched out of the torn wedding photo.
Read Part 4 below to see what happened when the basement door was finally opened.
