I MOVED INTO MY CHILDHOOD HOME, AND MY NEW NEIGHBORS TOLD ME TO CHECK THE ATTIC – THE NEXT MORNING, I ASKED MY REALTOR TO LIST THE HOUSE FOR SALE.

When Lucy moves into her childhood home, she hopes for a fresh start after her painful divorce. But cryptic comments from her neighbors about the attic spark an unsettling feeling. The devastating betrayal she uncovers upstairs forces her to flee the house.

“Thirty deserves something special,” my mom said as she handed me the keys to my childhood home.

We had just finished dinner—the only birthday celebration I could muster after my painful divorce—when she placed the small package in my hand.

They called it a fresh start, but I couldn’t ignore the strange glint in their smiles or the secret looks they exchanged.

I assumed it was just because the house was a surprise gift, but I later realized it was all tied to what they had left for me in the attic.

They had moved to a quiet country home outside the city, supposedly for peace and quiet, but I think they were just ready to let go of the past—memories and all.

I placed the keys on the kitchen counter, my fingers lingering on the cold surface. This house had witnessed my scraped knees, comforted me through teenage heartbreaks, and nurtured my passion for art.

I ran my hand over the counter, noticing grooves that weren’t there before. It hit me then—the house I thought I knew so well had aged and changed, just as I had.

I hoped that living here again would help me heal from the divorce. My ex, Ryan, and I had started dating in college. From the very beginning, I made it clear that I didn’t want kids, and he had been fine with that. Turns out, he really wasn’t.

When I turned 29, he suddenly started talking about biological clocks and how I was running out of time to change my mind.

When I told him I still had no intention of becoming a mother, he said we had grown “incompatible” and filed for divorce.

Incompatible.

That word still stung.

I closed my eyes and took a deep breath, willing this house to feel like the sanctuary I needed. I had to believe this was my chance to rebuild.

I set down the box of books I had been carrying and stepped back outside to grab another load.

“Moving in, huh? You must be Lucy.”

A voice startled me as I unloaded the last box from my car. I looked up to see an older woman standing on the sidewalk, holding a pie, her gray curls frizzing in the humidity.

“That’s right,” I said, managing a polite smile.

She studied me from head to toe before holding out the pie.

“This is for you, dear. You know about the attic, right? Your parents spent a lot of time up there before they left.”

My stomach tightened. “Did they? Why?”

Her lips twitched, almost smiling.

“Oh, never mind. You’ll see. I’ll just leave this here for you, okay?”

She placed the pie on my doorstep. Before I could ask any more questions, she hobbled away, murmuring something I couldn’t quite catch.

As I carried the box inside, I glanced up at the attic window.

The attic had been my sanctuary as a child. I spent hours up there drawing and painting with supplies I bought using my babysitting money. I had even spent months covering the walls with intricate portraits of my favorite TV characters.

What the hell had my parents been doing up there?

Inside, the house felt unnervingly quiet, as if it was listening. I shook off the discomfort and unpacked, room by room.

But every so often, my eyes would flick to the attic door at the end of the hallway—just slightly ajar. I told myself I’d deal with it later.

That night, a knock at the door broke the rhythm of my unpacking.

I opened it to find a man around my age—tall, lean, and with the kind of easy smile that makes you instinctively trust him. Next to him, a short-haired mutt wagged its tail excitedly at me.

“Hey, you’re Lucy, right? I’m Adam, from across the street.”

He gestured toward the craftsman bungalow on the other side of the road.

“I was out walking my dog and thought I’d stop by to say welcome. Your parents told me you’d be moving in.”

I thanked him as I leaned against the doorframe.

There was something about the way he looked at me that made me uneasy.

“Must be strange being back, huh?”

“Very,” I replied with a small laugh. “But in a good way. I’m excited to start fresh here.”

“Glad to hear it,” he said, tilting his head slightly as if trying to read me. “Your parents really went all out for you. Must be exciting, huh? The attic especially. It’s all set up for… well, everything.”

“Everything?”

The way he said it made my skin crawl.

There it was again—the attic.

I swallowed, my voice firmer than I felt. “I have no idea what you mean.”

Adam’s smile widened, a mischievous glint in his eyes.

“Well, you’ll see. If you need help with… anything, just holler.”

As he walked away, I found myself watching him a moment longer than I should have.

Then, I shut the door and locked it.

That night, curiosity gnawed at me. What was in the attic?

I climbed the stairs, my heart pounding.

The attic door was locked, but I found the key hanging from a nail in the hallway closet.

Slowly, I turned it.

A strange smell leaked through the doorframe. Thick, sickly sweet… like fresh paint.

When I finally pushed the door open, I froze.

The walls were painted soft, dusty blue, with clouds stenciled onto the ceiling.

In the far corner, a white crib sat against the wall.

A dragonfly mobile spun lazily in the air.

On the wall, a large sign read:

“For Baby.”

My stomach dropped. I didn’t understand.

Then I saw an envelope taped to the crib.

With shaking hands, I tore it open.

Dear Lucy,

We gave you this house because we want you to have a fresh start. But it’s also time for you to face the truth.

Your marriage ended because you refused to embrace what everyone knows is a natural part of life—motherhood.

We love you too much to let you keep denying yourself the joy and fulfillment that only being a mother can bring. This room is here to remind you of what you’ve been running from. One day, you’ll thank us for helping you see what you truly need.

With love, Mom & Dad.

The note crumpled in my fist.

They hadn’t just erased my murals—they had turned my sacred space into a shrine for everything they thought I should want.

The house no longer felt like mine.

By morning, I knew I wasn’t staying.

I called my realtor before I even had coffee.

The money from the sale? I sent it straight back to my parents with a note:

“I don’t want anything from you except distance. Goodbye, Lucy.”

Months later, I met someone at an art gallery.

His name was Ethan. He didn’t want kids either.

He accepted me for who I was, and we complemented each other in every way.

Saying yes when he proposed a year later was the easiest decision I ever made.

The house wasn’t the fresh start I had expected.

But it led me exactly where I needed to be.