The Things She Left Behind
1724 Words
Nora’s POV
I stared at the photograph on my phone for so long that the screen eventually went dark.
My mother stood beside a man I had never seen before.
A man who, according to Victoria, was Xavier Ashford’s uncle.
The man who had supposedly disappeared eighteen years ago.
I looked at the photograph again.
My mother looked young.
Much younger than I had ever seen her.
She was smiling.
That was the part that unsettled me most.
My mother did not smile like that anymore.
Not often.
I had spent most of my life believing that my mother had always been serious.
She was the type of woman who checked the locks twice before going to bed. The type who never liked me staying out late. The type who asked too many questions whenever I made a new friend.
The type who had given me a silver pendant when I was six and told me never to take it off.
I had never thought to ask why.
I had never thought there was a reason.
My phone vibrated.
I jumped.
A message from my mother appeared on the screen.
How is your first week going?
I stared at it.
The timing was almost suspicious.
Then I remembered that mothers somehow had a talent for messaging exactly when their children were thinking about them.
I typed a reply.
Fine.
I looked at the word.
Then deleted it.
Interesting.
I deleted that too.
I finally wrote:
It’s okay. The school is huge. I got lost twice today.
Her reply came quickly.
I told you to keep a map with you.
I smiled despite myself.
There she was.
My mother.
The woman who had once threatened to tie a bell around my neck after I got lost in a shopping mall at the age of eight.
I had been furious.
She had laughed.
I had not spoken to her for three hours.
She had bought me ice cream.
I had forgiven her immediately.
Some things never changed.
I looked at the photograph again.
The smile on her face did not look like the woman who had raised me.
Who was the man standing beside her?
And why had she never mentioned him?
I typed a message.
Mum, do you know anyone from Ashford Elite Academy?
The three dots appeared almost immediately.
Then disappeared.
Appeared again.
Disappeared.
I sat up straighter.
My mother was thinking.
That was never a good sign.
Finally, her message appeared.
Why are you asking?
I stared at the screen.
My heart began beating faster.
I typed:
Just curious.
Her reply came almost instantly.
Stay away from people who have nothing to do with you.
I blinked.
That was not an answer.
I typed:
That is a very strange answer to a very normal question.
This time, there was no reply.
I stared at the screen.
“Mothers,” I muttered.
Ava looked up from her bed.
“What?”
I had forgotten she was there.
“Nothing.”
She gave me a look.
I pointed at her.
“Don’t.”
She smiled.
“You started it.”
I looked around the room.
Ava had somehow managed to turn her side of the room into a disaster zone in less than two days.
Clothes were scattered across her chair.
A packet of biscuits was open beside her pillow.
Her textbooks were stacked on the floor.
I stared at the mess.
“How did you manage to make the room look like this already?”
Ava looked around.
“It has personality.”
“It has a crime scene.”
“That’s dramatic.”
“Your sock is hanging from the lamp.”
She looked up.
Then paused.
“How did it get there?”
I stared at her.
“That is what I am asking you.”
Ava laughed.
I shook my head and returned my attention to my phone.
My mother’s silence bothered me more than I wanted to admit.
She knew something.
Maybe not everything.
But something.
I thought about my childhood.
I had grown up in a small house with my mother.
It had always been just the two of us.
Whenever I asked about my father, my mother had always given me the same answer.
“He wasn’t part of our lives.”
I had stopped asking eventually.
Not because I didn’t care.
Because I had learned that my mother did not like talking about the past.
She had never told me much about her childhood either.
Whenever I asked about my grandparents, she changed the subject.
When I was younger, I had thought she was simply private.
Now I wondered if there was more to it.
Ava tossed a biscuit at me.
I caught it.
“You’re thinking too loudly.”
I stared at her.
“That makes no sense.”
“You have a thinking face.”
“What does my thinking face look like?”
“Like you are about to solve a murder.”
I looked at the photograph.
Ava immediately sat up.
“What is that?”
I hesitated.
Then turned the phone toward her.
She studied the picture.
“Is that your mother?”
“Yes.”
“Who is the man?”
“I don’t know.”
“Where did you get the picture?”
“Someone sent it to me.”
Ava’s expression changed.
“Who?”
“An unknown number.”
“That is never good.”
“I know.”
She studied the photograph again.
“Is that Xavier’s uncle?”
“Apparently.”
Ava looked at me.
“You know, for two people who supposedly don’t know each other, your families seem to have an impressive amount of history.”
I sighed.
“Tell me about it.”
There was a knock on the door.
Both of us froze.
Ava looked at me.
“Are you expecting someone?”
“No.”
“Me neither.”
Another knock.
This time, louder.
I stood.
Ava immediately grabbed a book.
I stared at her.
“What are you doing?”
“What?”
“Why are you holding a textbook like a weapon?”
“You never know.”
I looked at the thick book in her hands.
“You plan to hit someone with anatomy?”
“If necessary.”
I almost laughed.
We walked toward the door.
I looked through the small opening.
The corridor was empty.
I opened the door slightly.
No one stood outside.
Something lay on the floor.
A small brown envelope.
I picked it up.
There was no name on it.
Ava moved closer.
“What is it?”
“I don’t know.”
I opened it.
A photograph fell into my hand.
My stomach dropped.
It was another picture of my mother.
This time, she was standing beside the same man.
But there was someone else in the photograph.
A young boy.
He couldn’t have been more than five or six years old.
I stared at him.
There was something familiar about his face.
Ava leaned closer.
“Who is that?”
I didn’t answer.
The boy had dark hair.
Sharp features.
A serious expression.
And eyes that seemed strangely familiar.
I turned the photograph over.
There was writing on the back.
He remembers you.
My fingers went cold.
Ava looked at me.
“What does that mean?”
“I don’t know.”
For once, I wasn’t asking anyone else for answers.
I genuinely didn’t have one.
I turned the photograph over again.
The little boy stared back at me.
I had never seen him before.
I was sure of it.
Yet something inside me whispered that I had.
A memory appeared suddenly.
A summer afternoon.
Tall grass.
The smell of rain.
A boy standing beneath a large tree.
I couldn’t see his face.
But I could hear his voice.
“Don’t cry.”
I blinked.
The memory disappeared.
I gripped the photograph tightly.
Ava noticed.
“What happened?”
“Nothing.”
She stared at me.
I sighed.
“Fine. I remembered something.”
“What?”
“I don’t know.”
I sat on the edge of the bed.
Ava sat beside me.
“Tell me.”
I looked at the photograph.
“I think I knew him.”
“Xavier’s uncle?”
“No.”
“The little boy.”
Ava frowned.
“How?”
“I don’t know.”
I closed my eyes.
The memory returned.
The tree.
The grass.
The boy.
His voice.
Don’t cry.
Then another voice.
A woman’s voice.
My mother’s.
Nora, come here. Now.
I opened my eyes.
My heart was racing.
Ava was staring at me.
“Are you okay?”
I looked down at the photograph.
“I think I was here before.”
“At Ashford?”
“I don’t know.”
“Maybe you saw the picture and remembered something.”
“Maybe.”
Neither of us believed that.
A knock sounded again.
This time, we both jumped.
I looked toward the door.
Ava whispered, “Please tell me that’s not another mysterious envelope.”
I stood slowly.
“I hope it is.”
“Why?”
“Because I would rather receive another creepy photograph than open the door and find something worse.”
Ava stared at me.
“That is a terrible way to think.”
“I know.”
I approached the door.
Before I could open it, a voice came from the other side.
“Nora.”
I froze.
I knew that voice.
Xavier.
Ava looked at me.
“Why is he here?”
I had no idea.
I opened the door.
Xavier stood in the corridor.
His eyes immediately moved to the photograph in my hand.
His face changed.
He knew it.
He stepped inside and closed the door behind him.
“Where did you get that?”
I held the photograph against my chest.
“Why?”
His eyes met mine.
“Because I know that photograph.”
My heart began to beat faster.
“How?”
He looked at the picture.
Then back at me.
“Because I was there.”
The room went silent.
I stared at him.
“What?”
Xavier’s expression was unreadable.
He looked at the little boy in the photograph.
Then at me.
“That is me.”
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