Her mother was very precise. At first, reading the diary was like solving a cipher: the subtle abbreviation system, those dates that looked random until one found their meaning, the names without context that suddenly, after quite a few pages were mentioned again, very clearly. Her mother realized that someone was spying on her. So she wrote in such a manner: to any person that loves her the writing is quite clear, while for others, it is perplexing. It took Aria three months to unravel the whole story. She chose a Wednesday evening in January and the place was the drafting table in the studio room.
The journal lay open in front of her and so did her private investigator's latest report. The moment came when everything fitted nicely: the timeline of the dates and the names and the dialog
