Amy's mouth remained open, as the words spilled onto the page.
Words she'd never seen before, including the nasty scrawls and scribbles she'd written on the book years ago.
Finally— Amy understood.
Her memory wasn't wrong. She had indeed written in this journal with that pen. Back then, Amy had been frustrated with the pen because it wasn't working. She knew she was doing something wrong, but she was desperate to see the pen work because her mother always used it flawlessly.
That was what held Amy until her mother came, and yelled at her.
Iris had used a thermochromic pen to hide her words— words that could only be revealed by flames.
Amy closed her eyes, feeling an emotional swirl. She knew her mother couldn't do without writing down everything that happened in her day. Her m
