But he never stopped looking for Lily.
Every few years, he would search online for her name.
He contacted agencies.
He checked databases.
He followed every possible lead.
Nothing.
Then, fifteen years after Lily vanished, Harold died.
His funeral was small.
He had been an old-fashioned, difficult man, and there were not many people who mourned him deeply.
Noah stood beside his mother throughout the service.
Something struck him as strange.
Margaret had cried for fifteen years because of Lily.
But when Harold's coffin was lowered into the ground, she barely shed a tear.
She simply stared ahead.
Her face was empty.
After the funeral, Noah asked her why.
Margaret didn't answer.
She only said:
“Some things are better left buried.”
Noah didn't understand what she meant.
He would soon find out.
A few days later, Noah and his father went to Harold's old house.
The property needed to be cleared before it could be sold.
The moment Noah stepped inside, he felt uncomfortable.
The house smelled of dust, medicine, and old wood.
The curtains had been closed for so long that the rooms seemed permanently trapped in darkness.
Family photographs hung crookedly on the walls.
The furniture looked untouched.
Daniel began opening drawers and sorting through documents.
Noah went upstairs.
At the end of the hallway was Harold's bedroom.
He hadn't entered that room in years.
Something about it made him uneasy.
Still, he walked inside.
He began stripping the bed.
He pulled away the sheets.
Then the blanket.
Then he stopped.
