Chapter 6
I ran upstairs before Dad could stop me.
My bedroom had changed several times over the years.
The walls had been repainted.
The furniture replaced.
My childhood toys donated.
But there was one thing I had never forgotten.
A small wooden treasure chest.
My mother had painted it herself.
Yellow stars.
A blue moon.
A tiny red house.
Every night, she told me it was our special place.
Whenever I lost a tooth or brought home a good grade, she placed a note inside.
Sometimes she hid candy there.
Sometimes little toys.
And sometimes she left messages that said she loved me.
After she died, I kept the box beneath my bed.
Until Denise moved in.
I remembered coming home from school one afternoon and finding my room completely rearranged.
Denise said I was too old for childish things.
She had removed my old toys.
My drawings.
My stuffed animals.
And the wooden chest.
I cried that day.
She told Dad I was being dramatic.
Eventually, I stopped asking about it.
But now I understood why it might have mattered.
"Dad!"
He appeared in my doorway.
"What happened?"
"The box."
"What box?"
"Mom's treasure chest!"
His expression changed.
He remembered it.
"The wooden one?"
"Yes!"
He looked around my room.
"Where is it?"
I swallowed.
"Denise took it."
Dad went still.
"When?"
"Three years ago."
His jaw tightened.
"Why didn't you tell me?"
"I did."
He stared at me.
I felt tears gathering.
"I told you she threw away my things. You said she was trying to help me grow up."
Dad closed his eyes.
The guilt on his face hurt to see.
"I'm sorry, Malik."
I shook my head.
"Please, Dad. We need to find it."
He nodded.
"You're right."
We searched the attic first.
Then the storage closets.
Then the basement.
Nothing.
Finally, Dad called the company that had helped Denise redecorate my room.
Their records showed several boxes had been moved to an off-site storage facility.
Dad recognized the address.
He owned the unit.
Denise had arranged access through his account.
Within an hour, we were driving there.
I sat beside Dad, gripping the old letter.
My mother had somehow known I would recognize those little drawings.
Maybe she had never expected the box to disappear.
Maybe she believed that no matter how old I became, I would remember our secret.
She was right.
At the storage facility, Dad showed identification and completed the required paperwork.
An employee opened the unit.
Inside were old chairs.
Holiday decorations.
Boxes of books.
And several pieces of furniture.
I searched desperately.
Then I saw it.
A small wooden chest behind a broken lamp.
My heart nearly stopped.
"Dad."
He turned.
I pointed.
"There."
He moved the lamp.
And there it was.
The yellow stars were faded.
The blue moon was scratched.
The red house was barely visible.
But I would have recognized it anywhere.
I knelt beside the box.
For a moment, I couldn't touch it.
I remembered Mom sitting on my bedroom floor.
I remembered her laughing as she painted the stars.
I remembered her telling me that important things weren't always expensive.
Sometimes they were little pieces of love you could hold in your hands.
Tears spilled down my face.
Dad knelt beside me.
"Take your time."
I looked at him.
Then opened the box.
Inside were old birthday cards.
A toy dinosaur.
Three photographs.
And a small blue pouch.
I picked it up.
Something metallic moved inside.
The brass key.
Or rather, another key that looked almost identical.
I held it beside the one from Dad's desk.
They were a matching pair.
Dad stared.
"What are those for?"
I shook my head.
Then I noticed something written beneath the box's lid.
My mother's handwriting.
For my brave little Malik.
When you are ready, follow the stars home.
I stared at the message.
"Follow the stars home?"
Dad leaned closer.
His expression changed.
"I know what that means."
I looked at him.
"What?"
"Your mother's childhood home."
I frowned.
"The old house in Savannah?"
He nodded.
"Her father painted stars on the bedroom ceiling when she was a girl."
My pulse quickened.
"Does the house still exist?"
"Yes."
"Who owns it?"
Dad hesitated.
"Your grandmother."
I stared.
"My grandmother?"
Mom's mother, Evelyn Carter, had been living in Savannah for years.
We visited occasionally when I was younger.
But after Denise married Dad, those trips stopped.
Denise always claimed Grandma Evelyn disliked her.
I never understood why.
Now I wondered what else she had kept us away from.
Dad called Grandma immediately.
She answered on the second ring.
"Marcus?"
Her voice was sharp.
Surprised.
"It's been a long time."
Dad swallowed.
"I know, Evelyn."
"What happened?"
He looked at me.
"We found something Angela left."
There was silence.
Then Grandma whispered, "Malik?"
I leaned toward the phone.
"Grandma?"
Her voice broke.
"Oh, sweetheart."
I felt tears gathering.
"Grandma, I need to ask you something."
"Anything."
"Did Mom leave something at your house?"
The silence stretched.
Then Grandma began crying.
"I hoped this day would come."
My father sat down heavily.
"What do you mean?"
Grandma inhaled.
"Angela told me that if anything happened, I should keep the old bedroom locked until Malik came asking about the stars."
I stared at Dad.
He stared back.
"Grandma," I whispered, "I'm asking now."
Her answer came immediately.
"Then come home, baby."
We drove to Savannah the next morning.
Dad had already contacted Detective Harris and Patricia.
They advised us to preserve anything we found and avoid disturbing potential evidence unnecessarily.
I understood.
But I could barely sit still during the drive.
When we arrived, Grandma Evelyn was waiting on the porch.
She looked older than I remembered.
Her gray hair was pulled into a neat bun.
But her smile was exactly the same.
The moment she saw me, she opened her arms.
"My baby."
I ran toward her.
She held me so tightly that I started crying.
"I missed you, Grandma."
She kissed my forehead.
"I missed you more."
Dad approached slowly.
Grandma looked at him.
For a moment, neither spoke.
Then she said, "Angela loved you, Marcus."
His eyes filled.
"I know."
"But you let too much time pass."
He lowered his head.
"You're right."
She nodded.
Then turned toward me.
"Come inside."
We climbed the stairs to my mother's childhood bedroom.
The door was painted white.
A small brass lock sat beneath the handle.
Grandma stepped aside.
"Angela said you'd have the keys."
I pulled them from my pocket.
My hands trembled.
The first key turned.
Then the second unlocked a smaller compartment built into the doorframe.
Inside was another key.
Dad stared.
I looked at Grandma.
She smiled through her tears.
"Your mother always loved puzzles."
I opened the bedroom door.
The ceiling was covered with faded golden stars.
And beneath the window stood an old wooden wardrobe.
A red house had been painted near its base.
I walked toward it.
My heart hammered.
Then I saw the small lock hidden beneath the bottom drawer.
I inserted the final key.
It turned.
Inside was a sealed metal case.
And taped to the lid was a photograph of my mother holding me as a baby.
Below it, she had written one sentence.
Malik, someday you will understand why I had to protect the truth.
I lifted the case.
It was heavier than I expected.
Dad stepped closer.
"Son?"
I looked at him.
Then at Grandma.
May you like
And for the first time in ten years, I felt as though my mother was standing beside me.
Waiting for us to discover what she had left behind.
