We moved back downstairs.
Nobody suggested lunch.
Eleanor sat at the kitchen table with the old estimate in front of her.
Harold sat beside her.
Thomas remained standing.
I poured four glasses of water.
No one touched theirs.
Eleanor looked at Thomas.
“Your father and I didn't just postpone the repairs.”
Thomas waited.
“We borrowed against the house.”
His jaw tightened.
“How much?”
Harold answered.
“Enough that the house was nearly worth less than what we owed.”
Thomas looked stunned.
“When?”
“Three years ago.”
“Why?”
Eleanor took a breath.
“Your father had stopped working.”
“I know.”
“We thought we'd be fine.”
“You didn't tell me.”
“We didn't want to.”
Thomas looked hurt.
“Why?”
“Because you were building your own life.”
His eyes flicked toward me.
“We didn't want you worrying about us.”
I understood the instinct.
But I also understood the damage silence could cause.
Thomas sat down.
“How did the house get so bad?”
Harold explained that the first problem had been water entering through a damaged section of the roof.
They repaired part of it themselves.
Then they discovered rot beneath the exterior wall.
The repair grew.
The bill grew.
They borrowed money.
Then Harold retired.
The work stopped.
“When the storm came,” Eleanor said, “it exposed everything we'd been trying to hold together.”
Thomas stared at the estimate.
“And the insurance?”
“They covered the new damage.”
“But not everything.”
“No.”
I looked at Eleanor.
“And that's why the repairs took six months.”
She nodded.
“We had to find another way to pay.”
Thomas leaned back.
“How?”
Eleanor hesitated.
“My bread.”
I understood immediately.
She had increased her baking.
More loaves.
More orders.
More deliveries.
More hours spent measuring flour after everyone else was asleep.
The little hobby had become a quiet source of income.
“You were using the bread money for the house,” Thomas said.
“Some of it.”
“All of it?”
“Not all.”
Harold spoke softly.
“Most.”
Thomas looked at them.
“You could have told me.”
Eleanor's eyes filled.
“I know.”
He looked away.
For several seconds, nobody spoke.
Then Thomas said, “What about the missing letter?”
Eleanor's expression changed.
“I remember putting it with the estimate.”
“Where?”
“At the old house.”
“We're not going inside.”
She nodded.
“I know.”
“We'll have someone retrieve it.”
Harold looked relieved.
But Eleanor wasn't.
“There may be another problem.”
I felt my shoulders tense.
“What kind?”
“The letter wasn't just about the foundation.”
Thomas frowned.
“What else?”
Eleanor looked at Harold.
He closed his eyes.
“Tell them.”
She nodded.
“The contractor suspected someone had altered part of the drainage system.”
Thomas stared.
“What?”
“He said water was being redirected toward the house.”
“By whom?”
“We don't know.”
The silence that followed was heavier than before.
I looked at Thomas.
He shook his head slowly.
“Are you saying someone damaged the house intentionally?”
“No,” Eleanor said quickly. “We don't know that.”
“Then why mention it?”
“Because the contractor was concerned.”
Harold added, “He said the grading around the house had changed.”
Thomas leaned forward.
“Did you report it?”
“No.”
“Why?”
Harold looked ashamed.
“We couldn't afford another investigation.”
Thomas stood abruptly.
“That's unbelievable.”
Eleanor flinched.
His anger wasn't directed at her exactly.
It was anger at years of decisions made without him.
He walked to the window.
I followed him.
“Thomas.”
He shook his head.
“I keep thinking about the last six months.”
I waited.
“They were living here because their house wasn't safe.”
“Yes.”
“And I thought they were just being stubborn about the repairs.”
“They didn't tell you.”
“No.”
He looked at me.
“I should have noticed.”
“You can't notice what people deliberately hide.”
He nodded.
Then he turned around.
“I'm going to call the contractor.”
Eleanor stood.
“Thomas—”
“No.”
His voice was calm now.
“We're finding out what happened.”
Harold looked at him.
“Maybe there's nothing more.”
“Maybe.”
Thomas picked up the phone.
“Then we'll know.”
The contractor's number was still on the estimate.
Thomas called.
It rang several times.
Then a man answered.
“Hello?”
Thomas introduced himself.
The man's voice changed immediately.
“You're Harold's son?”
“Yes.”
There was a pause.
“I've been wondering when you'd call.”
Thomas looked at me.
“What does that mean?”
The contractor sighed.
“I tried reaching your parents.”
“They didn't mention that.”
“I figured.”
Thomas's expression hardened.
“What were you trying to tell them?”
“That the house shouldn't have been occupied.”
I felt cold.
Thomas gripped the phone.
“Why?”
“Because the foundation movement was continuing.”
“Continuing?”
“Yes.”
Thomas looked at his parents.
They both looked frightened.
The contractor continued.
“I told your father that if the cracks widened, he needed a structural engineer immediately.”
Thomas closed his eyes.
“When was that?”
“Months ago.”
“Before they came to our house?”
“Yes.”
Thomas stared at me.
I felt my stomach sink.
The contractor wasn't finished.
“There was one other thing.”
“What?”
“I found evidence that someone had been inside the property after your parents left.”
Thomas straightened.
“What kind of evidence?”
“A damaged lock.”
“When?”
“I don't know exactly.”
“Did anything get stolen?”
“I couldn't say.”
Thomas looked at Eleanor.
“Mom, did you leave anything important there?”
She shook her head.
Then stopped.
Her eyes widened.
“The box.”
Thomas lowered the phone.
“What box?”
Eleanor stood.
“The recipe box.”
I frowned.
“What about it?”
She looked toward the stairs.
“It wasn't just recipes.”
Click here to continue reading: PART 7: The Recipe Box Was Missing, and What Eleanor Had Kept Inside It Made Us Question Why Someone Had Entered the House
The Morning Their Room Was Finally Empty, I Expected Relief—Instead, Something Shifted Beneath the Mattress and Changed Everything
Part 6 of 10
