One sleepless night, I looked out the window and saw Lucas and Mia hauling something large and black between the house and the treehouse under the moonlight.
“Frank!” I whispered, nudging him awake. “You’ve got to see this.”
Groaning, he rolled over. “It’s the middle of the night, Annette. Go back to sleep.”
The following evening, with Frank away on a trip, I decided I’d had enough. Grabbing my flashlight, I slipped outside and crept toward the Fogg’s yard.
The treehouse loomed ahead, flickering with a dim light. What were they doing in there?
Hiding behind the bushes, I watched Lucas and Mia pull black garbage bags up into the treehouse. My stomach twisted. What were they hiding?
Determined to find out, I waited until morning. After the school bus left, I made my move. Climbing the ladder into the treehouse, I found the bags. My hands shook as I opened one—only to find candy wrappers, torn fabric, and unopened books still in plastic wrap.
Why were they hiding books?
Before I could make sense of it, I heard voices. The kids hadn’t left after all. Panic surged through me as Lucas’s voice echoed, “The alarm went off—someone’s here.”
Thinking quickly, I called out, “Lucas, Mia, it’s me, Annette! I’m sorry for intruding.”
Lucas climbed up, eyes blazing with anger. “YOU? What are you doing here?”
I stammered an apology, but Mia, to my surprise, spoke softly. “It’s okay, Ms. Annette. We’ve been acting strange… we should probably tell you what’s going on.”
Sitting in their treehouse, they told me everything. Their parents were going through a bitter divorce, and the constant fighting inside had become unbearable. In desperation, Lucas and Mia reached out to their estranged grandmother, a woman their parents had kept them away from. She was planning to move closer and care for them, and the books were gifts she had sent to bring them comfort.
Tears welled in my eyes as I hugged them both. “You’re not alone,” I whispered.
A few weeks later, their grandmother arrived as they had promised. She was a kind woman, and after the divorce was finalized, she took the kids to live with her. Saying goodbye was bittersweet, but I knew they were heading to a better life.
Now, months later, I glance at the empty treehouse from time to time and smile. Sometimes, even in the quietest corners, you’ll find remarkable stories unfolding—if you just take a closer look.