The basement was nothing like I had imagined.

There was no hidden room. No chained door. No horrifying secret.

Instead, the far corner had been transformed into a tiny memorial.

A worn armchair faced a small wooden shelf. Framed photographs covered the wall. There were birthday cards written in childish handwriting, a baseball glove, a faded flannel shirt hanging neatly on a hook, and a battery-powered lantern that cast a warm glow across the space.

In the center sat a simple cedar chest.

Mia smiled.

“We visit Daddy here.”

I couldn’t speak.

Sophie walked over to the shelf and carefully picked up a picture of a smiling man holding both girls on his shoulders.

“He always smiled like this,” she whispered…