With a careful tug the stitch gave way, and a thin, blood‑stained diary slipped out.
The leather was cracked, the pages yellowed, the ink smeared where a hand had written in haste.
I opened to the first entry; the date was scrawled in trembling script: June 12, 2005.
It read, “We’re at the old pier, the tide is rising. I can’t feel the baby anymore.”
My breath caught; the same pier I had driven past on the night I found the twins.
Further down, a line—“If anyone finds this, know we died at the Marina Dock, 3 am.”
The words blurred as tears welled, and I realized the diary belonged to the woman who had given birth to Nora and Callie.
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