I found it in the box labeled "Winter Clothes."
Buried under a scarf I hadn't seen since I was five.
At first, I thought it was a grocery list.
The handwriting was small. Tight. Clean.
But the words weren't food.
They were names.
Daniel (7) – quiet, obedient, doesn't biteLucas (?) – disobedient, stares too muchMother – needs more restOthers – don't matter
I stared at it for a long time.
The paper was yellow at the corners, like it had aged underground.
My name at the top.
Lucas's right after.
Then "Mother."
And… "Others."
No names for them.
Just "Others."
Like shadows that passed through her house.
Like furniture.
Like meat.
I turned the paper over.
There were tally marks.
Days, maybe.
Punishments?
Feeding schedules?
I didn't know.
I didn't want to.
Lucas stood by the closet.
Looking at the list.
He didn't blink.
Didn't speak.
But his fingers curled into fists.
"She kept score," I said.
He nodded.
"She always did."
"Why wasn't Father on here?"
"Because he never stayed long enough to matter."
The final thing written was in red pen.
Bolder than the rest.
Underlined twice.
"Split them before they fuse."
My chest tightened.
I didn't know if she meant me and Lucas.
Or me and… whoever I used to be.
But something inside me cracked again.
Something small and important.
Lucas sat on the bed.
I sat beside him.
We didn't talk.
We didn't need to.
The paper sat between us.
Like a wound.
Still bleeding.