The little house was already dark when Evelyn finally turned off the lights in the sewing room.
She went into the bedroom, lay down on the bed, and pulled the blanket up to her chest. Her eyes were closed, but her mind remained awake.
Outside, water dripping from the roof sounded rhythmic. She turned onto her right side. Then her left. But sleep still wouldn't come.
The image of the woman standing at her door kept appearing in her mind. Like a ghost that refused to leave.
Mercy.
The name felt strange and unsettling at once. Even more unsettling because she had arrived carrying a small bracelet that should have disappeared decades ago.
Evelyn opened her eyes. The bedroom ceiling was barely visible in the darkness.
She had spent twenty years trying to forget so many things.
She had moved to a small town far from her birthplace.
She had changed the way she spoke.
She had changed the course of her life.
She had even buried most of her memories so deeply that she almost never touched them again.
And yet, there was one thing she had never managed to erase. Certain names always found a way to survive.
Anna.
Black Hollow.
Samuel.
Those names were like embers buried beneath ash. They looked extinguished from the outside, even though their small flames were still burning.
Evelyn got out of bed. She draped a thin scarf around her neck, then walked toward the kitchen.
The wall clock showed half past one in the morning. She poured water into a glass and drank it slowly. Her hand was still trembling slightly. Her eyes fixed on the sewing table. The small bracelet was still there.
She approached it. Her fingers touched the cold metal surface. In an instant, her memories began to move backward.
A little girl was sitting on the ground, playing with a blade of wild grass.
“Mommy, look. I can make a circle.”
The girl laughed. Her laughter was light and clear. Evelyn drew a long breath. She let go of the bracelet. The memory was too vivid. She didn't like it.
Drawing a breath, Evelyn walked to the window and opened the curtain a little.
Fog was beginning to descend.
The street in front of the house was empty.
This small town was always quiet at night. That was why Evelyn had chosen to live here. No one knew her. No one knew her past. No one had ever asked where she came from.
She liked her simple life. Sewing clothes. Watering flowers. Cooking for Sarah.
That small routine gave her a sense of security.
“Mom?”
The soft voice behind her made her turn. Sarah stood in the doorway, rubbing her eyes.
“Why aren't you asleep yet?”
“In a little while.”
Sarah stepped into the sewing room.
“Who was that woman earlier?”
“Just an old acquaintance.”
“I thought you didn't know her.”
Evelyn fell silent. She realized her mistake. Her answer a few hours ago hadn't been the same as her answer now.
Sarah looked at her curiously.
“Is she family?”
“No.”
“Your friend?”
“No.”
“Then who is she?”
Evelyn looked away. “I told you. Just someone from the past.”
Sarah sat in the chair beside the table. All this time, she had been used to seeing her mother as a calm woman. Evelyn rarely got angry. She also rarely talked about herself.
Ever since she was little, Sarah had realized that there was a part of her mother's life being deliberately kept hidden.
She had simply never dared to ask too many questions.
“You look worried, Mom.”
“I'm fine.”
Sarah nodded slowly. “If you need anything, call me.”
After Sarah returned to her room, Evelyn sat down in the chair.
Her gaze fell on an old cabinet in the corner of the room.
The cabinet held things she had never touched again.
She opened its door slowly. At the very bottom was a small wooden box. The box looked worn. She placed it on the table. A thin layer of dust clung to its surface.
It had been years since she had last opened it. The lid lifted. Inside were several old things.
A piece of fabric.
A hair ribbon whose color had begun to fade.
And a slip of paper folded into quarters.
Evelyn opened it.
The writing on the paper had faded. Some of the letters were nearly illegible.
She brushed her fingers over it carefully.
Her eyes stopped on two words that were still clearly visible.
Anna Bell.
Her chest tightened.
She still remembered the night when that name had been spoken for the first time.
She also still remembered the night when that name had been shouted in the middle of the woods.
Twenty years had passed. She had thought time would erase everything.
Instead, time had only taught a person how to live alongside pain.
Evelyn folded the paper again. Then she closed the wooden box and hugged it tightly.
Outside, the fog grew thicker. Inside the house, silence blanketed every corner of the room.
Her eyes returned to the small bracelet on the table.
Mercy had come. That meant the past was knocking on her door. And Evelyn was beginning to realize that she wouldn't be able to ignore it much longer.