I was sitting at the kitchen table helping my niece with her homework when she asked a question that drained every drop of blood from my body.

Pencils were scattered across the table. Math worksheets half-filled. The smell of spaghetti sauce still clung to the air. Ellie Grant—nine years old, restless, chewing the end of her eraser—was working through a problem when she suddenly stopped.

She looked up at me and said, completely calm,
“Aunt Naomi… why did you bury Mommy outside?”

My pen froze mid-air.

Her mother—my sister-in-law, Rachel—had been missing since last summer. No body. No goodbye. Just a car abandoned near a trailhead, a dead phone, and a town that learned to live with the mystery far too quickly.

“What are you talking about?” I asked, forcing my voice to stay gentle.

Ellie turned her head toward the backyard window.
“I saw you digging that night,” she said matter-of-factly. “By the hydrangeas. You told me to go back to bed.”

My heart slammed so hard I thought I might pass out.

“Ellie… sweetheart, I didn’t—”

“Yes, you did,” she interrupted, certainty filling her voice. “You had the shovel. Mommy’s car was gone. Daddy was inside on the phone, and you were outside digging like you were in a hurry.”

The room tilted.

That night—the night Rachel vanished—Travis had told everyone they’d argued. That she stormed out. That he’d tried to stop her. He cried on camera. Held Ellie at candlelight vigils. Called me family while his eyes stayed empty.

I swallowed.
“Ellie, listen to me. I never buried your mom anywhere.”

Her voice dropped to a whisper.
“Then why did you do it?”

I couldn’t answer. Because a single, horrifying thought had taken hold: Ellie wasn’t lying. She might be remembering something real—something her child’s mind couldn’t fully understand.

I shoved my chair back so fast it scraped the tile.
“Stay here,” I said. “Don’t move.”

“Aunt Naomi—” she started.

I was already grabbing my coat.

The backyard was damp from rain, the grass slick beneath my shoes. The hydrangeas stood exactly where Ellie had pointed—near the fence, where Travis had insisted on “re-landscaping” after Rachel disappeared.

I ran to the shed, yanked it open, and dragged out the shovel. My hands shook uncontrollably.

I started digging.

The soil was soft at first. Then—thud.

The shovel hit something solid.

Plastic.

I dropped to my knees and clawed at the dirt with my bare hands until a black storage tote emerged, wrapped tightly in trash bags and duct tape.

My stomach turned violently.

This wasn’t a pipe.
This wasn’t debris.

This was hidden.

I tore at the tape until the lid snapped open.

Inside were items sealed in plastic: a cracked cellphone… a woman’s wallet… and a small gold necklace I had seen Rachel wear nearly every single day.

I staggered backward, gasping as the world roared in my ears.