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Spring returned to Ashmoor Lane with soft rain and blooming dogwoods. The yellow house still stood, charred in places, but mostly intact. Repaired. Restored. Mara had thought about moving—running far from the memories—but something anchored her here. This house had held Eliza’s laughter, her tiny footsteps, her whispers through the walls. It had also held the truth. Now, it held peace. She planted a tree in the backyard, beneath the window of Eliza’s room. A dogwood, like the ones Eliza loved to pick flowers from. Beneath it, Mara buried a small tin box: Eliza’s drawings, her bracelet, the barrette, and a note that read: You were never silent. I heard you. I love you. – Mama. She stood beside the tree in the early morning, watching the swing sway gently in the breeze. Not like before—creaking under phantom weight—but light, playful, as if moved by the wind alone. She smiled. At night, the whispers had stopped. So had the dreams. But she still felt Eliza’s presence—not haunting, not hurting. Just… there. Watching. Resting. Mara joined a support group for grieving mothers. She shared her story—not the supernatural parts, but the truth that mattered. She talked about listening to your instincts, trusting what others dismissed, and the fierce power of a mother’s love. Her story didn’t end with Eliza’s death. It ended here, with a slow healing. A quiet strength. One night, as she closed her journal for the last time, she whispered into the silence of her room, “Goodnight, baby girl.” And just before the light clicked off, she thought she heard a voice—soft and distant—say: “Goodnight, Mama. I love you.”

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Novelo Square

Empty Rooms

First Whisper

The Attic

Messages

The Journal

The Visitor

The Cold Truth

Ashes and Evidence

The Trial

Epilogue – At Peace

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Whispers of Eliza

Whispers of Eliza

ProudMommy0321

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Ceria Mcgrone

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