The paper felt impossibly fragile in Averie's hands.

She sat at Hazel's kitchen table, sunlight streaming in through lace curtains as she broke the red wax seal on her grandmother's letter. Her heart pounded like it already knew the words inside would change everything.

The paper was handwritten - elegant cursive, a little shaky in places. Her grandmother's voice came to life in her head with every line.

My dearest girl,

I don't know if this will ever reach you, but I pray it does. If you're reading this, it

means you went looking, which means the fire in my blood survived.

His name was Samuel Marrow. He was not a mistake.

He was the only thing in my life that felt like truth. They told me I was sick for

loving him. That I'd embarrass the family. That I was "unstable." But I wasn't. I

was just in love with a man whose last name didn't come with a country club

membership.

And so they locked me away - not because I lost my mind, but because I dared to

follow my heart.

But I see you. I feel you. I know that one day you would rise up from the ashes of

this family and ask, "Why?"

When you do, don't just ask the questions. Burn the script. Rewrite the ending.

Find the truth. And fight for the love I couldn't keep.

You are more than the name they gave you.

With all I am,

- Evelyn Langford

Tears blurred the words, but Averie didn't wipe them away.

Her grandmother had begged her to do this. Not just to remember her - but to free her.

To free them both.

She folded the letter with reverence, heart still pounding.

Then she turned to Hazel. "Wes said there was more."

Hazel nodded. "I don't know what or where - but I think he left something for you

before he left. Told me to steer you toward what they buried."

Averie stood. "Then that's what I'll find."

She started with the garage.

The place was still locked up tight, but Wes's brother Trace was sitting on the front step when she pulled in.

"I figured you'd come back," he said, rising.

"Did he leave anything?" Averie asked, voice urgent. "Anything for me?"

Trace studied her face. "You really love him?"

"Yes," she said. "And I think he knew something. About my family. About the past. He was trying to help me."

Trace exhaled and motioned toward the garage. "Come on."

They stepped inside.

Dust danced in the light coming through the cracked window. Trace led her to the back - past the tools, the lift, and every place Wes used to look at her like she was more than just a Langford.

Trace reached into a beat-up file cabinet and pulled out a black leather-bound notebook.

"He didn't say much," Trace muttered. "Just told me if you ever came asking, to give you this."

Averie opened it slowly.

Inside were sketches. Notes. Timelines. Old articles.

Photos of her grandmother and Samuel Marrow, smiling like they didn't know the storm coming for them.

One note was circled in red ink, written in Wes's slanted handwriting:

Langford Trust. Vault C. Locked drawer. Evelyn's recordings?

Her heart skipped.

"Recordings?" she whispered.

Trace nodded. "Wes said he overheard your dad talking about tapes. Your grandmother's therapy sessions. Said he kept them sealed in the campaign vault - never destroyed, never shared."

Averie looked up, fire behind her eyes.

"If those tapes prove she wasn't unstable?"

"You tear the whole damn legacy down," Trace finished for her.

She closed the notebook, heart racing.

"Then it's time to go home." She said, already turning for the door.