I never believed in hidden doors or secret rooms; those were things from mystery stories. But when Florence and I decided to renovate our cellar, we found more than just a door behind the old wallpaper. It was something we were never meant to discover, and now, I wish I had never opened it.
You never truly understand a house until you’ve lived in it for some time. That’s what I always believed. Florence and I bought this old Victorian house five years ago. We called it our dream home. It had history, charm, and unique details, the kind of house with a past you could feel in every room.
When we started the renovation project, we thought we knew what we were getting into. The cellar was dark, damp, and unused. Peeling wallpaper and cracked tiles told us it hadn’t been touched in years. But we were excited about turning it into a useful space, maybe a wine cellar or storage room. That’s when we noticed something odd—a section of the wall that didn’t match the rest.
I never believed in hidden doors or secret rooms; those were things from mystery stories. But when Florence and I decided to renovate our cellar, we found more than just a door behind the old wallpaper. It was something we were never meant to discover, and now, I wish I had never opened it.
You never truly understand a house until you’ve lived in it for some time. That’s what I always believed. Florence and I bought this old Victorian house five years ago. We called it our dream home. It had history, charm, and unique details, the kind of house with a past you could feel in every room.
When we started the renovation project, we thought we knew what we were getting into. The cellar was dark, damp, and unused. Peeling wallpaper and cracked tiles told us it hadn’t been touched in years. But we were excited about turning it into a useful space, maybe a wine cellar or storage room. That’s when we noticed something odd—a section of the wall that didn’t match the rest.
In the back corner, we found something even stranger: an old wooden chest, covered in dust and cobwebs. It was locked, but the lock seemed weak, like it could easily break. Florence begged me to leave it alone, but I was too curious. I forced it open, and what I saw made my heart race.
Inside were old documents, letters written in a language I didn’t understand, and something wrapped in a faded cloth. When I unwrapped it, I froze. It was a small, strange object that didn’t belong in this world. Florence screamed and ran out of the cellar, terrified.
I should have followed her, but I was too deep into it. I put everything back in the chest and closed the door, but the feeling that something had changed wouldn’t leave me. Since that day, things have been different. Strange noises, cold drafts, and shadows moving where they shouldn’t.
Now, I regret opening that door. Florence refuses to go back into the cellar, and I can’t sleep at night. I don’t know what we uncovered, but I fear we’ve let something into our home that we can’t control. Every day, I wish I had just left the door hidden behind the wallpaper, where it belonged.
Now, the cellar remains locked. I’ve sealed the door with heavy boards, hoping that will keep whatever we disturbed at bay. Florence refuses to go near it, and our once happy home feels suffocating with the tension between us. It’s like the house itself has changed, like it’s watching us.
At night, I hear whispers coming from the floor below. I try to convince myself it’s just the wind or my imagination, but deep down, I know something’s wrong. The object I found in the chest haunts my thoughts—I’ve hidden it away, but it’s like it calls to me. Florence says I need to get rid of it, but I’m too afraid to touch it again.
I tried contacting the previous owners, but they didn’t know anything about the hidden room. They had lived here briefly before selling the house. No one in the neighborhood seems to know its history, and records of the house are vague. It’s like this part of the house was meant to stay forgotten.
I keep telling myself everything will be fine if I just leave it alone, but the strange occurrences are getting worse. Lights flicker, doors creak open on their own, and sometimes, I catch glimpses of something moving in the dark corners. It feels like the house is alive—angry that we disturbed its secret.
Florence is talking about moving, and maybe she’s right. But part of me knows that whatever we let out, whatever we disturbed, might not stay behind. And now, I wonder if sealing that door was just the beginning of something far more terrifying.
I never should have opened that door.
Woman Adopts Non-English Speaking Girl, Is Shocked to Uncover the Truth When She Learns to Communicate – Story of the Day
After finding out she couldn’t have a baby, Annie’s doctor gave her another choice: adoption, which led to a girl named Abiona, who couldn’t speak English at first. But when her new daughter learned enough, she told Annie a secret that changed everything.
Annie sat anxiously in Dr. Martinez’s office, surrounded by posters of happy families. The doctor, a middle-aged woman with a comforting demeanor, invited her to sit.
Smiling, Annie asked, “When can we proceed with the fertilization procedure?”
Dr. Martinez took a deep breath before saying, “Unfortunately, the tests show you cannot have children. I’m very sorry.”
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Annie’s heart sank. Despite considering IVF, the doctor advised against it due to low success rates and high risks. But she suggested an alternative — adoption — and handed Annie a booklet filled with information and pictures of children needing a home.
***
Annie sat at her kitchen table, the quiet of her home enveloping her as she browsed through the booklet. She was drawn to a photo of a baby, entranced by his innocent, smiling face.
Picking up the phone with trembling hands, she called the adoption agency and made an appointment. A few days later, she met Caitlin, a social worker, who welcomed Annie into her modest office. “Sorry you had to wait,” she said, shaking her head.
“It’s okay, don’t worry,” Annie replied, masking her nervousness.
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They sat and discussed Annie’s career, home life, and desire to adopt. “Can you devote enough time to a child? It’s not just a few hours a day,” Caitlin wondered.
Annie responded, “Yes, I understand. I’m ready to make sacrifices for my child.”
“Adoption can be challenging, especially in the beginning,” Caitlin continued, but ultimately, she approved Annie’s application.
“I understand,” Annie said, her voice firm. “Thank you.”
***
The next morning, Caitlin’s call interrupted Annie’s breakfast. “Hello, Annie?” she inquired.
“Yes, it’s me,” Annie replied.
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“We’ve found a child for you,” the social worker revealed and talked about Abiona, a six-year-old from Congo who didn’t speak English. “Would you like to meet her today?”
“6 years old? No English? I… I need to think about this,” Annie’s voice wavered.
“Of course, take all the time you need. Have a good day,” Caitlin responded, but Annie heard her sighing before hanging up.
Annie spent the rest of the day pondering the idea of adopting a six-year-old. Motherhood typically began with a baby, so going straight into parenting an older child seemed… odd. However, this could be her only shot.
She called Caitlin the next day with a resounding yes, and the social worker arranged a visit with Abiona, who was staying with a foster family.
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***
Arriving at the foster home, Annie knocked on the door, her heart racing. She was greeted by a woman who, in a not particularly friendly tone, said, “Hello, how’s it going?”
“Hi, I’m Annie,” she replied, fidgeting slightly. “I came to see Abiona.”
The woman showed Annie inside, and it was hard not to notice the chaotic scene of her house. Kids were running around, the television blared in the background, and the living room was full of stuff.
But the woman pointed to a corner where Abiona sat, quietly drawing. “That’s her. Good luck because she doesn’t talk to anyone,” she said and left to scold some other kids.
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Annie approached the girl, who briefly met her gaze before resuming her drawing. “Did you draw these yourself? They’re imposing,” she asked, kneeling to look closer.
Abiona nodded slightly without speaking.
The foster mother interrupted. “Don’t even try. She doesn’t understand a word of English,” she said. Annie looked up to see her sporting a superior expression.
“That’s fine,” Annie said, focusing entirely on the girl. She sat beside her and began drawing, too, attempting to communicate through pictures.
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She drew a house and a stick figure with long hair, saying, “This is my house. I live here. Do you want to live with me?”
The girl stared for a second at the paper, then at Annie’s face, before drawing a smaller stick figure next to hers. The gesture made Annie grin as her stomach fluttered.
***
She brought Abiona to her home and introduced her to her new cozy bedroom. The girl stayed silent and observant as she explored everything.
When she found paints and brushes laid out, she immediately began to draw, humming a happy tune. Annie watched for a second, taking in the moment. I’m finally a Mom, she thought before joining her new daughter.
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Over the following months, Annie tried teaching Abiona English, but the traditional methods overwhelmed her. Therefore, she adapted her approach, using drawing sessions to teach her the language in a fun, engaging way.
Abiona responded positively, slowly learning words and phrases.
One day, while exploring the concept of family with a picture book, Annie pointed to an illustration and said, “See, this is a family,” then pointed to herself, “Mom,” and to Abiona, “Daughter.”
But instead of nodding in understanding, Abiona’s reaction was unexpected; she burst into tears.
“What’s wrong?” Annie asked, patting the girl’s head.
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Abiona grabbed some of her drawings. “I have Mom and Dad,” she revealed, pointing her finger at the paper. Annie’s eyes widened. She didn’t understand because Caitlin had never talked about Abiona’s family.
“What are you saying, honey?” she asked.
“Bad…bad men took me from Mom and Dad,” the girl continued.
“Okay, okay,” Annie said, her voice turning low and soothing. “Tell me more.”
Through her broken English, Abiona explained that the evil men had taken her, but then she was with the police. She showed Annie a handmade toy, her only memory of her biological mom.
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“I little. Don’t know Mom’s face. But Mom smells honey. She give me this,” Abiona finished, biting her bottom lip and looking away to wipe a tear.
Annie was breathing heavily then, trying to contain her own emotions. A six-year-old shouldn’t have to be so strong by herself. She hugged the little girl, who began sobbing into her chest. Revealing that secret made their bond much stronger.
***
Months later, Abiona suffered a severe coughing fit in the night. Annie rushed her to the hospital as quickly as possible. “I need help! My daughter, she can’t breathe!” she wailed at the emergency room staff.
The medical team quickly attended to her daughter, leaving Annie anxiously waiting outside the exam room. Soon, she was stabilized but surrounded by beeping machines that only made things scarier. But the absolute horror came a few hours after the staff conducted several tests.
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One doctor entered the room, took a deep breath, and began. “I’m very sorry to tell you this. But Abiona is terminally ill. She only has a few days left.”
His words were careful, but they cut through Annie like a knife. “What?” she whispered, her voice barely audible. “What’s wrong with her?”
The doctor explained her condition. It had a complicated name that Annie didn’t understand as her mind was fogging with the implications.
“Should I have noticed sooner? She seemed so healthy. I adopted her a few months ago. No one told me anything.”
“You couldn’t have done much even if you had noticed something. This is a genetic disease, and it manifests very unexpectedly. This is not your fault,” the doctor finished, patting her shoulder, and left.
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***
Abiona awoke an hour later.
“Hey, sweetheart,” Annie whispered, squeezing the girl’s hand. “Is there anything you want? Anything I can get for you?”
Abiona’s voice was weak but clear. “I want to see my mom,” she murmured, a wistful look in her eyes.
Annie nodded and, determined to fulfill this wish, left the hospital with Abiona’s handmade toy, hoping it held clues to finding her biological mother. She went to the police station, where they agreed to test the toy for DNA.
Miraculously, they found a match and gave Annie the biological mother’s contact information. Her name was Tendey. Despite the call going unanswered, Annie insisted on finding Abiona’s mother, even if she had to do it in person.
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She drove to Tendey’s address, gathered her courage, and knocked on the door. When a woman appeared, Annie introduced herself and asked, “Tendey?”
The woman responded quickly, impatient. “Yes. That’s me, but I don’t want to join your god. I don’t need any services, and I don’t want to buy anything,” she said, almost closing the door.
But Annie threw her arm up, stopping her. “This is about Abiona,” she blurted. “She is currently in the hospital. The doctor said that she has a serious genetic disease and has a few days to live.”
Annie thought Tendey would be dismayed, but the woman crossed her arms instead. “I gave her away. Voluntarily. Renounced parental rights. So everything that is happening now is not my problem,” Tendey stated coldly.
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“Please. She’s your daughter. She’s dying and wants to see you,” Annie pleaded.
Tendey shook her head. “Listen. I don’t want to see her. Deal with it.”
Looking beyond Tendey, into her house, Annie sighed and noticed something. “Do you sell perfumes? Do you have a honey-scented one?”
“Ugh, yes,” Tendey said, looking behind her, confused.
“How much?” Annie asked.
***
At home, Annie searched on her computer, typing away as her plan fully developed. She searched for an actress resembling Tendey and found Sarah. Annie called and explained the situation.
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Sarah was touched. “I’ll do it. It’s a strange request, but I can see it comes from a place of love,” she said. Annie provided all the details she knew about Abiona and her mother.
In the hospital room the next day, Annie and the actress prepared to fulfill Abiona’s last wish. Sprayed with honey-scented perfume, Sarah approached the girl’s bedside, carefully holding her tiny hand.
“Abiona, this is your mother,” Annie gently introduced.
Abiona, whose condition had worsened so much in just a day, believed Annie’s words easily. “You smell like Mom,” the girl whispered and opened her arms for a hug.
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Sarah obliged, saying, “It’s because I am Mom.”
Abiona turned to Annie. “Thank you,” she whispered before falling asleep again. Sarah left a while later when it became clear that the girl wouldn’t wake up any time soon.
As the sun set, Annie watched over her daughter. Her breaths were too heavy, but that had been the norm for a few hours. She whispered to her, providing comfort and assurance in the quiet room filled with the soft beeping of machines.
She touched the girl’s head at some point and noticed the intense warmth. In her weakened state, Abiona faintly murmured “Mom” before falling back into unconsciousness. Annie rushed to find her doctor, who came in, did a quick examination, and exhaled, lowering his head.
“I’m afraid this may be it,” he said. “I’m sorry.”
“No!” Annie wailed, hugging her child.
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Abiona slept a little more soundly in Annie’s arms, but love wasn’t always enough. She passed after midnight with a final soft puff of air.
As the tears started flowing freely, Annie whispered, “You were loved. So loved. I’ll keep loving you forever.”
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If you enjoyed this story, read this one: A sudden tragedy brings Sarah and Eric together in an unbreakable bond. But when the boy learns a painful truth about their past, it sets them on a path of emotional turmoil, challenging the very foundation of their makeshift family and leading to a moment of life-threatening crisis.
This piece is inspired by stories from the everyday lives of our readers and written by a professional writer. Any resemblance to actual names or locations is purely coincidental. All images are for illustration purposes only. Share your story with us; maybe it will change someone’s life.
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