Dear mum,
I've been here for almost 5 days now and I've realized, I have no way to get these letters to you. So, it's basically like I'm writing to nobody, isn't it?
I don't care. It makes me feel better when I have to do soul sucking tasks, like eat supper with the family. I haven't written about that yet, I don't think. You're not missing much.
I've only had supper with everyone three times so far but each night is the same- only with different food.
For example:
Every night we are called to the dining room at 6 o clock sharp.
Everyone sits in their designated seat- the same spot as the night before.
Father will always make an exclamation about how hard his day has been and Claire will nod in an understanding way and rub her belly.
Then while we eat dinner we will spend the time talking about one of these subjects:
-Father's work
-The baby
-What Victoria did today.
When I say "we", I mean them. I am not comfortable talking with this family.
And another thing that happens every time without fail:
Claire never looks at me. She looks between her husband and her daughter while patting her big belly and smiling- but not once has she caught my eye.
I can just read her mind, Maybe if I don't look at her, she's not actually here, disrupting my perfect little world.
All in all, supper time is very boring here.
When I haven't been plotting with Victoria, I sit alone in the bay window dreaming about your life here. How it was, how it could have been. And while you have told me much about your time here and your life in general, there is still much I don't know.
You said you and Father met through a mutual acquaintance but what were the details of your first date?
You said your parents were deceased but how did they die?
You only ever talked about evil Ms. Merwin in detail, and I realize now there is so much I wish I knew.
You would tell me the bare minimum of most things- just enough to satisfy my curiosity and I accepted everything you told me.
But now that I'm here and you're gone, my curiosity is back. I want to know so much.
That book couldn't have been lying-something so profound and historical wouldn't be incorrect.
I am positive you have lied to me. At least about your name, possibly more. And to actually write that, is killing me inside.
My own mother lied to me.
I hope you had a good reason. I'm determined to solve this mystery.
Being mad at you won't solve anything, I know.
Tonight after supper, Victoria and I will sneak into father's office to search for clues.
I will write more tomorrow.
Laura