Freddy knew he didn’t have to look down there, but his curiosity was piqued, wondering if this secret part was why his parents left him the house.
So, he took a slash hammer and destroyed all the rotten parts, which corresponded with the size of the trap door. The rest of the floor seemed normal enough. “Oh, man. I bet it’s flooded down there,” Freddy muttered as he started going down.
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He had his phone flashlight out and could smell the heavy scent of mildew and moisture in the air. “Great, this will be more money,” he muttered as he reached the bottom of the stairs. From what he could tell, it was just a regular room.
Except…there was a desk in the middle, littered with papers and an old-fashioned typewriter. “Spooky, but… interesting,” Freddy muttered, rolling his eyes at the idea that he had been the typical female main character in a horror flick.
But this was very interesting. Did Dad know about this place? he wondered as his hands reached for one of the sheets on the desk bearing a short poem, and at the bottom of the page, he saw the name Milton.
Among the papers, he found poems signed by his father. Oh, my God! Dad was a poet and writer. Digging deeper, Freddy uncovered an ornate box beneath the papers.
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Rushing upstairs, he eagerly read through the poems, marveling at their depth and beauty. He opened the ornate box and discovered more pages, realizing quickly they were from a novel —a love story between two men.
“Is that why they kept this place?” he wondered and remembered the last words his father had spoken to him before he left home:
“One day, you’ll understand.”
The realization hit Freddy like a freight train—his father had hidden a significant part of himself, perhaps resenting his own limitations compared to Freddy’s freedom in the modern era.
Eager to share this discovery with Hazel, he called her despite the late hour.
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“Hazel, I just discovered something, and I need to show you,” he said urgently. “Come to my house tomorrow. Without him. This is huge and should stay between us for now.”
Their conversation was interrupted by Mark’s intrusion, but Freddy insisted on keeping it between siblings.
The next day, to Freddy’s surprise, Hazel arrived alone. He showed her the hidden basement, the ornate box, the poems, and the novel he found. “It’s a love story between two men who go to war,” he revealed.
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Hazel was shocked, struggling to reconcile this with their father’s known…biases. Freddy explained his theory: their father had given him the house so he could discover this story, suggesting their father might have struggled with his own identity.
She processed the information, pacing the room in disbelief. “It’s just crazy! What about Mom?”
Freddy urged her to read the novel. “I think Dad was struggling with so much, and he had to live a secret life because times were different. I think he projected all he felt — his self-loathing — on me because I was free to do what I wanted.”
She nodded quickly, smiling slightly despite the confusion. But the front door swung open forcefully before she could grab the pages.
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Mark’s figure was now in Freddy’s living room, too, and his voice was loud and grating as he demanded, “What are you trying to make my wife hide from me?!”
He accused Freddy of hiding something valuable. “Or, he’s trying to convince you to dump me!”
“Hazie, tell me you’re not falling for that bull,” Freddy sighed, rolling his eyes. “Even if you were dating an actual good guy, I wouldn’t have invited him today. This secret is too precious for anyone else.”
“He’s trying to screw us again like he wanted with the house. He’s getting you to hide something from me so I won’t act in your best interest,” Mark accused, smirking confidently while pointing his finger.
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Hazel remained silent, and her thoughts seemed far away.
“You know I’m right, babe,” Mark whispered to Hazel, his voice turning sweet and coaxing. “He’s always hated me because you love me more than him. He’s trying to separate us.”
“Mark, stop it! If Freddy found anything here, it would be his legally,” Hazel finally snapped, throwing her hands in the air.
Mark tried to insist, wrapping his arms around her, but Hazel was done.
“ENOUGH!” Hazel screamed, pushing Mark back. “God, I’m so tired of you! You only ever cared about money! You never truly loved me. We’re DONE, Mark! I can’t believe I ignored all the red flags!”
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Freddy exhaled, relieved.
“You’re breaking up with me over this?” Mark spluttered, his mouth wide with shock.
“Yes, Mark. It’s over. I want my life back,” she declared, crossing her arms.
He turned to Freddy, begging. “Freddy, tell her she’s making a mistake.”
“Freddy’s not going to help you, Mark. He’s been trying to open my eyes to your true colors for years,” Hazel said, stepping towards the door. “Get out of here and out of my house!”
“It’s my house, too!”
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