Part 1

Morning fog crept in off the Pacific, enveloping the coastal town of Mornington, Oregon, as it had every day for the past 22 years… since Alicia Sanders disappeared. Her father, Frank, stood at the window of their untouched bedroom, mentally replaying the promise he’d made to his wife, Elaine: today, they would finally sort through her things, donate some, store others, and close that chapter.

While sifting through old boxes, Frank found something he’d never opened: Alicia’s high school yearbook. Among the messages and dedications, a note to her best friend, Amy Davidson, caught his eye: “Don’t forget to return my book, *The Secret Garden*, Classic Illustrated Edition.”

Out of curiosity, he went to see Amy. She, moved, showed him that she still had the book… but between its pages, like a bookmark, was a page torn from a teen magazine with a photo of a young model: Jason Murray, Alicia’s classmate. Amy revealed that, although they had both avoided Jason, she noticed that Alicia started talking to him again during their senior year, asking strange questions about whether he “might change” and even asking to stop by his house.

The conversation led Amy to give Frank Jason’s current address. Although he promised Elaine not to bring up the past, Frank decided to stop by “just to look.”

Jason’s house was large and luxurious. When Frank saw him leaving and saying goodbye to a woman, he decided to approach her. The encounter was cold and hostile: Jason denied any relationship with Alicia and, visibly uncomfortable, demanded that she leave. Frank left… but later, by chance, saw him buying a shovel, a small wooden box, and a bouquet of white hyacinths—Alicia’s favorite flowers.

Intrigued, he followed him to a house on a cliff and, from a distance, watched him walk along a path toward a lonely lookout point. There, Jason began to dig. Then he opened the box, silently looked at its contents… and the wind tore some papers away, scattering them. After gathering them, he placed the box in the hole, placed the flowers on top, and began to cover it with dirt.

Then, Frank clearly heard Jason say in a low voice:

“I think you can save these memories now… Alicia.”

Frank’s heart leapt. His foot slipped on some stones, making a soft sound. Jason jerked his head up and looked toward where Frank was hiding.

“Hello?” he called sharply. “Is anyone there?”

Frank held his breath, feeling every heartbeat pound in his ears, as Jason began to walk slowly toward his hiding place…

Part 2

Jason took a few more steps, pushing aside branches with the shovel, peering through the undergrowth.
“I know someone’s there…” he said, his voice lower but thick with suspicion.

Frank pressed himself against a tree trunk, praying the shadows and mist would hide him. The silence stretched until it became unbearable. Finally, Jason stopped, muttered something under his breath, and slowly walked back toward the newly covered mound.

Frank watched him circle the clearing, as if making sure no one was watching him, before starting back toward the house. Only when he saw him disappear behind the door did Frank emerge from his hiding place.

His heart hammered in his chest, but the urge to know overcame any fear. He walked to the mound of dirt and stared at the spot where Jason had buried the box. The bouquet of white hyacinths was still fresh, their fragrance wafting through the air.

The shovel was leaning against the side wall of the house. Frank took it and returned to the clearing. With quick but cautious movements, he began to turn the earth. The fresh moisture made the job easier; within minutes, the flowers were pushed aside and the metal point hit wood.

It was the box.

He bent down and brushed the last handfuls of dirt away with his hands. He was about to open it when a voice behind him froze him.

“I knew someone was here.”

Frank turned sharply. Jason was standing a few feet away, the shovel in one hand… and in the other, a pistol. His gaze was a mixture of rage and triumph.

“You shouldn’t have come back,” he said slowly, moving closer. “What do you think you’re doing?”

Frank, his pulse racing, held the shovel like a shield.
“I heard you say my daughter’s name… Alicia. What have you buried here, Jason? What does it have to do with her?”

Jason’s eyes clouded, and his jaw tightened.
“You don’t know what you’re talking about. You shouldn’t be here.”

Frank took a step toward the box.
“I’m going to find out what’s inside.”

“Don’t even think about it,” Jason snarled, raising the gun. “Drop the shovel.”

Part 3

Frank slowly raised his hands, the shovel still dangling from one of them.
“The police are coming this way, Jason,” he said, his voice firm, stalling for time. “I’ll call right now if I have to.”

Jason gave a cold smile.

“And what will you tell them? That you saw an old friend burying some flowers? You have no idea what’s really going on here.”

Taking advantage of a moment of distraction, Frank reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone.
“No… but I can have them find out.”

The steely glint in Jason’s eyes intensified. With a swift motion, he pistol-whipped Frank’s phone. The device rolled dangerously close to the edge of the cliff.

“No!” Frank shouted, lunging. With the same momentum, he kicked Jason’s gun, which fell to the ground a few feet away. The two men struggled, slipping in the loose earth.

Frank managed to grab the phone and, with trembling hands, pressed the SOS button.
“It’s too late, Jason. They’re coming.”

Jason’s breathing became ragged, and for a moment he seemed to hesitate… but his gaze hardened again.
“You don’t understand anything, Frank.” Alicia… she wasn’t who you thought she was.

“What are you saying?” Frank retorted, feeling a chill different from the sea breeze run down his spine.

Jason’s knuckles tightened.
“She betrayed me. She came back again and again… and in the end, she wanted to leave me as if nothing had happened.”

Frank stared at him in disbelief, the roar of the waves mingling with the distant—but increasingly clear—sound of approaching sirens.

“What did you do to her, Jason?” he asked, his voice cracking.

Jason took a step toward him, his face twisted between anger and fear.
“What I had to do so she wouldn’t destroy me.”

The sirens could now be heard clearly on the path leading to the cliff.

Part 4

The sirens broke the coastal silence, bouncing off the rocks and pines. Jason turned toward the sound, the shovel still in his hand, breathing heavily.

“Drop it, Jason,” Frank ordered, his voice steady even though his heart was pounding in his chest. “You can’t hide it anymore.”

For a second, Jason seemed to consider running away, but the slope toward the cliff and the sound of approaching boots closed him in. He took a step back… and in that instant, three officers emerged from the path with their guns drawn.

“Police! Drop the shovel and stand back!” one of them shouted.

Jason dropped the shovel, slowly raising his hands. His eyes fixed on Frank, a gaze filled with hatred and something else: fear.
“You didn’t have to come here,” he said in a barely audible whisper, before an officer secured his wrists with handcuffs.

Frank, still panting, pointed at the mound of freshly turned earth.
“There… there’s what you were looking for. She buried it a few minutes ago. And she mentioned my daughter’s name.”

Detective Ramirez, who had just arrived, exchanged a glance with the forensic team.
“Dig it up carefully.”

Frank watched as they removed the layer of soil, moved aside the white hyacinth flowers, and delicately lifted out an aged wooden box. The smell of salt and damp earth mingled with the tension of everyone present.

When the box was opened, inside was a bundle of yellowed papers, several photographs, and… a small, handmade wool doll, just like the ones Alicia used to make in high school.

The detective flipped through the papers, and his face changed, hardening.
“Mr. Sanders…” he said, looking directly at him. “I need you to come see this.”

Frank took a step forward, his legs shaking, and as he looked at the contents, he felt his world shrink. At the top of the pile was a photograph of Alicia… and on the back, written in a man’s handwriting, a message repeated over and over:

“You must still love me. You must still love me. You must still love me.”

Frank looked up, his breath ragged, and saw Jason, sitting on the ground next to the patrol car, watching him with a frozen half-smile.

Part 5

Frank felt a lump close his throat as Detective Ramirez moved the first photo aside to reveal the rest. The following images were worse: Alicia appeared in several of them, visibly uncomfortable or scared, in settings Frank didn’t recognize… until he saw the rustic wooden background and the distinctive window of the small cottage Jason had just left.

On the back of one of the photos, Jason had written in nervous handwriting:
“I had a great time on the bluffs with you. Yours, J.”

But the last image was the one that chilled the blood: Alicia, her face marked by fear, staring off-camera. Behind her, the unmistakable shadow of Jason. On the back, a jagged, shaky text:
“I couldn’t let you leave me. You told me it was all over. I couldn’t let you destroy me. Forgive me… I had to.”

Frank stepped away, his legs feeling weak.
“This… this is a confession,” he murmured, his voice breaking.

Detective Ramirez nodded gravely and turned to the officers:
“Secure the house and grounds. I want a search party in a ten-meter radius around this point.”

Minutes later, one of the detectives… we found bones.

Frank felt as if the air was escaping from his lungs. The word “bones” echoed in his head. He walked to the edge of the cordoned-off area and watched as the team removed the earth layer by layer. The opaque white glint of a bone fragment emerged from the wet sand.

Ramirez placed a firm hand on his shoulder.
“Mr. Sanders… I think we’re finally going to be able to give Alicia a place to rest in peace.”

Frank closed his eyes, and for the first time in 22 years, he didn’t feel uncertainty. He felt a sharp pain, yes… but also a certainty: the truth was coming out.

A few feet away, Jason, sitting in the back of the patrol car with his hands cuffed, avoided Frank’s gaze. The sound of the sea breaking against the rocks seemed louder, as if the ocean itself bore witness to what that cliff had held for more than two decades.

Final Part

The forensic work continued well into the night. With portable spotlights illuminating the cliff, the team recovered what remained of Alicia’s remains. Each fragment was packed with reverent care, as if the entire town were there, watching over her.

Frank didn’t move. Elaine arrived shortly after, accompanied by Amy, Alicia’s best friend. The three figures stood together, watching silently as the specialists carried the numbered bags toward the forensic vehicle.

Detective Ramirez approached, his face serious but serene.
“Jason has spoken,” he said. “He hasn’t given all the details, but he has admitted that he had a relationship with Alicia, that he held her against her will, and that, after an argument right here in this place, he killed her.”

Elaine brought a hand to her mouth, tears spilling over. Amy leaned toward her, sobbing. Frank clenched his fists, but didn’t take his eyes off the cliff.

“Why now?” she asked, her voice a whisper.
“He said he couldn’t stand keeping things locked away any longer… and that burying the box here, next to her, was his way of ‘closing the circle,’” Ramírez replied bitterly. “What he didn’t consider was that you were watching him.”

Jason was taken to the police station and later formally charged with murder, kidnapping, and concealing a corpse. The evidence—the photos, the messages, the partial confession, and the remains—cut off any chance of escape from prosecution.

A week later, the Sanders family held an intimate ceremony. They didn’t want a cemetery; Alicia loved the sea, so her ashes were scattered off the coast, among white hyacinths floating on the waves.

Frank, holding the empty urn, looked at Elaine and Amy.
“Twenty-two years… and we’ve finally brought her home,” he said.

As the petals drifted away with the current, the pain remained, but the uncertainty had dissipated. The Mornington Fog still enveloped the lighthouse every dawn, but for Frank and Elaine, it was no longer a veil of doubt: now, it was the blanket under which their daughter’s memory rested, unhindered.

For the first time in more than two decades, they could breathe… and, slowly, begin to heal.