Callie worked from home filling small custom baking orders, barely earning enough to cover the rent, the rising electric bills, and basic groceries.

Despite the money troubles, she started buying specialized diapers, vitamin supplements, and notebooks to record every mood swing and every strange word.

One quiet Tuesday afternoon, while Callie was feeding her chicken broth with rice, Geneva stopped shaking and looked at her with sudden, intense focus.

Her eyes, for the very first time in weeks, seemed clear and bright, free of the usual fog of confusion that ruled her days.

“You didn’t lock me in the room, did you, Callie?” she whispered, her voice steady and surprisingly sharp.

Callie slowly set the spoon down on the table, a chill running down her spine as she stared into her grandmother’s sudden clarity.

“Who do you mean, Grandma? Who locked you up?” Callie asked, hoping for some answer about what those monsters had done.

The old woman blinked over and over, as if the memory were a physical object slipping out of her trembling hands and back into the dark.

“Those who smile so beautifully also steal from the light. The key sleeps with the broken saint. Five, eight, two, one,” she muttered rapidly.