Ella worries when her attic makes unusual noises when Aaron is away. But nothing could prepare Kate for the unexpected discovery of her mother-in-law, Diane, hidden upstairs… What’s happening?
After my husband Aaron went for a weeklong work trip a month ago, it all began. Before the disturbances, I liked being alone in our little suburban house.
It started with intermittent faint thuds from above. I ignored it, thinking the home was settling. In truth, our attic wasn’t an attic.
Aaron and I boarded up the enormous windows in the third-floor room when we moved in, and there was a tiny balcony with a ladder to the ground floor.
We thought it was a sunroom or art studio before moving here.
I wanted to use the area for myself, but it never happened.
Another sound made me gasp. Old homes creak? Maybe a squirrel or two got into the attic. However, the sounds became more frequent and human-like.
A faint yet audible whisper.
I heard it while looking through my phone in bed one night.
I heard a guttural groan. My gut wrenched, trapping my air.
Not a squirrel. No way.
I texted Aaron right away on my phone.
The attic may have something or someone!
His response was quick:
Ella, it’s probably nothing. I’ll check when I return.
I was irritated by his casualness. How was he so dismissive?
I told myself I was exaggerating and ignored the noises.
But a few days later, I heard footsteps while getting ready for bed. Like genuine, weighty footsteps above me.
The breaking point. I stopped waiting for Aaron to come home. The point? Someone may have slept beneath my roof the whole time! I felt unsafe.
Taking the emergency baseball bat from the garage, I texted him again to say I was heading up to investigate.
His reply chilled me to the to.
Dear Ella, love. Allow me to inspect the attic. Very crucial that I do it.
Why wouldn’t he want me up there? He knew what? My head was full with questions. Was he hiding something? Was I in danger?
Was someone squatting in our house?
Even though my stomach was knotting, I continued. Needed to know myself.
My pulse raced with each creaking step up the small stairs. I grabbed the bat like my lifeline and opened the attic door.
I froze at the sight.
There she was. Diane, my mother-in-law!
She stood in the attic in a nightgown and robe, holding a paintbrush like a deer in headlights.
“What are you doing here?” Screaming, I nearly fell. “Why moan? Are you okay? Are you hurt?
What was up? Seriously.
Diane dropped the brush and held up her hands, blushing.
“Ella! Stay calm! Not what you think!”
Not what I think? Diane, my thoughts are so unclear! You live in my attic?
Sighing, she scratched her temples and said.
“I knew this would happen, but Aaron doesn’t listen. Sit down for a moment. I’ll explain all.”
I held the bat as if for moral support, not moving.
My mother-in-law was aggressive and unfazed. Her sheepishness unnerved me. I slid myself into a dusty box, watching her, after a beat.
“Okay, look,” she said, guilty. “Your husband will kill me for spoiling the surprise. Ella, you deserve to know. Aaron is making something unique for you!”
Raise my eyebrow.
What’s great about squatting in my attic? Are you the new ghost?
Her wince.
Im not squatting! Aaron wants to make room for you. Imagine a place to convert your baking passion into a meaningful endeavor. He converted the attic into a studio.”
That surprised me.
“What? A studio?
“For your dream, Ella,” she gestured about. “This is an attic where we can cook or bake. Plenty of room. Aaron wanted to surprise you with a place to bake, explore, and even sell your goods. His design skills are poor! So he invited me over to help. Every day after you leave for work, I supervise the contractors.”
“Contractors?”
I felt dumb. Diane was talking, but my brain wasn’t absorbing it.
“Yes, contractors. We fixed the plumbing so your kitchen works. Next week, electricians will fix the plugs. I’ve joined in decorating, painting, and creating adorable stuff.
Aaron and Diane hid it? How had I missed it? Was I so aloof?
But why stay? Still skeptical, I asked. The attic?
“In the studio, you mean?” she said. “I wasn’t staying here full-time. I continued entering and leaving by the balcony and side stairs. I didn’t want to keep visiting and risk you getting on.”
The wailing and groaning? I requested.
Diane bit her lip in shame.
I really underestimated how hard this would be on my back. The groans were my straining, darling.”
I gazed at her, trying to understand the strange reality. I took in the space slowly. Though unfinished, the attic was lovely.
Dust and filth were removed from the large windows, and I could see daytime light flowing in. Perfect it would be.
I saw the cupcake and rolling pin murals on half-painted walls. Sketches of ingredient shelves, a prep island, and a nice window seat were everywhere.
Aaron wrote a blueprint title on one board:
Baking Studio Ella
A knot formed in my throat.
“Really for me?” I requested.
Her expression softened as Diane nodded.
He wanted a place to do what you love. He feels bad about his job schedule. He wanted to demonstrate his gratitude for everything you do.”
I sat shocked as tears fell.
Fear of a hidden secret in our attic led to days of worry. to discover this?
A thoughtful, loving gift?
Aaron called later that night. The stress in his voice was obvious.
Please tell me you didn’t go up there, Ella. Contact Kevin from next door to check.”
“I did,” I said. “Aaron… I have nothing to say.”
A quiet beat followed by a faint giggle.
“There goes the surprise.”
“I don’t deserve this,” I said.
“According to whom?” Ella, you keep our family together. This is my method of expressing my love. You can quit your work if you desire. This might be your restart.”
We finished the studio jointly once Aaron returned home a few days later. Diane was crucial; her décor eye was exceptional.
Space went out better than expected. I’m reminded of the love that went into that sunny workshop with shelves full of baking jars every time I enter.
My relationship with Diane has developed since that day, but I sometimes tease her about the “attic residency” event.
The gentle, surprising ways individuals demonstrate their love might be life’s twists, not dramatic betrayals or frightening secrets.
