The envelope weighed heavily in my hands as I walked to the nearest postbox. A strange cocktail of anxiety and determination churned in my chest. Each step felt surreal, like I was crossing some invisible threshold. Once the letter was sent, there would be no undoing it.

The postbox loomed before me, its red paint faded by years of weather. I hesitated, clutching the letter tightly. What if Aunt Areti ignored it? Worse, what if she responded with more questions than answers?

I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. "You’ve already started this," I murmured to myself. "No turning back now." With one decisive motion, I slid the envelope into the box.

The sound of it dropping inside echoed faintly, and just like that, it was done.

I stood there for a moment, staring at the postbox as though expecting it to spit the letter back out. Of course, it didn’t. Shaking my head, I turned away and headed home.

Over the next few days, life took on a strange rhythm. I went through the motions—waking up, eating, studying—but my mind was elsewhere, replaying fragments of the diary and imagining Aunt Areti’s response.

Would she be furious? Dismissive? Would she finally crack open the door to the truth?

By the third day, I was on edge, jumping every time the doorbell rang or the mail was delivered. When the response finally came, I nearly dropped the thin envelope in surprise.

Her handwriting was meticulous, the ink bold and precise. I held the envelope for what felt like an eternity before I gathered the courage to open it.

"Yukina,this is from your aunt Areti,first things first: no need for all that formality kid. Second,I can't say much because of your mother but if you can decipher this riddle in greek you'll prove yourself worth of knowing the truth:τρία είναι καλύτερα από ένα, αλλά δύο κάνουν μεγαλύτερη ζημιά, τρία είναι καλύτερα από δύο, αλλά τέσσερα είναι αυτά που βγαίνουν, πριν τους ενώσεις καλύτερα να βγεις

My hands shook as I read Aunt Areti’s response, the riddle staring back at me in bold Greek letters. I quickly scribbled it into my notebook and translated the words, my mind racing with possibilities.

"Three are better than one, but two cause more damage. Three are better than two, but four are the ones that come out. Before uniting them, it’s better to step away."

It sounded cryptic, almost philosophical, yet deeply personal. It was the kind of thing that seemed simple on the surface but twisted into complexity when you looked closer.

Three and two—numbers again. Were these tied to the three sisters: Adara, Areti, and Sophoneia? And the two—did that mean Reika and Tifani, my sisters? They did cause a lot of trouble...But four,what did four mean?!

Frustration bubbled inside me as I tapped the pen against the table. “Why can’t anyone in this family just say what they mean?” I muttered.

The librarian, sorting books nearby, glanced at me but didn’t comment. I buried my face in my hands, the riddle looping in my mind like a stubborn melody.

"Three are better than one, but two cause more damage."

It made sense if the three referred to Aunt Areti, Adara, and Sophoneia. They had been central to everything the diary hinted at, bound by secrets I was only beginning to understand.

"Two cause more damage."

Reika and Tifani were troubled—always meddling, always turning minor issues into catastrophes. But could they be more involved in this family puzzle than I realized?

"Four are the ones that come out."

I chewed on the end of my pen, staring blankly at the diary and my scattered notes. Four what? Pieces? Secrets? People?

"Before uniting them, it’s better to step away."

That part felt ominous, like a warning. But a warning against what? The thought of stepping away from all this—just walking away and pretending I didn’t care—made my stomach churn.

I flipped through the diary again, skimming for anything I might have missed. A sentence I’d overlooked before caught my attention:

"We have too many secrets for our own good,so that's why it's best,it's best 'Reti and Soph be sent back to Greece,it's best that Fuyuki lies to the media about his parents,and it's best that the media thinks my daughters:Reika and Tifani are perfect, that lie needs to become the truth." Mom wrote that,mom was trying to keep the image,but then the next line came."Let's hope Yukina is not like us,I am staring at her bassinet as I write this,and one thing is for sure,Yukina should never know the truth. The truth will break her before it sets her free. Some things are better left buried, even if the grave feels too shallow."

The words on the page blurred as I stared, my pulse hammering in my ears. Mom had written this before I could even walk, let alone ask questions. She had been trying to build a fortress of lies to shield me—or maybe to shield herself.

I leaned back in my chair, the diary slipping from my hands and landing on the table with a soft thud. Mom’s words weren’t just controlling; they were suffocating. They weren’t meant to protect me—they were meant to trap me in ignorance.

But why? What truth was so dangerous that even she, with all her determination, felt the need to warn me against it?

I turned back to Aunt Areti’s riddle.

"Four are the ones that come out."

If the "three" were the sisters and the "two" were Reika and Tifani, then the "four" had to mean... me. Me and the secrets Mom fought so hard to suppress.

But what did "stepping away" mean? Could it mean leaving the family entirely, detaching myself from their web of lies? Or was it a warning about what might happen if I dug too deep too fast?

I needed a clear head, but my thoughts were a jumbled storm of resentment and curiosity. Reaching for my notebook, I wrote a quick message to Aunt Areti:

"I’m working on the riddle, but I need more time. Please don’t shut me out. Whatever Mom is hiding, I have to know."

Before I could second-guess myself, I hit send.

Now all I could do was wait. Wait for Areti to respond, wait for another clue to fall into place—or wait for the chaos Mom tried so hard to avoid to finally catch up with me.

But one thing was certain: I wouldn’t step away. Not until I uncovered the truth. Even if it destroyed everything I thought I knew.