I must have stared at that picture for nearly an hour. I just couldn't believe it. Could it really be Mr. Weston? Could this really be his family?

I never thought much about Mr. Weston's family before. After all, it's not like I knew them myself and he never really talked about them either. However, looking at this picture now, they were all I could think about.

I opened this album wondering how much Mr. Weston's relatives would remind me of him. Well, I got exactly what I wanted. He and his father could pass for brothers. Though he closely resembled his father, there was no doubt that his mother was there too. He had her eyes, her smile, and the same air of gentleness she seemed to give off in this picture.

Looking at his brother was the most heartbreaking thing for me. It wasn't something distinct about him that made me feel this way. It was seeing them together that was hurting me. So many times, children in pictures had forced smiles and eyes that begged for things to be over. A by-product of their parents shoving them together to get that image of the "perfect family."

Mr. Weston and his brother were different though. Their smiles were real, and the way their arms draped across each others' shoulders gave off an air of "best friends" more than "siblings." They must have been very close.

My heart hurt as I looked down at them. To lose someone you loved so much, to lose everyone you loved so much, it must have been unimaginably painful. How did he ever get through it?

The answer was simple. He didn't.

Since he never talked about his family, it was easy for me to forget just how much of an impact their deaths had on him. That the entire reason his illness started was to escape the pain and trauma of what had happened. Since the beginning, I'd known Mr. Weston was sick, but this was the first time I'd ever really stopped to think about why.

These thoughts were interrupted as I noticed water droplets landing on the page. I gasped and looked up, trying to find the leak. However, as I felt the hot liquid stream down my cheeks, I quickly discovered the leak was me. I sighed and wiped my eyes with my sleeve. Why was I getting so emotional over this? It's not like I even knew them.

Maybe that was it though. I didn't know about them. In fact, I barely knew anything about Mr. Weston's past.

It wasn't as if he was hiding it from me. He told me I was free to ask him anything, and I did ask a little on that first night. I just never thought to ask about it after that, and he never brought it up on his own. I think we were both subconsciously trying to avoid the subject. It wasn't like it was a happy subject, after all.

When I felt sure I wouldn't leak onto the pages anymore, I looked at the picture again. This time, I smiled at it a bit. Emotional baggage or not, I was happy to find a photo from his childhood. He looked really happy in it. I wondered how old he was when they took this.

An idea suddenly came to mind. I was nervous to follow through with it though. I wasn't sure if Mr. Weston knew this album was here or not, but either way, I didn't want to run the risk of accidentally ruining one of the last pieces of his family he might have.

I stared at the page a while, trying to decide if my stupid theory was worth the risk. Apparently it was.

I let out a deep sigh and gingerly tugged at one of the corners of the picture. It was an older album. One of the ones with the four metal tabs to hold pictures in place. I just hoped the back wasn't glued down as well.

My heart thumped anxiously as the first corner of the picture popped out of its holder. I wiggled the picture gently. It seemed loose. I gave the picture a few more tentative tugs and wiggles before it finally came free. I let out a sigh of relief as I saw it, undamaged, in my hand. I hoped my stupid theory was worth all this anxiety.

To my surprise, it was. A small note was scrawled across the back of the picture. Me, Bernard, and the boys. May 7th, 1999.

Bernard? I guess that was his father's name. Since the picture said "me," his mother probably wrote it. 1999? I paused as I tried to so the math for that in my head. Mr. Weston mentioned he was turning thirty in June so he'd be... Eight? No, seven. This was taken in May.

Seven years old. He was so young. He mentioned before that his brother was his younger brother. I wondered how old he was in the picture. Honestly, I wondered who he was too. The note just said "the boys."

As I thought of this, the realization came to me that this was, in fact, an album. I was so shocked by the fact that I was looking at Mr. Weston's family, that I completely forgot there were a lot more photos than this to look at. This picture didn't look particularly special, so if his mother took the time to label this photo, then the others probably were too.

I carefully tucked the picture back into its place. I didn't want to take out too many and mix them up by accident. I flipped to the next page. There were four more photos there. Two of them looked similar to the first: family photos. One was in the garden and the other was at some kind of party. However, the other two were individual photos. One was, obviously, Mr. Weston. The other was his brother.

Despite my curiosity about his brother, I couldn't help looking at Mr. Weston's picture first. It looked like he was in one of the studies. He was sitting in one of the armchairs with a large book in his lap, giving a cheesy grin to the camera. The armchair looked humongous compared to how small he was. I couldn't help but giggle at the sight.

Again, I carefully removed the photo to glance at the back. And, again, I wasn't disappointed. Jack reading "like Papa." July 2nd, 1999. I smiled at the note. He really was just an average child then. Fortune excluded, of course.

That part of my curiosity satisfied, I moved on to his brother. It looked like this one was taken in the garden. He was standing on top of the stone bench, holding a stick out dramatically like it was a sword.

Just based on these photos, it seemed like his mother was the kind of woman who liked to capture everything. Even the smallest moment. I wonder if that part of her was where Arthur came from.

My heart stung a little as I thought of this. I shook my head as if to shake away the idea. One heartbreaking revelation at a time. First, his brother. I pulled out the photo and checked the back. "Captain" Archie, setting sail across the garden. August 5th, 1999.

Archie? So that was his name. I imagine, much like "Jack," it was probably a nickname. I wondered what his full name was. Considering that the personalities appeared after the accident, I doubted any of them would know. Which meant I'd have to ask Jack if I wanted to know.

I paused a bit at this thought. Ask Jack? Did I really want to? I did want answers, especially now that I actually had some questions to ask, but did I really want him to give them?

He said he didn't mind talking about his past, but it couldn't be easy for him. Before, I was only asking about him. How would he feel answering questions about his family? Then again, the accident was years ago, there was a good chance he had come to terms with it by now.

Or had he? After all, who can ever say what the appropriate amount of time to grieve is? Especially when you've lost your entire family. Did I really want him to relive something so painful? Could he even? Was there a chance talking about this might make his condition even worse somehow? I didn't know, and I wasn't sure if I was willing to risk knowing the answer.

I sighed and rubbed my temples. Jeez, Anna, what happened to one crisis at a time? Although, I guess this didn't really count as a crisis. There was no rush to find answers here. I knew nothing before and I knew nothing now. I could wait to find answers to this. At least until my situation with Arthur was resolved.

Ugh, Arthur. My head throbbed as I thought of him. This deadline we had was growing closer and closer every day. What did I have? Less than a week now? God, what a mess.

"Ms. Walton?"

The familiar echo brought me back to reality. I scrambled to my feet immediately. I did my best to hurry through the piles before he worried again.

I tried to steady my breathing as I hit the button. "Yes, sir?"

"Lunch is almost ready. If you're in the attic, start heading down now."

Lunch? It couldn't be. There was no way I'd been up here that long. Had I? I knew the walk-through didn't take me long. Did that mean I'd spent the last couple hours just looking through the album?

"Ms. Walton?"

I realized that I forgot to answer him. "Sorry, sir. I lost track of time. I'll come down right away."

I sighed as I glanced at the piles of junk behind me. I'd barely looked through any of it. At this rate, I'd never get done.

I couldn't help it though. A record of Mr. Weston's family, his actual family, right in my hands. I'd already learned his father's name, his brother's, how old he was when they were taken. Every new bit of information thrilled me in a way I couldn't really explain, and left me itching for more. How could I possibly focus on anything else when there was so much more to be discovered?

I glanced down at the album in my hands, then back at the piles, then back at the album again. I knew I should put it back, but I was scared I might forget where it was. Besides, as soon as my work was done I intended to spend every free second I had going over it.

Be that as it may, this wasn't my album. This wasn't my property. Abandoned in the attic or not, it didn't seem right to just take it. At least, not without permission.

My stomach growled at that moment. Right. Henry. I couldn't spend all day debating this. I allowed my instincts to take over. I clutched the book to my chest and hurried down the stairs.

A small twinge of guilt filled me as I felt the corners press into my fingers. I tried to push that feeling away. It's not like I was stealing it. It was still right here in the house. If Mr. Weston asked for it, I could give it back right away. It's not like it was forbidden either. It was just a photo album. Thomas would have locked it up somewhere if it was really that big of a deal.

Besides, I was going to be careful with it. Very careful. I'd make sure everything was exactly in the same condition as when I'd taken it. I'd just look through it for a while, then I'd put it right back where I found it.

When I'd have the time to look through it was the real question. I paused as I thought of this. Between the attic and dinner, I might not have any spare time to look at it today. I didn't want to take it back to the attic though. I worried the temptation would be too great. I might waste the entire time looking at pictures again.

Where could I put it though? I didn't want to bring it to lunch either. I really didn't need Henry asking questions about it.

It was at that moment I realized I was on the same floor as our rooms. Perfect. None of Mr. Weston's personalities would have a reason to look through my room. I could leave it there and look through it on slow days. I hurried to the spare room and tucked the album in the same spot as Thomas' book.

"Ms. Walton, is the attic really that far away?" An annoyed voice called from the intercom.

"Sorry, sir. I... got caught up with something." I cringed a bit at the half-lie.

"Well, whatever it is, leave it be and come eat."

"Yes, sir."

I hurried out of the room and downstairs to the dining room. This little album was going to be trouble, I could already tell. I'd only found it a short while ago and it was already making me neglect my duties. To the mansion and Mr. Weston. Independent personality or not, it was my job to care for him. He should always be my first priority.

Henry smiled as he saw me rush in. Apparently, I wasn't rushing fast enough though. Much like at breakfast, he came over and hurried me towards the table, launching into another monologue about the food.

Normally, I loved hearing what he had to say, but I couldn't focus on that right now. My mind was back in my room, with the album. I wondered what other pictures I might find, what I might learn. It was a thick album, there had to be dozens of pages. Were they all full? Did Mrs. Weston label all of them?

My mind went blank for a second as I thought the words "Mrs. Weston." I mean, she was, but the words sounded so strange for some reason. Maybe it was because I was so used to thinking of Mr. Weston as Mr. Weston. Thinking about a Mrs. Weston seemed off.

What else could I call her though? I didn't know her name. I thought about the album again. If she labelled everything herself, then she probably wouldn't include her own name. Where could I learn it then?

"Sorry, I suppose this is all a little boring, isn't it?" Mr. Weston's voice interrupted my thoughts suddenly.

"Huh?"

He half-smiled and looked down. "I thought so. It seemed like you weren't really paying attention. I'm sorry. Hearing about all this cooking stuff is probably boring for you."

"What?! No, no," I said quickly. "I love hearing about your cooking. I'm sorry, sir. It's not you, I promise. I just have something else on my mind right now."

"You really don't need to make an excuse for my sake, Ms. Walton. I do tend to go on at times, and-"

"I'm not making excuses, I swear," I insisted. "Please, continue what you were talking about. In fact, please start over so I can really listen this time."

He chuckled at this. "Thank you for your interest, but it's alright. You've nearly finished eating and I should start dinner as soon as possible if I want to finish what I have planned."

"Oh, what's for dinner, sir?" I said cheerfully, hoping to get him talking again.

He gave me a wicked grin as he took my plate. "Well, I explained it to you a while ago, but since it seems you've forgotten, I think I'm equally as happy to leave it as a surprise."

He chuckled again before disappearing into the kitchen. While I was glad he still seemed to be in a good mood, I felt terrible. Guilt flooded every inch of my body. Poor Henry. Not only did I completely ignore everything he had said, I also made him feel like he needed to apologize for it. I felt awful.

Why did I keep doing this? Why did I keep letting myself get distracted from what was important? Why was I always thinking of the wrong man, or over-thinking a small issue, or thinking about something not even related to Mr. Weston at all?

I mean, Arthur was probably due to show up again any day now. Shouldn't my issues with him be priority one in my mind right now? Why was I spending so much time worrying about some old pictures?

I sighed and rested my head on the table. I hated this part of myself. The easily distracted, scatter-brained one who could never focus on the right thing. If I knew how to fix it I would have done so already. But I didn't.

"Are you alright?"

I bolted upright. Mr. Weston was looking at me with a worried expression.

"Ah, sorry, sir. I thought you went back to the kitchen," I said, trying to compose myself.

"I forgot the glasses," he said, gesturing vaguely towards the cups on the table. "More importantly, are you okay? You seem down?"

"Just... kicking myself for my lack of focus today," I sighed. "It seems I'm not focusing on anything I should be. I got distracted looking through things in the attic and didn't finish inspecting it. I got distracted with the things I'd found up there and didn't focus on you. I just feel bad I'm not doing my job properly."

"You're really being too hard on yourself, Ms. Walton. Everyone has an off day."

"I seem to have more off days than on ones," I grumbled.

He smiled and reached out to pinch my cheek gently. I was shocked that he did. Jack usually did that kind of thing, but Henry had never done it before. He chuckled at my obvious surprise. 

"You strike me as the worrying type. The kind who takes everything too seriously and spends too much time in their own head obsessing over things they have no control of," he explained. "How can you ever have an 'on' day when you're trapped in the past worrying about the 'off' ones?"

I started a little as he said this. He gave me another smile and collected the glasses.

"Try being in the present a little more, I think it will save you a lot of headache," he suggested.

I was speechless as he returned to the kitchen. Living in the past too much. Was I? I mean, I guess I could admit I tended to dwell on things. Alright, even to the point of over-thinking. What he said though, "being in the present," how could I do it?

I guess the first step was focusing on now. And now I needed to inspect the attic. I forced myself out of the chair and headed upstairs.

I still wasn't exactly sure if I got what Henry was talking about, but his words did make me feel better. If nothing else, they showed me he cared enough about my petty problems to give me advice. I was very grateful for that. His word meant a lot more to me than their actual meaning.

After another, incredibly long, hike upstairs, I tried to find where I had left off in my inspection. This time, I was determined to stay present. If I found something else of interest, then I'd just pick it up and continue with my duties. The things I found would be a future project.

I wandered around for a bit before I found the area I thought I'd left off in. Once again, I started walking up and down the rows, checking for damage.

I guess I used all my luck this morning though. An enormous boom of thunder echoed through the house. It was so strong that several objects around me rattled. The light overhead began to flicker. I barely had time to think about it before another loud roar filled the air. I heard a sharp, electrical buzz and a loud pop. Then I was in darkness.

I waited a moment, praying the lights would come on again, but they didn't. The only thought that ran through my head was "why." I was nearly two-thirds of the way through the attic! This couldn't have waited another hour?!

"Seriously?!" I cried, exasperated.

Of course, being the drama queen I can be at times, I flung my arms out to emphasize my frustration. However, being blinded now, I didn't notice how close I was to the pile next to me. I ended up swinging my wrist into something. Hard.

"Ow, fuck!"

I pulled my wrist close to my body and rubbed it gently. Next to me I heard a small creaking sound. Then the sound of something small falling to the floor. I turned towards it to see what I had dropped, only to see a large, ambiguous shadow leaning dangerously in my direction.

I screamed and stumbled back to get away from it. Tripping and landing right on my ass along one of the paths in the process.

Just in time, apparently. A moment later, a humongous crash shook the attic. I held my arms in front of my face defensively. I felt as several smaller things bouncrd off them and landed on my lap.

After a while, the crashing echo faded away. I slowly lowered my arms and looked around. In the dark, I could only see a vague silhouette of random shapes in front of me, but it was obvious I'd knocked over a large, unsteady pile of something. God, I just hoped it was nothing important. I'd never forgive myself if I ruined anything up here.

I let out a deep sigh as I stood up. Great. Another mess to clean up. Considering that it was pitch black right now, I'd have to take care of it some other time.

Seeing as I couldn't really do anything up here anymore, I decided to head back downstairs. As I stepped forward, my foot immediately hit something. A hollow, metallic sound filled the air.

Right. The pile. Even if I could get through it to reach the stairs, I was worried about damaging something in the process. Well, damaging it more, anyway. I wondered if I'd be able to find my way through the attic in the dark though. What if I got lost?

This thought was interrupted by a loud, repetitive pounding sound. Thunder? No, thunder wasn't rhythmic like that. It almost sounded like-

"Anna! Anna! Are you okay?!" Mr. Weston's voice called out frantically from the darkness.

I was shocked. Henry never called me by my name. He was one of the few who didn't, in fact. What was he doing up here anyway?

"Anna?!" His voice quickly became more panicked.

That panic was enough to bring me back to the present. "I'm fine, sir. Just a little lost."

"Hold on, I'm coming."

A second later a dim light appeared across the room. I watched as it weaved through a few of the paths, getting closer to me each time. Eventually, it rounded the corner. I held up my hand to guard my eyes as the sudden light blinded me. I heard the biggest sigh of relief come from it.

"Thank god. There you are." I felt as a hand grabbed my own and tugged me gently down the path. "Just hang on to me. I'll have us out in a minute."

Mr. Weston's hand. A familiar feeling by this point, but there was something different in the way it held me this time. Less loving, and more protective. I felt safe having him lead me. However, I did have a question about it.

"What are you doing up here, sir?"

"Looking for you, of course!" He said as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. "The power went out. Not even a minute later, I heard a giant crash from upstairs. I tried calling you on the intercom, but you didn't answer. You mentioned this place was full of stuff, I worried you might have been buried alive or something."

"Ah, I guess the intercom uses the same power source as the lights. I didn't even hear you," I explained.

When we reached the stairs, I expected him to let go of my hand, but he didn't. He led me down the stairs in the same way he led me through the attic. His hand squeezed mine gently. 

"I'm just glad you're alright," he almost whispered.

My heart fluttered a bit as he said this. While my relationship with Henry may not have been romantic, I still couldn't help feeling happy that he cared so much about me. At his core, Mr. Weston really was Mr. Weston. In all his forms.

I let him lead me until we reached the bottom of the stairs. When we did, he sighed gently and released me.

"Well, it seems my plans for dinner are out the window. I needed the oven."

"It's alright, sir," I reassured him. "It can't be helped. Besides, I know you have at least a dozen dishes up your sleeve at any give time."

"That is true."

Even in the dark, I could imagine the look of pride he would have on his face right now. I smiled a little at this.

Alright, Henry would still be occupied with something, but what was I going to do now? I couldn't really inspect or clean anything in the dark.

"Why don't you head back to your room?" He seemed to answer for me.

"What?"

"It's too dark for you to do anything and I'll start to worry if I know you're up and wandering around. I wouldn't want another incident like what happened upstairs to happen again."

"That was just an accident. I-"

"And to avoid further accidents, it would be safest in your room," he said sternly.

I sighed. It was obvious there was no arguing with him about this.

"Alright, I'll wait in my room."

"Good," he said cheerfully. "I'll come get you when dinner is ready."

I heard as he slowly walked through the dark hallway and down the stairs. I shook my head. Honestly, he worried a little too much at times. I was perfectly capable of looking after myself.

However, this confidence wavered as I struggled to find my way back to my room. I stayed along the wall, feeling my way around in the darkness. After a while, I thought I was in the vicinity of my room. I felt around for the doorknob.

Thankfully, I was right. I let out a sigh of relief at the familiar shapes and shadows of my bedroom. I threw myself onto the bed and groaned into the covers.

God, what a day. The storm, the blackout, the album. All this free time and I couldn't even look at it now. I was sure I could probably scrounge up a candle or a flashlight from somewhere if I wanted to, but Henry was right. It was probably safer if I stayed here. Besides, I really didn't want to get out of bed.

I wasn't sure if it was the excitement of finding the album, the multiple hikes upstairs, or the near-death experience, but every cell in my body seemed to collapse with exhaustion at once. My limbs went limp. I never wanted to leave this bed.

Outside, the rain pelted against the house in a steady, soothing rhythm. The warmth of the covers, the total darkness, the exhaustion I already felt. I didn't stand a chance.

I wasn't sure when I feel asleep or for how long. All I know is that some time later, I felt something brush against my head. Soft, warm, familiar. It stroked my hair gently a few times before pulling away. A moment later, I vaguely heard a soft click. My mind was still too tired to think much about it though.

I nuzzled further into the blankets. My mind was already half-gone by the time I did. Still, that feeling from before stayed with me. So gentle, so loving, so familiar in a way. What was it though?

The realization came to me suddenly. Mr. Weston. He had been petting my head. Then that click I heard must have been the door closing as he left. He didn't even attempt to wake me.

A small smile spread across my lips as I thought of this. As I sunk back into sleep, my mind was filled with thoughts of him. At his core, he really was the same.