You probably don’t know your father’s version of his twenties. Or what your mother was afraid of before she had kids. Or what your closest friend actually thought about the year you both just lived through.

Not because you don’t care. Because you never asked. Because there was always more time.

Until there wasn’t.

Ordinary life is loud. Dinner, group chats, the thousand small things. Real conversations need someone to start them, and nobody does.

So the years pass. The questions stay unasked. And the people you love most stay, in some ways, unknown.

One question a day. Sent to everyone at once. You answer on your own, then see what your family said.

Two minutes. An archive that builds itself.

At the end of each year, every answer becomes a hardcover book. Your family’s name on the cover. Your actual words inside.

Not a highlight reel. The real thing — what everyone thought, in the year you actually lived it.

One founder. People who have lost people and thought about this longer than we’d like to admit.

We read every message. We respond to every email.

If this resonates, we’d be glad to have your family.