There was always something about the behavior of my mother, but I never doubted it – until then.
As we stood in the funeral institute, they were saddened by my grandmother, I could not shake the turbulent feeling crawling on my spine. It was not just the sorrow of who weighed me; It was the way my mother avoided my point of view,
the way she was playing with the phone, and above all the way she behaved, as if she were just participating in a funeral of a friend to say goodbye to her own mother. Something was wrong and I was about to reveal the truth that would change everything.
For me, my grandmother was everything. It was my rock, my biggest support, my best friend …
For me, my grandmother was everything – my anchor, my biggest supporter, my best friend. The loss of her in my heart, which felt impossible, filled the void. When I looked at her coffin, her hair stylized exactly as she liked, she looked calm. But the stunning sorrow of never seeing her again consumed me.
Her funeral was full of neighbors and friends who came to pay their final respects to a woman who touched so many lives.
Despite my tears, I saw my mother standing in the corner and moving on her phone, seemingly indifferent. Their tense relationship was not a mystery, but her lack of emotions at the funeral of her mother shocked me.
Then, in the middle of the crowd when I talked to Mrs. Anderson – who reminded me of how deep my grandmother loved me – I noticed something special.
My mother slipped into the coffin discreetly. I didn’t know about any last wish my grandmother had, so I had no idea what my mother could place in.
Curiosity got the best of me. When the burial house emptied, I hesitated before I gently picked up a small box wrapped in a blue handkerchief from my grandmother’s inanimate hands.
“I’m sorry, my grandmother,” I whispered, his fingers wiped for cold skin for the last time.
That evening I was sitting on the package. “What are you hiding, Mom?” I murmured when I carefully untied the frayed string.
Inside were handwritten letters – every one written by my grandmother to my mother.
When I read them, the frightening truth developed. My grandmother knew all the time – she knew my mother had stolen her to finance her gambling addiction.
And in the last letter she clarified her last wish: She left everything for me – her house, her belongings and money she carefully saved over the years.
I don’t believe frozen. The realization hit hard. Suddenly expensive Christmas is, constant requests for “lending” my credit card for “emergencies” and its insistence to obtain a power of attorney made sense.
The next morning I called my mother and asked her to meet me in a café on the corner.
When she arrived, she smiled as if nothing had changed. She reached out to my hand, but I pulled away. Without a word, I put a pile of letters on the table.
“If you try to take what my grandmother has left me,” I said calmly, “the truth will come out.”
Her face paled when she opened her mouth to speak, but I didn’t give her a chance. I got up and left.
It turned out that some secrets could never be buried.
Finally, the truth my grandmother had hidden in these letters has changed everything. The woman I have trusted my whole life – my own mother – betrayed the person who loved me the most. Although the pain of losing my grandmother would never completely disappear, I found comfort when I knew she had always looked at me, even in recent days.
As for my mother, she never tried to think of my grandmother’s wishes. Whether it was fault, shame or fear of exposition, I will never know. But since then, I realized that the family was not just about blood – it is love, trust, and handcuffs that we decide to protect.
Some secrets cannot be buried, and sometimes the truth is the only thing that will free us.