The Secret My Father Took to His Grave
I hadn’t seen my father in **years.** He left my mother and me when I was a child, and though I tried to **reach out**, he never responded. When I heard he had **passed away,** I wasn’t sure if I should attend his funeral.
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But something inside me told me I **needed to go.**
The service was **somber,** filled with people I didn’t recognize. His **half-siblings were missing,** which struck me as odd. I sat in the back, lost in thought, when my grandmother appeared beside me.
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She leaned down, **gripping my arm tightly.**
**”Look around. Didn’t you notice?”** she whispered. Her voice was low, urgent. **”You shouldn’t be here. You must run to his house. NOW.”**
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Before I could respond, she pressed a **key** into my palm, her eyes sharp and insistent.
**”Trust me.”**
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My heart pounded.
Something was **wrong.**
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Slipping out unnoticed, I drove straight to my father’s house. My hands trembled as I used the key to unlock the door.
The living room was **silent.** Still.
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But from his study, I heard **frantic voices.**
I crept closer, my breath shallow, and peeked inside.
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And what I saw **made my blood run cold.**
My father’s half-siblings were there, **rifling through his desk drawers.** Papers were scattered everywhere, their faces twisted in **panic.**
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**“Where is it? It has to be here!”** one hissed.
**“He wouldn’t have taken it to the grave. He knew we needed it!”** another snapped.
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I took a step back, my pulse hammering.
**What were they looking for?**
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And why did my grandmother **send me here?**
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