I thought I knew every sacrifice my dad had made for me after Mom disappeared. But after his funeral, one ordinary grocery bag forced me to question the story I’d believed my whole life and sent me searching for the truth he hadn’t been brave enough to tell me.
“Daddy’s Bug, I hope you’ll forgive me after you see what’s inside.”
I read the sentence twice.
Then I looked at the crumpled plastic grocery bag in my hands.
***
Three hours earlier, I’d buried my dad.
Now I stood inside the empty funeral parlor, wearing his old construction jacket over my black dress. It still smelled of sawdust, coffee, and the peppermints he kept in every pocket.
“I hope you’ll forgive me.”
Mr. Lewis, my dad’s lawyer, waited across from me.
“Did he say what I’m supposed to forgive?” I asked.
“He only told me to give you the bag after the funeral.”
“He could’ve handed it to me himself.”
Mr. Lewis lowered his eyes. “He said he couldn’t watch you open it.”
That scared me. Dad never avoided anything except doctors and conversations about himself.
“He said he couldn’t watch you open it.”
I pulled at the knot.
“Of course,” I muttered. “He tied it like he expected a hurricane.”
Mr. Lewis almost smiled.
I used my car key to tear through the top.
The first thing I found was a photograph.
A woman stood in a bright backyard beside a man and two young adults.
I pulled at the knot.
I knew the woman’s eyes.
I saw them every morning in the mirror.
“That’s my mom.”
She was older. Her hair was shorter, and fine lines framed her mouth, but there was no doubt.
The picture had been taken six months earlier.
I turned it over.
Three names were written on the back.
I knew the woman’s eyes.
“She has a husband,” I whispered. “And two children. She raised other children.”
“Simone…”
“Did Dad know?”
“He told me not to explain anything.”
I shoved the photograph toward him. “My mother left to buy milk when I was three. Dad dropped out of college the next week. He worked construction until his body broke down, and you’re telling me he knew she was alive?”
“Your father said the truth had to belong to you.”
“Did Dad know?”
“Then I’m taking it home.”
Mr. Lewis followed me to Dad’s apartment because Dad had asked him to stay while I opened the bag.
I didn’t want him there.
I also didn’t want to be alone.
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