My mom was in the hospital, so Dad and I went to grab her things. We were just going through the list, nothing unusual, until I opened the safe for her jewelry box.
That’s when I saw it – a note that said, “DON’T SHOW LUCY.” The thing is… I’m Lucy!
And beneath the note was an old VHS tape. My heart raced as I grabbed it, making sure no one was around.
I couldn’t resist! I slid the tape into the VCR, and as the screen flickered to life. What I saw gave me chills…
It was buried at the bottom of a cardboard box in my grandmother’s attic, nestled between stacks of yellowed newspapers and old Christmas ornaments. The note taped to it was written in shaky handwriting: “Watch this when you’re ready.”
Ready for what? I had no idea. But I dusted off the tape, took it downstairs, and dug out my dad’s old VCR from the garage. It took some fiddling, but eventually, the TV flickered, and the tape started to play.
At first, the screen was black. Then, a familiar face appeared.
It was my grandfather.
He had passed away years ago. Seeing him again—his warm, wrinkled face, his easy smile—made my breath catch in my throat. He sat in his favorite chair, the one that still sat by the fireplace, and looked straight into the camera.
“If you’re watching this,” he began, “it means you’re ready for the truth.”
My heart pounded. What truth? What did he mean?
He sighed, running a hand through his silver hair. “There’s something I never told anyone. Something I thought I’d take to my grave. But secrets have a way of making their way back to the light.”
He paused, as if trying to gather his thoughts. “You need to go to the old oak tree by the creek. Dig two feet down, and you’ll find something that belongs to our family. Something that was lost a long time ago.”
Then, the screen went black.
I sat there, stunned. My grandfather had always been a storyteller, but this—this was different. This felt real. Urgent. Important.
I didn’t hesitate. I grabbed a flashlight, a small shovel from the shed, and drove to the creek. The old oak tree was still there, its thick branches stretching toward the sky. I knelt at its base and started digging.
After a few minutes, my shovel hit something solid.
I pulled out a rusted metal box. My fingers trembled as I pried it open.
Inside was a bundle of letters, carefully wrapped in a cloth. Some were addressed to my grandfather. Others… to a woman I didn’t recognize. And then, beneath the letters, there was a small velvet pouch.
I opened it and gasped.
Inside was a ring—gold, with a delicate sapphire in the center. It wasn’t my grandmother’s wedding ring. I had seen hers a thousand times. This was different.
I unfolded one of the letters, my hands shaking. The handwriting was unfamiliar but filled with emotion.
“I miss you every day. But I know we made the right choice. I hope you are happy, even if it’s without me.”
I read through the letters, piecing together a story I had never known.
My grandfather had loved someone else before my grandmother. A woman named Eleanor. But for reasons I couldn’t yet understand, they had parted ways. And yet, he had kept these letters, this ring—this memory—hidden for decades.
Why?
I needed answers.
The next morning, I went to visit my grandmother at the nursing home. She was in her late eighties now, but her mind was sharp. I sat beside her, holding her fragile hand, and told her everything.
To my surprise, she didn’t look shocked.
She simply sighed. “So, you found it.”