A week ago, our grandmother passed away. She had been ill for a long time, and in her final months, she could barely get out of bed.
She was a strong-willed woman with a tough, sometimes harsh character. Her stubbornness once drove our grandfather away, leaving her alone with the children.
She raised them in extreme poverty, struggling to provide even the basics. As my father recalled, there were times when they had nothing but bread to eat. Life was hard, but she never gave up.
After her passing, we gathered in her room to sort through her belongings. In the wardrobe opposite her bed, we found an old family photo album. But what truly shocked us was a mysterious wooden box we had never seen before.
It was old, and the lock was broken, making it easy to open. Inside, we found something that left us speechless—a large sum of money, not just in our currency but from different countries.
— Where did she get all this money? — my father whispered in disbelief.
We had no answers. Why had she lived in such poverty when she could have helped? Why had she let her children suffer when she had the means to change their lives?
— Mom, why didn’t you use this money when they took away our apartment? Why didn’t you help me with my education? — my father’s voice trembled with sorrow.
The truth behind the hidden wealth remained a mystery. Perhaps she had her reasons, but we would never know.
In the end, my father used the money to buy a new home for our family. At least something good came from this secret, even if it was too late.
