Part Seven: The Truth Comes Out
Andrew found me on the floor when he came home.
The envelopes were scattered around me, along with the wrinkled bills my grandparents had saved.
He stopped in the doorway.
“What happened?”
I looked at him through swollen eyes.
“This,” I whispered, touching the cloth bag, “is my grandparents’ entire life.”
Then I told him everything.
I told him about the little yellow house and the creaking floors.
I told him about Papa’s painful back and Nana’s damaged hands.
I told him about the homemade cakes, repaired shoes, and school performances.
I confessed that my grandparents had not died before college.
I had erased them because I was ashamed of being poor.
Andrew sat beside me, stunned.
“I didn’t know,” he said. “At the wedding, I thought they were strangers.”
“I know.”
“I would never have sent them away if you had told me.”
“I know.”
The truth was unbearable because Andrew had acted according to the story I had created.
I had allowed him to believe my grandparents were intruders.
I had stood silently while he defended a lie I had spent years building.
He lowered his head into his hands.
“You need to go to your grandfather.”
This time, I did not delay.
