At my dad’s funeral, my aunt Rina sobbed, whispering, “I should’ve told her the truth.” My dad, the family anchor, died of a heart attack, leaving my mom distant and me to speak at the service. Rina’s muttering stuck with me. Weeks later, my mom called: Rina confessed she’d dated my dad secretly before he met my mom. Scared he’d never propose, Rina lied about a pregnancy to push him away. He then fell for my mom, but wrote Rina a letter
before their wedding, professing lingering love. Rina, now terminally ill, revealed this guilt at my mom’s house, producing the letter. My mom, unaware, felt betrayed but refused to hate. Rina died soon after, leaving her house to my mom as atonement. My mom donated it to a women’s shelter, choosing grace over bitterness. I learned forgiveness isn’t forgetting—it’s choosing your own ending. Despite secrets and pain, my mom’s strength taught me to rise above and write my own story.
