Grandpa stood beside me and whispered:
“I’ve kept that jar for eighteen years. Every time I looked at it, I remembered what I was working for.”
I threw my arms around him and didn’t let go for a long time.
That evening, we called my parents.
They came over immediately.
At first, they were stunned. Then all of us ended up crying together.
My mother hugged Grandpa and said:
“Dad, we’re not angry with you. We just want you to stay with us for many more years.”
Grandpa smiled.
“That’s exactly why I wanted to come home.”
Now, whenever I look at the photograph we took before heading to the café, I remember how frightened I was in the back seat of that car.
At that moment, I genuinely believed my grandfather was hiding something terrible.
And in a way, I was right.
He really was hiding a secret.
