I thought my son Peter and his wife Betty were just private people. Whenever I suggested visiting, they always had a reason to postpone—work, travel, or last-minute plans. I respected their boundaries, but the distance between us grew.
Then one afternoon, I dropped by unannounced with a small gift for Mia. The moment I entered, I sensed something was wrong. Peter and Betty seemed flustered, their laughter a little too loud. I pushed aside my suspicions, not wanting to make things awkward.
A few days later, while coloring with Mia, she handed me a drawing of her house. It was sweet and colorful—until I noticed the figure in the basement.
“That’s Grandpa Jack,” she said cheerfully.
My breath caught in my throat. Jack, my ex-husband, had vanished from our lives without explanation. Yet according to Mia, he had been living right under their home all along. The puzzle pieces fell into place—their excuses, their secrecy.
A child’s simple artwork had exposed a secret they had worked so hard to keep.
