My son and my father-in-law had spent years building a bond until that ended the day the latter died. At his funeral, my son handed me a rusted key and said it was from his dad. What followed unraveled a secret hidden deep within a house I was never allowed to enter.
The rain had started just before the burial. My father-in-law (FIL), Harold, had passed away. I wouldn’t say I’d miss him, given our difficult relationship, but I found a new appreciation for his late wife when my son revealed something that utterly changed our lives.
During Harold’s funeral, the drizzle quickly turned the cemetery lawn into a slippery field of wet grass and mud. I clutched the cheap black umbrella with one hand and my son’s shoulder with the other.
Kiran, my son, stood stiff beside me, his eyes on the casket being lowered into the ground. I hadn’t seen him in years, not since the surgery. We never talked after that. And frankly, I didn’t miss him. He’d always been cold toward me, always suspicious.
Harold disapproved of my marriage to Michael, saying I was just after his son’s money. He also hinted that Michael had gone soft since we met. It didn’t help that my FIL was old-school military, the kind of man who believed emotions were weaknesses and privacy was armor.
He never let me set foot in his house, not even after Michael died.
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