Then, six months later, I finally admitted I needed help.
The house was a disaster. Bills were stacked everywhere. Laundry covered half the guest room. I hadn't even cleaned the garage since Sarah got sick.
I finally admitted I needed help.
***
Before the past weekend, I asked my mother to take the kids. I planned to do grocery shopping, cooking, cleaning, and get things in order. My mother agreed, and that Friday afternoon, I asked my third child, Lucy, to help pack overnight bags for a weekend at Grandma Diane's house.
The moment I mentioned it, she froze.
My nine-year-old stood there staring at the floor, twisting her sleeve nervously around her fingers.
"Hey," I said softly. "What's wrong?"
The moment I mentioned it, she froze.
Lucy swallowed hard and whispered something that would change our lives.
"Dad, I don't want to go to Grandma's..."
That immediately caught my attention.
"Sweetheart, why?"
Tears filled her eyes instantly as she said, "The night before Mom died, she told me you shouldn't trust Grandma... and she said she hid a blue suitcase in the garage..."
My blood ran cold.
That immediately caught my attention.
For a second, I honestly thought I'd heard her wrong.
"What?"
Lucy started crying harder.
"Mom said if something happened to her, you'd understand after you found it."
I stared at her, speechless. My wife had never spoken badly about my mother before. Sure, they'd had normal disagreements sometimes, but nothing that severe.
Still, Lucy looked genuinely frightened.
"Why didn't you tell me sooner?" I asked gently.
"I was scared because I thought you wouldn't believe me."
Her words shocked me.
I stared at her, speechless.
I told the kids to keep packing while I went into the garage.
***
The place looked untouched since Sarah's death. I hadn't had the strength to clean it.
There were boxes everywhere. Dust covered the shelves. Old bikes leaned against the wall.
