The crayon drawing shook in my hands as I stared at the familiar face my granddaughter had captured. After years of polite excuses and redirected invitations, one innocent artwork revealed the secret my son and his wife had been hiding.

My life has been full of ups and downs, but the best part was raising my son, Peter. He built a beautiful family with Betty and their daughter, Mia. We used to have regular visits, but three years ago, they stopped inviting me over, offering vague excuses.

Last week, I surprised them with a visit. Peter seemed nervous. During dinner, when I offered to grab a bottle from the basement, Betty jumped up, insisting she’d get it. Something was off.

A few days later, while babysitting Mia, I saw a drawing of their house. A lone figure with gray hair stood in the basement. “That’s Grandpa Jack,” she said. My heart pounded—Jack, my ex-husband who abandoned us twenty years ago.

That evening, I confronted Peter. He admitted Jack had returned, broke and sick. At first, Peter rejected him, but time softened his anger. When Jack lost everything in a fire, Peter took him in.

I found Jack in the basement. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. But apologies couldn’t erase the past. Peter, teary-eyed, confessed, “He’s dying.”

Pain and betrayal swirled inside me. “I need time,” I said, walking out the door, unsure of what came next.

Now I wonder—should I forgive him? Or is some pain too deep to heal?