I DISCOVERED MY LATE SON’S WIFE’S SECRET—

Three months after my son Garret’s death in a car crash, I resented his wife, Amanda, and their kids, Felicity and Tate, living in my house. Grief turned to anger, and I demanded they leave, accusing Amanda of freeloading. Then I found her pay stubs—she’d been working grueling night shifts cleaning offices. I saw her exhaustion, her cracked hands, and the kids caring for each other. Garret’s hidden letters revealed his struggles and gratitude for my support, urging Amanda to stay if anything happened to him. I apologized, and Amanda admitted she stayed

for the kids’ sake. We grew closer, sharing stories of Garret and planting a memorial tree. When Amanda’s injury halted her income, Garret’s friend Marshall gifted us money, echoing Garret’s past kindness. A life insurance policy surfaced, but Amanda chose to stay. Her baking business thrived, and we became a family again, finding joy in small moments. On Garret’s death anniversary, under the now-tall oak, we celebrated his enduring love. Grief lingers, but love persists, teaching me to embrace second chances.