Picking mushrooms to survive on my small Social Security check, I fell into an underground hideout… What I saw inside made my hair stand on end…

«My daughter is right. It’s the only thing I can still do to fix something, somehow.» I returned home late in the evening, completely drained but with a sense of duty fulfilled.

The next day, I called Michael and Sarah and asked them to come urgently. They arrived wary, expecting another round of our conflict. I silently seated them at the kitchen table, the same one where I read the diary, and told them everything.

From the beginning. About the forest, the hideout, the diary, the trip to the mill, and finally, the meeting with Arthur. I spoke at length, and they listened without interrupting.

I saw their faces change. Michael listened with wide eyes, in which horror and admiration for the grandfather he never knew stood. And Sarah… She first paled, then blushed, and at the end just lowered her head and cried quietly, wiping tears with her fist.

When I finished, silence fell. Sarah broke it first. She raised her tear-stained face to me, and in her eyes was so much shame and remorse that my heart clenched.

— Mom… — Mary… — Forgive me, — she whispered. — I… I’m such a fool. I thought only about money, the mortgage, and here such… This apartment, it’s… sacred, and I wanted to sell it.

Forgive me if you can. She stood, approached me, and awkwardly hugged me. I hugged her back, stroking her head.

I held no grudge against her. She was a product of her time, tired from the eternal race for survival. Michael came to us, hugged us both.

— Grandpa! — he said shaken. — So my grandpa was a hero? — And I didn’t know. Two days later, Lisa called me.

She said they were selling the house and everything they had. She named a sum that made my head spin. It was more than enough not only to pay off Michael and Sarah’s mortgage but to secure them a comfortable life for years ahead.

I refused at first, but Lisa was adamant. — It’s Dad’s will, — she said. — He said only this way can he die peacefully.

Please, accept it for him and for Robert. And I agreed. The money came to Michael’s account.

That same day, they paid off the mortgage. In the evening, they came to me, not with a business look, but with cake and flowers. Sarah no longer looked at my apartment as square footage.

She walked through the rooms, reverently touching the old furniture, looking at photos. Michael took the wooden bird I brought from the hideout. — I’ll keep it, — he said, — for my children, so they know what a great-grandfather they had.

We sat at the table together, drank tea, and for the first time in a long while, talked truly about the past, the future, about how there are things in life more important than money. I looked at the happy faces of my children and understood that justice had prevailed. Robert didn’t return, but his sacrifice wasn’t in vain.

His love, having waited 40 years in a dark hideout underground, sprouted and bore fruit, giving his family peace and harmony. And my old apartment, the keeper of this secret, finally became a real home again, full of warmth and light.