My name is Dorothy, and after 63 years, I can confidently say that I’ve had a blessed and joyful life… It’s just been me and my two beautiful children for a long time now. We’ve had our ups and downs, but they were my whole world. I remember the excitement I felt as my 63rd birthday celebration drew near.
I wrote two letters to my children, inviting them to come. I didn’t want to hear their voices through a phone line; I wanted to hug them and share all the stories I’d been saving! On my birthday, I was over the moon with excitement.
Each car sound made my heart jump, but with each passing hour, the hope in my eyes began to fade. I started to worry as I stared at the two empty chairs around the dining table…
I picked up an old photo from the table. It was taken years ago by the lake.
I was holding Miley and Ryan, all of us smiling. But one side of the photo was torn… I tried not to think about it, but some emptiness never really goes away. Then, I called my kids several times, but they didn’t answer.
It dawned on me that I might end up spending this special day alone, just like so many other days. Then, the doorbell finally rang. If my knees weren’t as fragile as they are, I would have jumped up in happiness.
But it wasn’t them. Just a delivery man with a small white box. Inside was a beautiful cake with white frosting.
For a second, I thought it was a sweet surprise. Until I read the words written on top. WE KNOW WHAT YOU DID.
My heart stopped. The room, once filled with the soft hum of my old clock, felt dead silent. I sat down slowly, gripping the edge of the table.
My hands trembled as I stared at the words. What could this possibly mean? Who was we?
What did they think I had done? Old memories started creeping back—the ones I’ve tried to lock away for decades. Back when Miley and Ryan were just children, their father—Simon—left us.
But what no one really knew was why. The story I always told was simple: Simon couldn’t handle the responsibility, so he walked out. But that wasn’t entirely true.
The truth was, Simon had become reckless. Gambling, drinking… bringing home debts we couldn’t pay. One night, he got involved with some very dangerous people.
They came to our home, threatening us all. That night, Simon packed his things and promised me he would “fix it.” I begged him not to go, but he left anyway. The next morning, the police found his car at the bottom of Miller’s Gorge.
They ruled it an accident. But deep down, I always wondered if it really was. Or if someone had helped him over that edge.
That’s the secret I buried. For the sake of my children, I never spoke of it again. Now here I was, 63, with a cake in front of me suggesting someone else knew.
Was it the people Simon owed money to? An old enemy? Or worse… one of my own children?
I grabbed my phone again and tried calling Ryan first. Straight to voicemail. Then Miley.
Same thing. Hours passed. The sun had set.
I didn’t eat. I couldn’t. Finally, my doorbell rang again.
My stomach twisted. I opened the door cautiously—and standing there was Miley. Her eyes were red, like she’d been crying for hours.
The story doesn’t end here — it continues on the next page.
Tap READ MORE to discover the rest 🔎👇
