I inherited an old house in the middle of the forest from my grandmother. I wanted to go see it, but my mom forbade me—and then I found out why. 😨😨
When I was a child, we barely spoke with my mom’s mother. I only had a few vague memories—maybe a couple of years of contact, and then it all just stopped.
I never knew why. Back then, I was too little to understand anything, and later, when I asked my mom questions, she would just brush them off.
Over time, I got used to it, accepted it. But then came the news: my grandmother had passed away. To be honest, I couldn’t say I felt much pain or sadness—I barely remembered her. But one thing did surprise me: she had left me her house in the village.
Curiosity outweighed indifference. I wanted to at least see the house, understand what it was like, maybe even sell it later. But when I told my mom about it, she suddenly grew nervous:
— Don’t go there, I beg you.
— Why, Mom? What’s there?
— I don’t want you to go.
— Mom, what are you hiding?
— Nothing…
— You’re lying! Why didn’t you talk to Grandma? Why won’t you tell me anything?
— Just don’t go there… or you’ll regret it deeply. That’s all I can say.
Her words only fueled my curiosity. I realized I had to go. There were too many secrets in this family.
When I arrived, the house was deep in the woods. An old brick building with a shabby porch—it looked ordinary, even a little cozy. I walked closer, bent down, and found the key under the mat.
I put it into the lock, turned it slowly, and opened the door. I stepped inside—and froze in horror. 😨😢
Now I understood why my mother was so afraid of this place…
I was exploring the rooms when my eyes fell on a wall. Hanging there was an old framed photograph. I walked closer and froze. In the picture were my mom, my dad… me, only about three years old… and another boy, maybe ten.
I stopped, staring at his face. Who was he? Why had I never seen him before? My chest tightened with cold dread. Something was very wrong. They had lied to me.
With trembling hands, I called my mom.
— Mom… who is this boy in the picture?
There was a long silence on the other end. I thought she wouldn’t answer, but then I heard her sob.
— You weren’t supposed to see that… she said. — You had an older brother.
I froze, unable to believe my ears.
— A brother?..
And then Mom finally told me the truth. Many years ago, we all went together to Grandma’s village house. I was three, and my brother was ten.
We were playing in the yard while Grandma cooked lunch. My brother climbed a tree, misjudged his strength, and fell. The fall was so bad he broke his spine. They couldn’t save him.
Since then, my mother could never forgive my grandmother. She blamed her for everything. She cut ties with her forever and kept me away too, afraid that memories and shadows of the past would hurt me.
I stood there in that house, clutching my phone, while the image of that boy from the photo stayed before my eyes. My brother—the one I only learned existed that day.
