Suspecting that my mother had a lover at 60, she would sneak out of the house every night at 10 o’clock, always secretly withdrawing money. One day I decided to follow her… And I was shocked.

For months I had noticed that my mother had changed a lot.

Despite being 60 years old, she took care of herself more than ever: elegant clothes, a little makeup, always groomed. But the strangest thing was that every night, at 10 o’clock, she would come out with a purse in her hand, saying that she was going to “exercise at night to stay healthy.”

I wasn’t a kid to believe him.
In addition, every week he noticed that he withdrew several million from the savings bank. My suspicion grew: “Could it be that he has a lover?”

One night I decided to follow her.
At 10 o’clock, as usual, she left well dressed and with a determined step. My heart was pounding as I followed her. Finally, I saw her stop in front of a small hotel in a lonely alley.

I froze. Trembling, I clutched my phone in my hand.
I couldn’t contain myself. I climbed the stairs following his steps and with a push I opened the door of the room.

The door slammed open… And I was petrified.
Before my eyes there was no “intimate” scene as I had imagined, but my mother crouched in the middle of the room, with a bag of medicine and several boxes of milk in her hand, and in front of her an emaciated old man, huddled in a makeshift bed.

I was stunned, and my mother turned sharply, her face pale at having been discovered:
“Son, what are you doing here?”

It turned out that the person my mother secretly met every night was not a lover, but… my grandfather, his own father, with whom he had sworn to cut all ties because in the past he had abandoned his wife and children to go with another woman.

Now, old and sick, rejected by the children of his second family, he lived in a cheap hotel, surviving as best he could. When she found out, my mother hid everything from the family and, in silence, brought him money and food to take care of him.

I was paralyzed. All my suspicion, shame, and anger turned into guilt.
My mother covered her face and burst into tears:
“I know you would never forgive your grandfather. But, at the end of the day… He is my father. I can’t abandon it.

I stood motionless, my legs nailed to the cold ground. For days I had believed that my mother was leading a shameful double life. But before me was the truth: hard, painful, but full of humanity.

My grandfather—that man I had only heard bad stories about, a cruel man who had left his family—now lay there, skinny, weak, his eyes clouded looking at my mother with a mixture of regret and helplessness.

She was still kneeling by the bed, her voice trembling as she offered him a box of milk:
“Father, drink a little, otherwise your stomach will hurt with the medicines…”

I felt a lump in my throat. I approached and put my hand on my mother’s shoulder:
“Mom… I am sorry. I doubted you… I didn’t understand anything.

She looked up, tears mixed with pain accumulated over years. He squeezed my hand and shook his head:
“I don’t blame you, son. I was just afraid you’d think I’m weak. But understand… One can hate a husband, but how do you break up forever with a father?

My grandfather reached out his trembling hand to touch me and murmured hoarsely,
“I don’t expect you to forgive me. It’s enough for me to have a daughter like your mother… that is already a godsend.

At that moment I felt my heart open. Anger and distrust disappeared, giving way to deep sadness but also understanding.

That night I accompanied my mother back. The cold wind was blowing on the empty street. She muttered as she walked,
“I just wish she lived a little longer. to be able to take care of it and compensate even a little.

I was silent, looking at his back. That 60-year-old woman continued to carry the weight of the word “filial piety” with her whole being.

When I returned home I could not sleep. I understood that from that moment, instead of judging, I had to walk by his side. If she could forgive the father who hurt her so much, I could also learn to open my heart.

The next day I returned to the hotel with several bags of food. When my grandfather saw me, his eyes filled with tears. I lowered my head and said in a low voice,
“I came to help Mom.

And that was the first time I felt really grown-up, understanding that there are wounds that cannot be erased, but that can be softened with love and forgiveness.