The secret house my father left behind

When my father passed away, I expected the usual aftermath—papers to sign, inheritance to sort, and the quiet grief of losing the only parent I had. I wasn’t prepared for the phone call from his lawyer, nor for what it would reveal about the life my father had kept hidden from me.

I remember sitting in my cramped apartment, clutching the phone as the lawyer's voice buzzed through. "We’re going over your father’s will," he said, his tone official. "As per your father’s wishes, his house..."

I froze.

My dad never mentioned a house. Sure, he was a private man, but a house? That seemed strange, even for him.

"Wait, the house?" I asked, trying to mask my surprise.

The lawyer continued, almost too matter-of-factly. "It's not your current residence, but another property your father owned." He paused before adding, "I will send you the address. Please honor his request and go visit the house."

I was perplexed. I had lived with my father until I was 18, and after that, we kept in touch, but never once did he speak of another home. And now I was hearing about it, after his death?

Despite my confusion, I agreed. It was his wish, after all. I figured I’d just sell it and be done with it. But the lawyer’s next words stuck with me: "It’s important to understand that the house is not empty. There’s someone living there."

Someone living there? My father’s house wasn’t empty? That only made me more curious.

I packed my things and drove to the address the lawyer provided. As I approached the location, a sense of unease settled over me. The house stood at the end of a winding road, surrounded by dense trees.

It was an old, two-story building with peeling paint and a weathered front porch. But what struck me was how… lived-in it looked.

The windows were clean, and there was a small patch of garden in the front that appeared tended to. It didn’t match the image of an abandoned property I’d imagined.

I parked the car and got out, my footsteps crunching the gravel beneath me. There was something eerily familiar about the place, but I couldn’t put my finger on it.

As I approached the front door, I hesitated. I felt the weight of my father’s secret pressing down on me. Why hadn’t he told me about this house? Why was someone living here?

I walked to the window and peered inside. My breath fogged up the glass for a moment, and when I wiped it away, I saw the shape of a figure moving inside. My heart skipped a beat. Was someone there? Someone who knew about me?

Before I could process the thought, the door suddenly creaked open, and a woman stepped out.

I was startled, stepping back from the window, but she had already seen me. She walked toward the door with slow, deliberate steps.

"Can I help you?" she asked in a soft voice, her eyes studying me with a hint of curiosity, but also caution. Her hair was dark, her face lined with age, but there was something strikingly familiar about her features.

I cleared my throat, unsure of what to say. "Uh... I’m here because... my father owned this house. I’m his daughter."

The woman blinked, then took a step closer. "Your father?" Her voice wavered with recognition. "You’re his daughter?"

"Yes, I’m Sarah." I fumbled with my words, not sure what to expect.

She smiled softly, almost as if recalling something distant, and nodded. "I knew him. He was... a good man. He never told you about this place, did he?"

I shook my head, feeling a mix of confusion and irritation. "No, he never did. I don’t understand. How do you know my father? Why are you living here?"

The woman’s smile faded, and she looked past me for a moment, as if collecting her thoughts. "I was your father’s friend, Sarah. He and I... we shared a history.

This house," she gestured around her, "was where we spent a lot of time together. But that’s not all. He asked me to take care of it, to stay here after he passed. He wanted to keep something of him alive here, for you."

I stood there, processing her words. My father had kept this secret from me, a secret of a life he lived apart from me. "Why didn’t he tell me about any of this?" I muttered.

The woman stepped closer, her eyes sad now. "He didn’t want you to know, at least not until he was gone. He thought you would be angry, upset, maybe even resentful that he had a second life."

She paused, taking in a deep breath. "But he wanted you to have this house, Sarah. To have something of his that was more than just memories."

My throat tightened as I tried to understand the gravity of what she was saying. My father had left me a secret life, a place where memories lingered, a place that held pieces of him I had never known.

"Who are you?" I asked finally, the question pressing against my chest.

The woman hesitated. "I’m… I was more to him than just a friend. I was his partner in more ways than you could imagine." She looked at me with a mix of vulnerability and strength. "But your father loved you, Sarah. He wanted you to have this house. It was his last wish."

A flood of emotions hit me all at once—anger, confusion, sadness, and something else I couldn’t quite name. My father had kept so much from me, and yet, here I was, standing in front of the woman who had shared a part of his life that I’d never known.

"I don’t know what to do with this," I said softly. "I didn’t even know this place existed."

The woman nodded. "I understand. But you have a choice now. You can choose to keep this place, to let it remind you of your father in a way that’s different from anything you’ve known. Or you can let it go and move on. The decision is yours."

I took a long breath, the weight of everything sinking in. "I think I need some time," I whispered, unsure of what the future held.

She nodded, her eyes understanding. "Of course. Take all the time you need. The house will be here, waiting for you."

As I turned to leave, I looked back at the house. It was no longer just a strange, unfamiliar place. It was now a part of my father’s legacy, a part of his life that had been hidden away, waiting for me to uncover.

And for the first time since his death, I felt like I was starting to understand him.