When I read the first lines of the document, my hands began to shake. The letters blurred before my eyes, and my heart was pounding so hard that I thought it might burst. It wasn’t a letter, not a memory, not an apology. It was an official record — a copy of an old police report.

It said:
“Cause of the accident: deliberate interference with vehicle control.”

I read the sentence again and again, refusing to believe it.

— What does this mean? — I whispered.

Emily slowly took off her coat and sat across from me. Her face was pale, marked by exhaustion.

— It means, Grandpa… that it wasn’t an accident, — she said softly.

In that moment, my entire world collapsed.

For twenty years, I had blamed fate. Bad weather. A slippery road. Bad luck. I never imagined that something darker was hiding behind it all.

— Who did this? — I asked in a broken voice.

She closed her eyes for a second.

— My father.

I jumped to my feet.

— That’s impossible! — I shouted. — He loved you! He loved his family!

She burst into tears.

— I believed that too… until my memories came back.

After the crash, she had suffered a serious head injury. Doctors said her memory was damaged and unreliable. But over time, fragments began to return.

First as nightmares.
Then as voices, arguments, and crying.

She remembered that her parents had fought fiercely that night. That her mother begged him to stop. That her father yelled, “It has to end today.”

I buried my face in my hands.

— Why? — I whispered.

She handed me another sheet of paper.

There were bank statements, messages, recordings. My son was drowning in debt. Gambling. Loans. Lies.

He had hidden everything. From me. From his wife. From everyone.

He was trapped.

And that night, he decided to end it all.

He had sabotaged the brakes.

He planned to die.

But he took his whole family with him.

— He didn’t want me to survive, — Emily said. — He just didn’t expect anyone to save me.

I couldn’t breathe.

I remembered his smile. His voice. His hugs. My son.

And everything shattered inside me.

— Why are you telling me this only now? — I asked.

She looked straight into my eyes.

— Because I can’t live with lies anymore. Because I’ve carried this secret for twenty years. Because that night haunts me every day.

We sat in silence for a long time.

Then I started to cry.

Not like a strong man.

But like a broken father.

I cried for my son, whom I lost twice. For my daughter-in-law, who trusted him. For my grandson, who never got the chance to grow up.

And for my granddaughter, who lived with this pain.

— This is not your fault, — I finally said.

She squeezed my hand.

— And you… can you forgive him?

I didn’t know the answer.

Does forgiveness mean forgetting? Justifying? Understanding?

I don’t know.

I only know that he was weak. Afraid. And he chose the worst possible path.

Since then, we’ve spoken openly. About the past. About pain. About how important it is to ask for help before it’s too late.

Every year, we return to the place of the accident. We bring flowers. We stay silent.

Now I know the truth.

It hurt.

But it helped me move forward.

Sometimes the truth hurts more than a lie.

But only the truth gives us the chance to start again.