My son Peter and his wife Betty had stopped inviting me to their house for years, always giving evasive excuses like last-minute plans, renovations, or a sick child. I didn’t really think about it because maybe they just needed space—after all, families go through phases—but I secretly wondered if there was more to it. One afternoon, I decided to drop by unexpectedly with a small gift for my granddaughter Mia, nothing fancy, just a puzzle she had mentioned wanting. As soon as I walked in, something felt… off. A strange energy hung in the air. Peter and Betty looked surprised.
even uneasy, but made an effort to appear normal. Even though the feeling persisted, I let it go. A few days later, I was babysitting Mia. As
we sat on the floor coloring, she proudly showed me a crayon drawing she had produced. Although it was of their home, there was
something out of the ordinary. A lone figure stood in a room beneath the home in one corner of the image. She said, “That’s Grandpa Jack.”
in a matter-of-fact manner. “He lives in the basement.” I went cold. Grandfather Jack. My ex-husband. The man who had walked out on us
over twenty years ago and never looked back. He had vanished from our lives without explanation,