It started as a simple school project. “Define Love and Family.” Our teacher, a sweet, idealistic woman, wanted us to interview our elders, to gather their wisdom, to understand the tapestry of generations. I rolled my eyes. Another one of those touchy-feely assignments. I just wanted to pass. Little did I know, this assignment would unravel my entire world.
I started with my mom. She always had the most beautiful stories. We sat in the kitchen, sunlight streaming in, a cup of tea between us. I hit record. She spoke about meeting my dad, about their early days, the struggles, the laughter. Her eyes sparkled, even when she recalled hardships. She told me about the time Dad lost his job, how they almost lost everything. “It was the hardest year,” she confessed, her voice thick with emotion. “But it was also the year I knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that he was my forever.
We made it through, stronger.” She talked about praying, about working extra shifts, about holding their little family together. Her devotion was absolute. She even mentioned a small, carved wooden bird he’d given her during that dark time, a symbol of hope and enduring love. It still sits on her bedside table today. I felt a surge of warmth, of pride. This is what true love looks like, I thought. Unwavering, resilient.
Selena Gomez stuns in a lace halter-neck gown, from a post dated September 30, 2025 | Source: Instagram/selenagomez
Next, my dad. He was less sentimental, more practical. He talked about ambition, about providing. When I asked him about that “hard year,” he shrugged. “Yeah, times were tough, but you bounce back. That’s life.” He moved on quickly, talking about his eventual success, his career trajectory. He loved to tell that story. I noticed the contrast in their retelling. Mom focused on the emotional struggle and their unity. Dad focused on overcoming, almost like a business challenge. It was a little odd, but people remember things differently, right? I dismissed it. My project was going to be an ode to their enduring love.
The assignment required visual elements. Photographs, mementos. I started digging through old boxes in the attic, looking for pictures of their early years. I found wedding photos, faded snapshots of young parents holding me as a baby. It was sweet, nostalgic. Then, I opened a dusty, unmarked shoebox, tucked deep under some old blankets. It felt heavier than it looked.
Inside, beneath a stack of old holiday cards, were letters.
Dozens of them.
They weren’t addressed to both my parents. They were addressed only to my dad. And the handwriting wasn’t my mom’s.
My heart started to pound. This must be a mistake. Old business correspondence? But as I pulled out the first letter, the elegant script on the envelope was unmistakably feminine. I unfolded it, my fingers trembling.
It began: “My dearest…”
The words blurred at first, then sharpened into sickening clarity. Passionate. Intimate. “I miss your touch, your laugh. Counting down the days until we can be together again, just us.” My breath hitched. The dates on the letters. I scanned them, frantic. They spanned an entire year.
Selena Gomez and Benny Blanco are on the dance floor on their wedding day, from a post dated September 30, 2025 | Source: Instagram/selenagomez
And that year… it was the exact year my mom had described as “the hardest.” The year she was working tirelessly, praying for their family, holding everything together, believing in their love. The year my dad was supposedly battling unemployment, rebuilding his career. He wasn’t just struggling financially. He was building a life with someone else.
I read more, my stomach churning. Each letter was a punch to the gut. Descriptions of secret rendezvous, shared dreams, promises of a future together. “I still have the little bird you carved for me,” one letter gushed. “It reminds me of our quiet mornings, our secret haven.”
The little carved bird. The one my mom kept on her bedside table, believing it was a token of their resilient love. The one he had given her during that difficult time.
NO.
It couldn’t be. This wasn’t just a fling. This was an ongoing, deeply emotional affair, happening right under my mother’s nose, at her most vulnerable time. The bird wasn’t a symbol of my parents’ love. It was a replica. A cold, cruel, parallel gift given to two different women. Or worse, the same bird, given away and then returned, or perhaps my mom got the replica. I didn’t know which was more horrifying.
I stared at the letters, then at the innocent-looking shoebox, then at the attic dust motes dancing in the sliver of sunlight, oblivious. My entire perception of my parents, of their “perfect” love story, shattered into a million pieces. How could he? How could she not know? Or did she? Did she choose to ignore it? The thought was even more devastating.
The “understanding of family and love” project. What I understood now was a love built on a lie, a family sustained by a secret betrayal that had festered for decades. My mother’s unwavering love wasn’t just resilient; it was unknowingly blind. My father’s strength wasn’t just in overcoming adversity; it was in maintaining a devastating facade.
I closed the box. Gently. Carefully. As if the fragile truth inside might break even further. I put it back exactly where I found it. I haven’t told anyone. I can’t. My mom still cherishes that little wooden bird. She still talks about that “hard year” with a quiet pride in their enduring love. And every time I look at it now, all I see are those letters, those words, that other woman’s thanks.
Selena Gomez and Benny Blanco are seated on a sofa on their wedding day, from a post dated September 30, 2025 | Source: Instagram/selenagomez
The project is due next week. I’m going to write about the beautiful, resilient love my mother described. Because that’s the story she deserves to have. But every word will be a lie, every sentence a betrayal of the truth I now carry. And it’s weighing me down, heavier than any secret I’ve ever known. My understanding of family and love? It’s a complicated, heartbreaking mess of hidden truths and crushing sacrifice. And I’m left wondering, what else is hidden in plain sight? What other birds have been carved, for whom? And how do I ever look at my father again?
