My life changed forever six months ago when my daughter Darla and her husband perished in a plane accident. At seventy one years old I suddenly became the sole guardian to their four young children named Lily, Ben, Molly, and little Rosie. We struggled financially because my pension was small so I went back to work wiping tables at a local diner. I spent my evenings knitting

scarves to sell while trying to help the children navigate their immense grief. We slowly found a routine together even though I was exhausted and worried about our future. One morning after dropping them at school I found a delivery truck outside my house with a massive box addressed simply to me.

The box contained a letter from Darla written just three weeks before she passed away along with dozens of wrapped gifts. She had prepared presents for every future milestone for the children including birthdays and graduations all the way up to age eighteen. Her letter instructed me to visit a man named William who turned out to be her private doctor. He revealed that Darla

had been diagnosed with aggressive terminal cancer a year earlier and had less than a year to live. She had kept her illness a secret from everyone because she did not want us to watch her fade away. She had also kept it from her husband because she planned to leave him after their trip.

I drove home confused about why she would leave everything to me instead of her husband until I saw a drawing by my granddaughter Molly. The picture showed the family and a woman labeled Mommy Two who Molly said used to hug her daddy. I spoke to a neighbor and discovered that their nanny named Jessica had engaged in a six month affair with my son

in law. Darla had caught them and fired the nanny but never told her husband about her cancer diagnosis because she no longer trusted him. She entrusted the future of her children to me to ensure they would be safe and loved by someone she could fully trust.

I decided that day to never tell the children about their father’s betrayal because they had already lost enough joy in their young lives. On Lily’s tenth birthday I opened the box marked for her and gave her the journal her mother had left behind. Darla had written a beautiful note encouraging Lily to write down her dreams and promising to always cheer her on from afar. We both cried as she held

the book close to her chest and I felt my daughter’s love fill the room. My daughter left me with more than just gifts for the children she left me the heavy weight of the truth and the strength to carry it for them.