I was folding laundry when my daughter yelled from the hallway,
“Grandpa’s here!”
My stomach dropped — my dad’s been dead for nine years.
Heart pounding, I rushed out of the room. My daughter stood calmly in the hallway, pointing toward the front door.
I hesitated, every hair on my neck standing up. Slowly, I opened the door…
And gasped.
Standing there was an old man — tall, kind eyes, gray hair, and holding a dusty cardboard box.
On the box was my maiden name.
He smiled gently and said,
“Your father wanted you to have this. He told me to bring it to you when your daughter turned five.”
I froze. My daughter had just turned five last week.
I took the box with shaking hands. Inside were old letters — all written by my dad before he died.
The top one said:
“If you’re reading this, it means your little girl can finally know me. I wanted her to grow up with love — even if I couldn’t be there.”
Tears blurred my vision as I read. The letters were filled with stories, advice, and memories I’d forgotten.
When I looked up, the old man was gone. No car, no footsteps. Just quiet.
My daughter tugged my sleeve and whispered,
“Grandpa said he’ll visit again when I’m older.”
I still don’t know who that man was —
But somehow, I believe… Dad kept his promise. 👻💔
