When my husband, Adam, said he was heading to Portland for work, I didn’t question it. But when our weekend plans changed, I decided to take the kids to our lake house. To my shock, Adam’s car was already there. In the backyard, I saw him digging a large hole, looking startled and uneasy when he noticed me.
He quickly confessed. Adam hadn’t gone to Portland at all. His father, whose memory was beginning to fade, had told him a mysterious story — that Adam’s great-grandfather had been secretly buried behind the lake house after a scandal kept him from a proper burial. At first, Adam dismissed it, but curiosity and a sense of family duty pushed him to investigate.
As he dug, Adam found human remains wrapped in cloth. The story his father told had been true. Samuel, Adam’s ancestor, had once fallen in love with a married woman, leading to disgrace and exile. The woman, however, had buried him near the lake they once cherished, giving him peace in her own quiet way. Adam hadn’t meant to hide anything from me — he just didn’t want to worry me until he knew the truth.
We reported the discovery, and in time, Samuel was given a proper burial. At the small ceremony, our daughter asked why I was crying. I told her, “Because love — even long buried — still matters.” In uncovering this hidden past, we didn’t just learn about our family, but about the healing power of truth and remembrance.