“Tonight, You Will Finally Be Mine,” My 74-Year-Old Grandfather Said, Gripping Me Tightly Around the Waist. I Was Only 22 Years Old. That Evening, He Took Me to His House, Locked the Front Door, and Whispered, “Don’t Tell Anyone… Especially Your Mother.” At 3 A.M., While I Was Lying in Bed, My Grandfather Quietly Opened My Bedroom Door, Approached Me, and Placed His Trembling Hand on My Leg. “I Have to Do It Tonight,” He Whispered. I Was Completely Paralyzed with Fear…

Grandpa slowly opened it.

Inside were twenty-two sealed envelopes.

Each had my name and an age written on it.

Emily — Age 1.

Emily — Age 2.

Emily — Age 3.

All the way to twenty-two.

My hands began shaking.

“What is this?”

Grandpa sat down.

“Your grandmother wrote you a letter every year. She wanted you to have them when you were old enough to understand.”

“But why didn’t you give them to me before?”

“Because there was one thing your mother didn’t want you to know.”

He handed me the final envelope.

Inside was a letter written in Grandma’s familiar handwriting.

“My dearest Emily,

If you’re reading this, you’ve reached the age I was when I learned that loving someone sometimes means giving up everything for them.

There’s something I never told you.

When you were born, your mother was only seventeen. She was frightened, alone, and had nowhere to turn.