Revelations Beyond the Grave: Unveiling the Secrets of Departed Loved Ones

3 Stories Where People Learn Shocking Truth about Relatives after Their Deaths

We frequently believe that we are fully aware of our loved ones. However, sometimes the untold stories of their lives are revealed only after they pass away.

Finding long-kept secrets might result in surprising findings and raise concerns about how relationships and views could have changed if the information had been known sooner. These are three amazing tales of relatives’ shocking secrets that were discovered only after their passing. Did it have any impact on how they lived? Let’s investigate.

1. I discovered my father’s other life when I inherited his run-down house.

I listened while the lawyer read our parents’ will, clenching my fists next to my sister Hazel and her smug fiancé Mark.

With a fidget in her chair, Hazel interrupted. “Mr. Schneider, but why did I get the main house?”

“Your parents met me and they were aware that we intended to marry and start a family,” Mark said, turning up the corners of his mouth a little. “Freddy likes to travel and never brought a girl home, so the big house should naturally go to a potential family.”

“Really?” I mockingly shot back, but only because I was irritated by Mark’s constant attitude.

Mark laughed. “Your parents agree, obviously. They did this. Not me.”

“Mark, that’s not fair,” tremblingly added Hazel.

“Baby, it’s more than fair,” her fiancé said.

I was locked in a staredown with Mark. After a heated quiet, Mark hinted at my way of life, which caused our parents to make a decision.

Hazel tried to defend me, but Mark interrupted her, saying that they should have been given the mansion instead of the abandoned house.

I challenged my sister about our parents’ antiquated beliefs, especially with relation to my own life decisions, and my voice broke.

Hazel acknowledged that our parents found it difficult to accept some aspects of my existence, but she still shook her head. “They never knew if you would or could ever have kids,” she remarked, her lips hardening. “Things were different for their generation.”

I gave a sarcastic laugh. I went on, “It’s the 21st century, Hazel. They could watch TV and movies and see how it works!” adding that our parents had begun to treat me differently once they discovered my tendencies.

“Stop it!” Hazel scowled. Mark grinned more as she eventually told me to accept our parents’ choice, saying, “I will not allow you to talk about them this way.”

I hung my head and nodded to Mr. Schneider, acknowledging the will, then left the attorney’s office with my shoulder hunched.

As soon as I got the keys, I moved into the abandoned house. It exceeded my expectations. Although my father had paid a respectable price for it, he moved into the large mansion that Hazel had received after being married to Doreen.

The fact that our parents didn’t think I was worthy of it still hurt me. However, it was no longer relevant. My new home was here, and I had to make the most of it.

I evaluated everything that needed to be fixed on the first day and decided to redo the kitchen and bathrooms. But I let out a big groan after looking up the price of renovations online. Restoring the place to a livable state would cost thousands of dollars, and that figure only included labor expenses.

I shrugged, grabbing for my laptop once more. “I could learn how to do it myself,” I said. “How hard could it be?”

Warning: There was some spoilery content. As a former theater student who is now a world-traveling photographer, I accepted this assignment as my most difficult undertaking. Through posting updates about the renovations on social media, I hoped to dispel misconceptions about my talents.

I completed the kitchen and moved on to the baths two weeks later. But I sighed as I looked at the primary one for a very long time. The bathroom seemed more difficult to renovate than just replacing a few cupboards and the tiles, and it was a lot of labor.

I thought to myself as I was going through the home, “Hmm, maybe I can do something else.” “The bedrooms certainly need new paint. And the floor. Wait, what is that?”

I had just walked into a tiny space that seemed like it was meant to be a home office. However, it was the first time I saw an odd protrusion in a corner. My thoughts were that the remainder of my money would have to be used for actual construction work. “Ugh, don’t tell me this floor is rotten or something. How much will that cost?” I bemoaned.

To my surprise, my palm passed through the floor when I bowed down and felt the odd unevenness of the planks. Wiping my hands, I thought, “Yuck! It is rotten.” But as my attention returned, I noticed an odd void that wasn’t there.

I took a closer look right away with my flashlight and pulled out my phone. I spotted stairs leading into the darkness.

I asked Mr. Schneider about the floor plans of the house a few days later. Not wanting to investigate the hidden stairway, I inquired, “How do I find the floor plans for this house?”

Mr. Schneider recommended that you check the local office. “You know…My father’s old house had a bomb shelter that we didn’t know about until he died. Built it right during World War I.”

Mr. Schneider promised to look into the matter further and get back to me. When the floor plans arrived a few days later, I could see that the house did, in fact, have a basement concealed behind a trap door.

Though I was aware that I didn’t need to peek down there, my curiosity was aroused and I began to wonder if my parents had left the house because of this hidden area.

I therefore used a sledgehammer to smash all of the decaying material that matched the trap door’s dimensions. The remainder of the floor appeared quite typical. I said as I descended, “Oh, man, I bet it’s flooded down there.”

I could smell the strong stench of mildew and dampness in the air while I had my phone flashlight out. As I got to the foot of the steps, I mumbled, “Great, this will be more money.” As far as I could tell, it was an ordinary room.

However, there was an antique typewriter and a desk strewn with papers in the center. Was Dad aware of this location? My hands stretched for a sheet on the desk that contained a little poem, and as I looked at it, I noticed the name Milton at the bottom of the page. I wondered.

I discovered poetry signed by my father among the documents. God, oh God! I discovered that Dad was a writer and poet. Penetrating further, I saw that behind the sheets was an elaborate box.

I hurried upstairs and read the poetry with great anticipation, admiring their profundity and elegance. I quickly realized that the further pages I found inside the elaborate box were from a novel, which told the narrative of two men in love.

I pondered, “Is that why they kept this place?” and recalled my father’s parting words to me as he left the house: “One day, you’ll understand.”

My father had concealed a large portion of who he was, maybe because he was jealous of my freedom in the modern world and his own restrictions. This understanding struck me like a freight train.

Despite the late hour, I called Hazel, eager to tell her about this finding. I hurriedly said, “Hazel, I need to show you what I just discovered.” “Come to my house tomorrow. Without him. This is huge and should stay between us for now.”

Mark interrupted us in our chat, but I asked that we keep it between siblings.

To my amazement, Hazel came by herself the following day. I showed her the novel I found, the poetry, the elaborate box, and the hidden basement. “It’s a love story between two men who go to war,” I said.

Hazel struggled to square this with our father’s acknowledged biases and was taken aback. I outlined my theory, which postulated that our father may have struggled with his identity. Our father had given me the house so I could research this subject.

After taking in the facts, Hazel paced the room in shock. “It’s just crazy! What about Mom?”

I insisted that she read the book. “I think Dad was struggling with so much, and he had to live a secret life because times were different. I think he projected all he felt—his self-loathing—on me because I was free to do what I wanted.”

Unexpectedly, the front door flew open, and Mark found himself in my living room, bellowing loudly. “What are you trying to make my wife hide from me?! Or are you trying to convince her to dump me?”

I groaned and rolled my eyes. “Hazie, tell me you’re not falling for that bull,” I said. “Even if you were dating an actual good guy, I wouldn’t have invited him today. This secret is too precious for anyone else.”

“He’s trying to screw us again like he wanted with the house. He’s getting you to hide something from me so I won’t act in your best interest,” Mark pointed his finger with a confident sneer.

Hazel said nothing.

Mark whispered to Hazel, “You know I’m right, babe,” his tone becoming enticing and kind. “He’s always hated me because you love me more than him. He’s trying to separate us.”

Hazel eventually yelled, raising her hands, “Mark, stop it!” “If Freddy found anything here, it would be his legally.”

Mark put his arms around her and tried to insist, but Hazel was done.

“ENOUGH!” said Hazel, shoving Mark away. “God, I’m so tired of you! You only ever cared about money! You never truly loved me. We’re DONE, Mark! I can’t believe I ignored all the red flags!”

I sighed with relief.

Mark exclaimed, shocked, “You’re breaking up with me over this?” with his mouth hanging open.

“Yes, Mark. It’s over. I want my life back,” Hazel said, folding her arms.

Mark turned to look at me. “Freddy, tell her she’s making a mistake.”

Hazel stepped towards the door and said, “Freddy’s not going to help you, Mark. He’s been trying to open my eyes to your true colors for years.” “Get out of here and out of my house!”

“It’s my house, too!”

“We’re not married!”

“I’ll fight you on this!”

“I’ll get Mr. Schneider on the phone right now,” I declared, picking up our lawyer’s phone without thinking twice.

Desperate now, Mark yelled, “I want my ring back!”

Hazel scolded Mark, “That ring was my grandmother’s, Mark. It’s staying with me!” and dragged him from the house. She turned to face me when he was gone, relief and tears in her eyes. “I think I need to stay here for a while.”

I gave her a warm embrace and said, “You’re welcome to stay as long as you need.”

She withdrew after a few moment, a tiny smile on her lips. “Can we order some Chinese food? I’m dying to read Dad’s novel.”

I said, feeling a burden leave my shoulders. “Absolutely,”

It was not as hard as we thought to publish our father’s work. My LGBTQ+ publishing community friends were happy to lend a hand. Touched by the narrative, Hazel requested that I keep all of the royalties.

After dealing with Mark, Mr. Schneider promised not to disturb us again. Mark had apparently left town, but that didn’t bother me. My priorities were my sister’s well-being and carrying on our father’s legacy.

I eventually got the itch to go traveling once more. I departed on a new journey after renting out my home. I was thrilled to discover Hazel contentedly dating a lovely, accomplished man who genuinely loved her when I got back.

Although it wasn’t a blockbuster, the book got great reviews. I therefore made the decision to publish our father’s poetry as well, along with a prologue that described his secretive life. It was an ode to acceptance, love, and the value of being true to oneself.

2. The items inside my late husband’s hidden suitcase broke my heart when I discovered them.

At the age of eighteen, I made a life-changing decision when I married the endearing and humorous Daniel, a man my affluent father disapproved of.

My father had yelled, “You marry that low-life, and you’ll get nothing from me, Margaret!” “You’ll see what love really is when you have to live in a one-bedroom rat-hole with roaches crawling up the walls!”

But I ignored them. I knew I would never regret falling in love with Daniel. At all.

Returning to that tiny flat at first seemed romantic (there were no insects or rats, only a lack of space). Daniel started working for the post office, and I was able to secure a position as a receptionist in a large hotel.

Daniel had told me, “Job security, love,” when I had pushed him to look for a better paid job. “I have to know there’s going to be a pension to keep us when we are old!”

I could see Daniel’s fixation on safety. Had he not seen his father die in a building site accident, leaving his mother to survive on the meager social aid handed to her? His widow and five children had no pension, no insurance, and he had been an illegal.

Daniel was determined that neither he nor I would experience the same thing. Daniel thought that working for the post office would provide us with that guarantee.

But with two kids to support, two meager wages didn’t go very far. Daniel and I were frugal, but we spent every penny we made. Seldom was there much left over for savings.

After our two kids grew up, moved out of the house, and began their own lives, Daniel and I found ourselves back where we had begun: in Alaska for our son and Brazil for our daughter.

Around this time, my father departed from this life. It would seem that neither time nor my happiness had softened his heart, because he bequeathed his entire, substantial wealth to his youngest son, who was free from any guilt.

Daniel was inconsolable. With bitterness, he exclaimed, “This is what loving me cost you, Margaret!” “The life you deserved!”

I strongly informed him, “No!” “I wouldn’t trade what we have for all the money in the world!”

However, Daniel became quiet and aloof, and I began to question if he still loved me for the first time in our thirty-eight years of marriage.

Daniel then began working a lot of overtime at his job. “It’s this new overnight delivery mail, it has to be sorted 24/7,” he said. However, I noticed that Daniel smelt different when he got home at two or three in the morning.

I had never been a fan of lily-scented soap, but he smelt like flowers. It brought to mind my paternal grandma, a someone I was never fond of. He also stopped making love to me unless it was a weekend.

I initially convinced myself that it was all in my head, but nothing changed. Daniel smelled like lilies, he still came home every night, and worst of all, our joint account was empty. That was two years later.

Daniel became irate when I attempted to bring up the topic with him once. “Do I have to account for what I spend, too? It’s my money, I earned it!” he said.

I cried silently every night when he returned home and turned his back on me in the bed where we had created our children, and I never said another word after that.

Daniel’s ‘overtime’ left us with few opportunities to resolve the issues that were seriously damaging our marriage, and we rarely discussed our retirement plans anymore. He only left the house for meals on the weekends, spending the rest of the time tinkering with who knew what in the garage.

I had gone from thinking of myself as the happiest woman alive to certain that I was the most unhappy. My fantasies had all vanished into thin air, and I began to question whether Daniel had ever truly loved me.

Daniel’s heart attack happened right after our 50th wedding anniversary. Even before the doctor said anything, I knew the prognosis.

“Mrs. Hernandez,” he said to me, “I think you should prepare yourself for the worst. Your husband’s heart is just plain worn out. The only option would be a heart transplant, and his age places him low on the list…”

“He’s sixty-nine,” I exclaimed. “I called our children that night, and they flew to New York to say their goodbyes, along with Anna, my only grandchild. He’s only sixty-nine, he promised he was going to retire.”

It was all over two weeks later. After Daniel passed away, he had just held my hand in quiet, despite having talked lovingly about the past to our children and granddaughter.

“Margaret,” he had muttered on his final day of life. His final words were, “I love you, only you, I always have.” They were a small consolation after so many years of uncertainty and sadness.

Weeping for their father, our son and daughter left shortly after the funeral since they had lives of their own to live. Anna was the one who stayed behind to support me in accepting my empty house and my fucked existence.

I got up the day after my kids went and resolved to erase everything from the past. I loaded up all of Daniel’s personal stuff into cardboard boxes for Goodwill with Anna’s assistance.

As I was sealing the last box, my senses were overwhelmed by the scent of flowers. I started to scream loudly, knocked the box over, and spilled all of the neatly folded contents.

With Anna’s support and comfort, the entire story seemed to flow out of me. “He’s been cheating on me for the last 12 years, coming to my bed every night smelling of another woman,” I cried. “And his last words to me were a lie!”

Tears and sharing my suffering with others helped, and Anna proposed that we take on Daniel’s garage to clear the remaining remnants of my suffering. Entering the garage, the two of us began going through the life’s worth of collected clutter.

Anna then discovered an ancient suitcase with rusty locks in a corner. She chose to open it first even though she was going to discard it since it felt heavy. The suitcase was quickly opened with the use of a hammer and an old spanner even though there was no key.

“Grandma…” exclaimed Anna. “Please come here…”

I moved to my granddaughter’s side after dropping the tin full of nails I had been organizing. The suitcase was open, revealing an old journal and carefully wrapped packs of $20 bills within.

I said, “Where did this come from?” “This is a lot of money!”

Anna took the journal open. “Grandma,” she murmured. “You should read this. I believe that when you were married, he began saving whatever dime he could. Oh, and this is from 12 years ago! Listen: ‘Today I started working at the NYC sanitation department, the night shift, cleaning sewers.

Although it’s not an easy work, I have to ensure Margaret’s future because the income is far more than my day job. Her father was correct. I am not a winner. I’m resolved to return at least some of the everything I cost her.

“‘I don’t want Margaret to know, so I told her I’m doing sorting of the overnight mail, and take a shower before coming home every night. I’m not bringing that stench into our home.'”

As Anna narrated Daniel’s story of his secret life, I was silently crying. “Look, Gran, he writes in what he is packing into the suitcase every month… There is a total of nearly $300,000!”

“Oh, Daniel,” I whispered as I peered into that worn-out bag, at the tangible evidence of my husband’s unwavering love and his readiness to give up all for me. “And I wasted so much time in bitterness…”

When my spouse had the worst job, I thought he was cheating on me. Daniel, I adore you. I hugged the journal close to my heart and muttered, “I love you so much and I regret doubting your love.”

3. After learning our late mother’s secret, my sister began to despise me.

Siblings are usually expected to fight over little matters and cause trouble for their parents, but Stacey and I were the exact opposite. As a matter of fact, we were extremely protective of one other.

But as time went on, things started to shift, and we became preoccupied with our everyday activities. We moved to different towns after getting married and having kids. Nevertheless, our love and care for one another remained constant, at least until we learned something that rocked our world. Our mother departed for her eternal home in paradise.

To say our final goodbyes to our mother and plan a sumptuous funeral, Stacey and I took a plane over. I went to our mother’s house with Stacey after the funeral. Tears filled our eyes as we glanced around the house.

“It truly hurts my heart that Mom isn’t here anymore,” Stacey sobbed, her face nearly red from tears.

I walked over to give Stacey a hug. “It’s strange how we feel a void after someone we love passes away unexpectedly. We’ll get through this,” I told her.

Stacey gave me a firm hug. “I still remember the days when we’d rush home from school, and she’d bake cookies for us. I will miss those days. I will miss everything about her.”

“Would you like to take a tour of the house then?” I said. “That way, we can revisit those moments before we leave and sell the house.”

With a hushed “Yeah, sure,” Stacey said.

Stacey and I discovered old pictures of ourselves together, complete with our childhood costumes, while exploring the property. Everything had been securely stored in our mother’s cupboards. While some of our first memories made us happy, others made us sad. But after seeing them, we were ultimately relieved.

We then made the decision to explore the basement before departing in order to find out if our mother had left any more boxes containing items from our early years. Our attention was abruptly drawn to a box that was stored in the center of the space.

We found a hidden door underneath when we moved it to see what was within. We couldn’t understand. Despite having lived in the house for a while, we had never seen it before.

Perhaps it was because, having moved out, the basement was pretty empty and the door was simple to open, unlike when we were kids and it was typically packed with rubbish. Still, we made the decision to investigate.

Upon opening the door, we found that it led to a secret chamber. The room was vacant when we descended the stairs, save for a box that was stored in a corner. Stacey ran to it and pulled it open.

Pictures of two individuals posing with a newborn were inside the box. Stacey looked closely, and that’s when things clicked. She was the baby, and no one else. She didn’t know the other two individuals, though.

Then a letter fell to the floor as she was tinkering with other photos. Stacey took it up and started to read. Her eyes filled with tears a few minutes later. With tearful eyes, she turned to face me and yelled angrily. “Why did you hide it from me? Just why?”

I said, “Stacey, what’s wrong?”

“You know I’m adopted. Don’t you?”

I was taken aback. “But.. how did you… I mean, how did you get to know? I wanted you to know about it, but mom made me promise not to tell you.”

Stacey gave me a glaring glare. “Of course, she didn’t want me to know. That’s why she made you sign this stupid letter!”

Stacey threw the envelope in front of me after that. After reading the letter, I realized what Stacey was discussing.

I answered and grasped Stacey’s hand, saying, “Look, Stacey. It doesn’t matter. Mom loved you, too. We are a family.”

But instead of accepting my hand, Stacey said, “You’re a bloody liar! You, Mom, everyone! I want to know about my birth parents. You guys know about them, right? Don’t think about lying now. It’s mentioned in the letter that you know about them.”

It dawned on me then that Stacey wouldn’t stop until she knew the whole truth. Which is why I told her everything.

I clarified that Stacey was the daughter of our mother’s closest friend. Clara was the name of her mother. Following Clara’s and her husband’s deaths in an automobile accident, our mother made the decision to raise Stacey.

“I wanted to tell you everything, but Mom was afraid you’d lash out. I guess she wasn’t wrong. Anyway, now that you know the truth, I hope you won’t be angry with us. We are a family, after all.”

“Family?!” Stacey stared at me. “I HATE YOU FOR THIS! I can’t believe you kept this hidden from me. I could have at least paid a visit to my parents’ graves once a year, but you guys took that right away from me. Do you think I’ll forgive you guys?! NEVER! I will never forgive you or Mom for this!” Stacey began to leave.

Though I knew it would be pointless, I wanted I could stop her. So I just watched in silence as Stacey turned to leave.

Months passed. Stacey didn’t answer my calls or texts when I tried to reach her multiple times. She couldn’t stop thinking about how Mom and I had let her down, day in and day out.

Unfortunately, that had a negative impact on her body and made her health worse. The physicians informed her that she would require emergency care, but then other problems started to appear. Following her husband’s job loss, her family was having financial difficulties.

One day, Stacey’s body failed her due to inadequate medical attention. She was admitted to the hospital by doctors, but their expenses were prohibitive. When her spouse contacted to ask for assistance, I knew I would go to whatever lengths to support my sister. I therefore paid her medical bills.

Stacey contacted me crying after she was discharged from the hospital.

“I’m sorry, Emily. I was so wrong to lash out at you. I doubt my own sister would have gone to such lengths to help me… I love you.”

I told her, “I love you, too,” and asked her to look after her health. Family is about love and caring, not just biology. I’m glad we made up after Stacey recognized that.

We are reminded as we get to the end of this chapter on these three incredible tales that the legacy of our loved ones can include profound lessons and unexpected surprises. We can gain a deeper understanding of these realities and strengthen our ties to the past by dissecting them.