I Dug Up A Corner Of The Garden As My Grandfather Said—What I Found There Changed My Family Forever

While cleaning out the storage, I found a note from my grandfather telling me that if things got tough, I should dig up the corner of the western garden. I followed his advice, and it changed the course of my family’s life.

Today, while cleaning the shed, I stumbled upon a beautiful box. My father mentioned that it was something my grandfather had left behind, and inside, it seemed to contain something very valuable.

Curious, I opened the box, and inside was a piece of paper that read: “When the situation at home becomes difficult, dig up the land at the corner of the western garden.”

Both my father and I were surprised, and we quickly went to the garden as my grandfather instructed. We soon discovered another box buried there.

I opened the box and found a letter inside. The letter my grandfather left behind roughly stated that my father was not his biological child but was, in fact, the son of a wealthy man. The letter urged my father to go and seek help from that person.

Upon learning this, my family was stunned. We didn’t know what to do, but the situation was dire. The knocking on the door from creditors was no longer a surprise, and the phone calls from people threatening to foreclose on our home were growing more frequent.

Both my father and I couldn’t sleep peacefully, tossing and turning every night in fear. The light from the night lamp in the room only served to highlight the sadness in my father’s eyes. Our family no longer had the strength to face this challenge.

The reason we found ourselves in this situation was due to my mother’s illness. She had contracted a serious and rare disease, requiring urgent treatment that came with an extremely high cost. She had been hospitalized for months, undergoing surgeries, taking expensive medications, and the treatment expenses had plunged our family into debt.

My father had to sell valuable assets, borrow from everyone he knew, yet the money was still not enough to cover all the costs. The more my mother was treated, the worse her condition became, leaving our family both anxious and helpless.

I was the only one who could stay with my mother during this long period, but the exhaustion and stress on my father were becoming increasingly apparent. Every morning, he had to face threats from creditors. Both my father and I could only watch as my mother struggled with her illness, unable to do anything. The mounting debts forced my father to take out more loans, but eventually, all financial resources were depleted.

Day by day, our family felt cornered, unable to find a way out. Creditors came to our house, sending letters demanding the seizure of property, while my mother’s health continued to deteriorate. My father had done everything he could, but nothing seemed to get us out of the endless cycle.

When we found my grandfather’s letter, it was the only glimmer of hope we had. Although my father was still skeptical about everything, he decided to meet the person my grandfather mentioned in the letter, even though he was unsure of the connection between himself and this person.

That day, my father and I got into the car and drove toward the mansion of the wealthy man my grandfather had mentioned. The mansion was quite far from the city, situated on a large plot of land.

When we arrived at the gate, my father looked around with a mixture of hope and anxiety. We didn’t know who this person was, nor if he was truly a relative of my father, as stated in the letter.

The gate closed after we stopped the car. A guard stood right in front, watching us with a cold gaze. My father explained that he wanted to meet the owner of the house as instructed in my grandfather’s letter. The guard, with an unchanged expression, replied coldly:

“Sorry, he doesn’t meet with guests without an appointment. You can come back when you’ve made an appointment.”

My father tried to explain further, saying that he was the son of my grandfather and wanted to meet this person for help, as our family was in trouble. But the guard stood still, his gaze unchanged. He repeated, “No appointment, I can’t help. You’ll have to come back later.”

Father and I silently left the gate, the weight of disappointment pressing down on us. It felt like all our hopes had crumbled, and we didn’t know what to do next. Despair washed over us, but my father maintained his calm, trying to reassure me while I just wanted to burst into tears. We returned to the car, preparing to leave, when suddenly the large gate of the mansion opened again.

A middle-aged man with a stern face stepped out from inside. He wasn’t the same person who had just spoken to us; this man was dressed in a formal suit, and he appeared to be the house manager. My father stopped, looked at him, and then walked over, deciding to try once more.

“We’ve come because we have something important to discuss with the owner of the house,” my father said, his voice patient but tinged with worry.

The house manager looked at my father, then at me. His gaze wasn’t friendly, and he was silent for a moment. Afterward, he furrowed his brows and spoke slowly: “You’ve come at the wrong time. The master of the house does not meet guests without an appointment, and… I don’t think he will meet with you at this time.”

My father tried to explain further, stating that we were family and that we were facing many difficulties. But before he could finish, the house manager raised his hand to interrupt him:

“I understand, but there’s nothing I can do right now. I will inform the master about your situation and get back to you.”
With a slight expression of sympathy, the house manager continued: “You should go now.”

Though disappointed, my father understood there was no choice but to wait. We both turned and walked out of the mansion grounds. The feeling of helplessness and frustration grew heavier with each step. Unlike the indifference of the previous guard, the house manager seemed to understand the situation but couldn’t or wouldn’t offer help immediately.

Once outside the gate, my father paused for a moment, gripping the steering wheel tightly, thinking in silence. I stood beside him, my heart heavy. The encounter with the house manager didn’t seem to bring anything clearer. Could we find any hope left from this person, or was everything we did just in vain?

The next day, as the first light of dawn filtered through the window, my family was still immersed in worry. My father and I had just stepped out of the room, not yet mentally prepared for another long and difficult day, when my father’s phone suddenly rang.

It was an unfamiliar number. My father picked up the phone, and on the other end of the line was a cold voice that carried an unexpected message: “Hello, Mr. Jack. Your debts have been cleared. Congratulations.”

My father was stunned, as if struck by lightning, unable to believe his ears. He froze, sitting down on the chair, his eyes glazed over, lost in a distant space. After a moment, he exclaimed, “What? The debts have… been cleared?”

“Yes,” came the voice on the other end. “There are no more debts. You no longer need to worry about financial problems.”

My father quickly asked, his voice filled with confusion and suspicion: “But… how is this possible? Who did this?”

There was a brief silence before the voice replied, “We cannot provide any further details. However, you can rest assured that everything has been taken care of.”

The phone line went dead, and my father sat there, dumbfounded. After a while, he slowly put the phone down, staring out the window, his mind racing with chaotic thoughts. “This can’t be real… This is too sudden,” my father muttered.

At that moment, I approached him, my eyes still shining with joy but full of curiosity. “Dad, what do you think this means? Who helped us?”

My father looked at me, his face still somber. “It must have been the man from yesterday. It has to be him,” he said, not looking at me, his gaze lost in heavy thoughts.

Even though my father felt relief that the debts had been wiped away, he could not fully rejoice. What troubled him was the big question: Why would that wealthy man help our family? Was my father really his son? But if so, why wouldn’t he accept my father back?

The whole family was rejoicing at the relief from debt, but in my father’s eyes, there was a deep, unspeakable sorrow.

“Dad, this is still a huge turning point!” I gently said, trying to comfort him. “We’re no longer in debt, and mom can now focus on her treatment. This could be our chance to start fresh.”

My father looked at me, his eyes vague as if searching for reassurance in my words. He nodded faintly, but I knew there were still so many unresolved questions weighing on him.

“I just don’t understand,” my father sighed, “why would he help us but not take me back? How am I supposed to live with that?”

I didn’t know how to answer him. I understood why he felt that way. The person who raised him and cared for him since he was a child wasn’t his real father. Meanwhile, his biological father had never acknowledged him. I could only hold my father’s hand, sitting quietly together in the empty house, our hearts full of unspeakable emotions.

A few days later, another unexpected event struck. One day, my father and I were watching TV when suddenly a piece of news came on.

“Mr. John, the head of SkyWorld Corporation, is currently in critical condition. Doctors have stated that he has only a few days left to live. Everyone is gathering at his mansion, and his children and grandchildren have come to visit him for the last time…”

My father heard this news and froze. He didn’t say anything, just stared at the TV screen, his face full of contemplation. A feeling, like he was waiting for something, suddenly flared up in him.

I turned to my father and saw him silent, his eyes deep in thought. He was surely thinking about the fact that the wealthy man might not have much time left. And if there was one last chance to clarify the relationship, to finally learn the truth, maybe this was the time we couldn’t hesitate.

“Dad, could this be our last chance to meet him?” I asked, full of worry and anticipation. “Maybe he will reveal the truth we’ve been wondering about all this time.”

My father looked up, his eyes shining with determination. He slowly nodded. “If there’s a chance, we must go. If we don’t, we may never know what really happened.”

So, we decided to head to the mansion of the wealthy man. That night, my father and I quietly prepared our bags. Though we weren’t sure if sneaking into the mansion was the right thing to do, we both had a sense of urgency, as if this was our only chance to uncover the truth.

When the car arrived at the mansion gates, it was late. The mansion still had lights on, and the large trees swayed in the wind, creating a quiet yet mysterious atmosphere. We exchanged a look and then my father said, “Let’s go in.”

This time, there was no guard at the gate. The large iron gate was still open, and no one was there to stop us. Perhaps the family had all gathered to visit him, or maybe due to his serious illness, they no longer cared to guard the house. Whatever the reason, we didn’t hesitate.

We quietly walked through the vast garden, our footsteps light, as if trying not to disturb the quiet surroundings. The mansion’s door wasn’t locked, and we snuck inside.

Father and I silently walked through the lavish hallways, past antique paintings and sparkling chandeliers, making our way to the wealthy man’s room. We stopped in front of his door, anxiety rising in both of us.

My father gently knocked on the door. A weak voice came from inside, “Come in.”

The door opened, and we entered the room. Mr. John was lying in bed, gaunt and pale, his body almost lifeless. But when he saw my father, he opened his eyes, his gaze somewhat blurry, but still recognizing him.

The wealthy man gave a faint smile. “You’ve come, just as expected.”

My father was stunned, unable to believe what he was hearing. He walked closer to the bed and sat down. “You know who I am, don’t you? Is what my father wrote in the letter true—that I am your son? Why won’t you accept me?”

The wealthy man smiled weakly, his gaze distant, as though looking into a far-off past. “Your father was a wonderful man.”

He continued, “When I was a poor young man, your father helped me. He saved me from so much hardship and gave me the opportunity to build my career. Later, when we had children, we both adopted each other’s children and promised that if the children of either family ever faced difficulties, they could come to the other family, and they would help.”

My father sat silently, a mixture of relief and emotion welling up in his chest from these words. It turned out that the wealthy man had helped our family for many years without ever asking for anything in return, simply out of respect for my grandfather.

The wealthy man weakly looked at my father one last time. “I don’t have much time left. I will soon be reunited with your father. You… live well.”

Then he closed his eyes, and once again, the room was filled with silence, leaving only the sound of my father and I breathing heavily, along with the indescribable sadness in our hearts.

This story draws inspiration from real-life events and individuals, but it has been adapted and fictionalized for creative expression. Names, characters, and specific details have been altered to protect individuals’ privacy and to enhance the storyline. Any similarity to real persons, living or deceased, or actual events is coincidental and unintentional.