Grief changes you in ways you never expect. Two years after losing my daughter Monica and her husband Stephan in an accident, I thought I was coping for the sake of my grandsons, Andy and Peter. Then one morning, an anonymous letter arrived: “They’re not really gone.” Hours later, I learned Monica’s old credit card had been used at a local café.

That weekend, while at the beach with the boys, they suddenly pointed to the café nearby. “Grandma, look! That’s Mom and Dad!” My heart nearly stopped. I followed the couple they’d spotted to a cottage, and when the door opened, there stood Monica and Stephan — alive. Tears filled my eyes as sirens approached.

They confessed everything. Loan sharks had threatened them, so they faked their deaths to protect the boys. Living under new names, they said leaving had been the hardest decision of their lives. “We thought they’d be better off without us,” Monica wept. My heart broke, but anger burned too — they’d left their children believing they were dead.

The boys were overjoyed to see their parents, but police soon pulled Monica and Stephan aside, warning of serious charges. That night, I sat alone, staring at the letter again: “They’re not really gone.” It was true — but knowing they’d chosen to leave hurt even more. I don’t know if calling the cops was right, but I do know this: I’ll do whatever it takes to protect my grandsons now.