I went to my estranged father’s funeral hoping for closure, but my grandmother’s urgent warning sent me racing to his house instead. What I found there—my half-siblings rifling through his study—revealed more about his life, his regrets, and his love than I ever expected.

I hadn’t seen my father in years. He left my mom and me when I was just a kid. Every attempt I made to reconnect as I got older was met with silence. Despite everything, I couldn’t fully let him go. When I heard he had died, I felt a confusing mix of emotions—anger, sadness, and maybe even relief.

When the day of the funeral came, I felt obligated to attend. The chapel was quiet, filled with the sickly-sweet scent of lilies and the somber hum of an organ. People sat stiffly in the pews, their faces blank and distant, like they were just going through the motions. My father’s name, Robert Sr., printed on the program, felt oddly impersonal for the man who had loomed like a ghost over my life.

Strangely, his other children—my half-siblings, Robert Jr. and Barbara—were nowhere to be seen. It struck me as odd that the kids he had raised didn’t bother to show up, but before I could dwell on it, I felt a firm hand grip my arm. Turning, I saw my grandmother, Estelle, her sharp eyes piercing through the haze of grief in the room.