The Postcards My Grandma Gave Me Were Hiding A Secret She Took To Her Grave

I sank down onto the floor, cross-legged, with the mysterious folder in my lap. The first item was a small, black-and-white photograph. It showed my grandmother, much younger, probably in her twenties, standing in front of what looked like a train station. But she wasn’t alone. Standing right next to her was a man I had never, ever seen before. His arm was around her shoulder.

And a huge shock: she was pregnant.

I stared at the image for a long time. My grandmother had always told me a clear story: she married young, had my father when she was 22, and was a widow by the age of 30. The man in this photo was clearly not my grandfather. He had a darker complexion, perhaps Indian or Middle Eastern, with penetrating eyes and a very confident way of standing.

I moved on to the next page. It was a letter, dated all the way back to 1962:

My dearest Zahra, If you are reading this, it means our daughter is safe. It means you found a way out. I’m sorry I couldn’t go with you. I hope she has your courage, your eyes. Tell her I loved her, even from afar. Always, A.Continue reading…

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