**Mother’s Secret Acceptance**
My mom never liked my wife. At our wedding, she cried, “Son, she’s not the one for you!” I replied, “One day, you’ll love her too!” She nodded. Two years later, mom died. I went to empty her house and froze when I looked under her bed. She had been keeping my wife’s old photo album—hidden, cherished.
Tears welled as I flipped through pages: our engagement, our first home, moments she’d never acknowledged. A note fell out: “To my son, I was wrong. She makes you happy. I see it now.” Guilt hit me—her disapproval masked love she couldn’t express. My wife, confused by mom’s coldness, joined me. Seeing the album, she gasped, “She kept this?”
We found more: a scarf my wife gave her, worn but preserved, and a recipe card with my wife’s handwriting, marked “tried 3/15/24.” Mom had softened in secret. At her funeral, I shared this with family. My wife squeezed my hand, whispering, “She loved me after all.”
Now, we honor her by keeping the album on display. Her silent acceptance healed old wounds. I wish I’d seen it sooner, but her hidden treasures proved love transcends words—sometimes, it hides under the bed, waiting to be found.
