My grandmother’s rocking chair creaked every night — until I learned why.
After she passed, I took her rocking chair.
It always rocked on its own, even with no breeze.
One day I looked underneath —
and found etched initials: ‘T.M. + E.S.’
Not my grandfather’s.
I asked my aunt.
She smiled sadly, “Your grandmother had a love before him. They were separated during the war. She kept that memory in the chair… her safe place.”
My grandmother spent 60 years loving two men:
one in her house, and one in her heart.
Even the quietest pieces of furniture can hold the loudest stories.
