The finality hit me when I turned to leave.
Dad was truly gone. I tightened my grip on the box as if holding onto it could somehow keep him with me. When I reached my car, silent tears were slipping down my cheeks.
I sat in the car and cried until my tears ran out. My phone beeped and rang several times, but it was just Matt. He was probably worried about me, but some grief you have to wade through alone.
The last thing I expected to find when I arrived home was my whole life strewn across the front lawn like some kind of unholy estate sale.
The wind picked up, scattering the memories I’d so carefully packed into boxes and hauled down from the attic.
Mom’s old recipes, her china, the worn plaid quilt Dad used to nap under, and all his books — it all lay out in the open, unprotected, as if they meant nothing. I stumbled out of my car, heart pounding.
“What in God’s name…” I muttered, my voice swallowed by the wind.
“Oh, good. You’re finally back. I was getting tired of waiting.”
There, perched on my patio furniture with her designer sunglasses and her too-bright lipstick, was Jessica. My daughter-in-law didn’t even glance up from her phone. She took a leisurely sip from her coffee, and her lips curved in a barely restrained smirk.
“Jessica… What is all this?” My eyes swept over the chaos, disbelief clamping down on my chest. “What are you doing?”
She glanced up, lowering her sunglasses just enough for me to see the disdain in her eyes. She waved a manicured hand dismissively.
“I’m doing what’s necessary. This is my home now, after all.”
A cold knot twisted in my stomach. “Your home? What are you talking about?”
“Looks like you should’ve attended the will reading.” Jessica held up a crisp piece of paper, and there was my father’s signature, clear as day, at the bottom. “Guess your dad knew who deserved it most, huh?”
I swayed, gripping the car door for support. “That’s impossible. Dad would never—”
“Oh, but he did.” She smirked, casually inspecting her perfect manicure.
“Signed, sealed, delivered. The house is mine now.” She leaned in close, her perfume, a cloying, artificial scent, invading my space. “I think it’s time you moved on, Hattie.”
A truck rumbled into the driveway, and my son, Matt, climbed out, his face twisting as he took in the scene. His boots crunched over the gravel as he approached, confusion deepening the crease between his brows.
“What the heck, Jess? First you run out of the lawyer’s office, and now you send me this weird text? What’s going on?” he asked, glancing from me to Jessica, his jaw tight.
She stretched, standing at last, looking smug and at ease in her towering heels. It made my skin crawl. “Like I said, I’m making some necessary changes, honey. And actually, there’s more you should know.”
Matt’s expression hardened with a flash of something I hadn’t seen before. “More than you throwing my mother’s belongings all over the yard?”
“Much more!” Jessica’s laugh was harsh. “I want a divorce.”
The word hung in the air like the final nail in a coffin. Matt’s mouth opened, then closed as he struggled to process. “What? You can’t be serious.”
“Oh, I am.” Her voice was dripping with disdain. “I’ve spent enough years suffocating in this house, being made to feel like I don’t fit in, like I’m not good enough!” She gestured at the house with a sweep of her arm. “I need a fresh start.”
“You have no right—” I started, but she cut me off with a scornful wave.
“Oh, save it, Hattie. You never wanted me in this family. You looked down on me right from the start, judging me just because I didn’t grow up with a silver spoon. Well, now I’m finally getting what I deserve out of you people.”
Matt’s face shifted from bewilderment to anger, his fists clenched. “Everything my family said about you is true,” he said, voice low and trembling. “You really are a covetous witch.”
Jessica’s veneer cracked.
“And you’re a spineless mama’s boy!” she snapped. “Always running to her defense, always putting her first.” She sneered, pointing a perfectly manicured finger at him. “It’s pathetic. You’re just as small-minded as she is.”
“Don’t you dare talk about my son that way!” My voice cut through the silence, sharper than I’d intended.
“I’ll do whatever I want, Hattie.” Jessica set her hands on her hips, her expression smug. “And there’s nothing either of you can do about it.”
“In fact,” Jessica continued. “The two of you had best hurry and clear your stuff off MY lawn, before I call the cops and have them arrest you both.”
“Are you out of your mind?” Matt yelled.
I numbly looked on as Matt confronted Jessica. None of this made sense! Dad hadn’t even liked Jessica! My hands shook as I pulled out my phone and quickly dialed Dad’s lawyer.
His voice was a balm, calm and reassuring. “Hattie? I was just about to call you.”
“… really believed I liked you?” Jessica yelled in the background. “You were just a means to an end, a way for me to leave my old neighborhood behind. Now I have the house, I don’t need you anymore!”
“Please,” I whispered to the lawyer. “Tell me she’s lying. There’s no way Dad left his home to Jessica.”
There was a pause, then a warm chuckle.
“You’re right. Your father didn’t leave her the house. It was all a test to get her to show her true colors.”
“A…test?” Relief rushed through me, and I started laughing, tears gathering in my eyes. It was the kind of laugh that came from somewhere deep, a laugh that surprised even me.
Jessica’s face twisted, her confidence faltering. “What are you laughing at?”
“Oh, Jessica,” I managed, still shaking. “You really should have waited for the real will reading.”
“What?”
I let the satisfaction roll through me as I explained. “Dad never left you the house. It was fake — a test to get you to show your true character.”
Matt turned to Jessica, his face a storm of emotions. “Looks like Grandpa’s plan worked.”
Jessica’s eyes widened. She glanced between Matt and me as the realization of what she’d done sunk in. Her confident facade crumbled, her voice turning desperate as she scrambled to save face.
“Matt — baby, please.” She reached out, but he recoiled, the finality in his eyes unmistakable.
“I swear, I never meant it!” She pleaded. “I was just…upset, frustrated. You know I love you!”
He shook his head. “Save it. You want a divorce? You’ve got one.”
As Jessica stomped off the property, her heels sinking with each step, I felt an odd peace settle over me. Dad’s wisdom lived on, a quiet, guiding presence.
Matt and I gathered the remnants of my life from the grass, and I couldn’t help thinking that sometimes the real inheritance isn’t in a house — it’s in the lessons of who truly deserves to be in your life.
Dad would have been proud.
I Asked Homeless Man to Be My Pretend Fiancé Only to Discover He Was Part of My Mother’s Secret Past — Story of the Day
I was tired of my family’s endless questions about my love life, so I had a wild plan. I found and brought a homeless man as my pretend fiancé to the holiday dinner. Everything seemed perfect until my mother’s reaction revealed a shocking connection between them.
I sat in my car, staring at the park entrance, dreading the upcoming weekend with my family. Every holiday visit was the same: my mom’s subtle looks, my dad’s hopeful smiles, and the never-ending barrage of questions.
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When are you getting married? Have you met someone?
It was exhausting, and the thought of another round of it was more than I could handle.
Suddenly, my eyes fell on a man sitting alone on a bench, huddled in a tattered coat. He looked worn out like life had handed him more than his share of troubles. His sad eyes and the deep lines on his face still made him look like a handsome man. That’s when it hit me. Crazy idea!
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“Could he be my fiancé for the weekend?” I muttered to myself.
It was insane, but it could work. Anything to keep my family off my back. I got out of the car and walked over to him. He looked up, and we stared at each other.
“Hey,” I started, feeling awkward. “I know this is going to sound strange, but… would you be willing to pretend to be my fiancé? Just for a weekend. In return, I can offer you a warm place to stay, new clothes, and a nice meal.”
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For a moment, he said nothing. His gaze lingered on mine as if he were trying to understand why someone like me would make such an offer. Then, to my surprise, he nodded slowly.
“Okay,” he said quietly.
I was shocked at how easily he agreed. No questions. No hesitation. That made me a little nervous. But at that point, I didn’t care.
“Great,” I said. “Let’s get you ready for the weekend.”
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***
After we got back home, I handed the stranger some clothes that belonged to my ex. His things were still in my closet, and honestly, I couldn’t think of a better use for them.
“Here, these should fit you,” I said, offering a clean shirt and jeans. “You can take a shower if you’d like. I’ll make us some dinner.”
“Well, thanks,” he said with a small smile. “A shower sounds amazing.”
As he headed into the bathroom, I kept myself busy chopping vegetables and trying to ignore the nervousness building up inside me.
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Sharing my home with a stranger… Mia, what are you doing? You still don’t know his name!
When the stranger emerged from the bathroom, I heard the door creak and turned around. He stood there, a towel slung over his shoulder, his hair still damp, and to my surprise, he looked completely different.
“Well, that’s the best shower I’ve had in years,” he joked.
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The awkwardness I’d felt earlier seemed to vanish in an instant.
“Glad to hear it. I hope the dinner will be just as good.”
He glanced at the table, eyeing the plates I’d set out. “Smells incredible. I am Christopher, by the way.” He smiled at me, sitting down at the table.
Feeling a bit shy, I only replied, “Mia.”
As we sat down to eat, he took the first bite and nodded. “It’s perfect. Haven’t had a home-cooked meal in a long time.”
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We ate in comfortable silence for a bit, and then the conversation started flowing naturally.
“So,” I said, breaking the quiet. “Any favorite movies or books?”
He thought for a moment before answering. “I always loved old westerns. And books? Probably The Old Man and the Sea. Simple, but there’s something about it.”
“Really? Hemingway? I wouldn’t have guessed,” I said, a little surprised. “I thought you’d go for something darker.”
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He chuckled. “You’re not wrong, but sometimes, simple stories hit the hardest.”
“I get that.”
We spent the rest of the evening talking about random topics that made us laugh. He had a dry sense of humor that caught me off guard, and by the end of dinner, I felt surprisingly comfortable around him.
Late in the evening, I went back into the kitchen to grab a glass of water before bed. I noticed the dishes had already been washed and stacked neatly by the sink.
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“Did you… do the dishes?” I asked Christopher, peeking around the corner.
“Seemed like the least I could do.”
I smiled, genuinely touched by the gesture. “Thank you.”
“No problem.”
“Good night, Christopher.”
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***
The next day, everything moved quickly. We had one day left before the weekend with my family, and there was still so much to do.
First, we went to the hair salon. As the stylist worked, Christopher sat quietly, letting the transformation happen. I watched in amazement as his shaggy hair was trimmed into something neat and polished.
“This feels weird,” he muttered, looking at himself in the mirror.
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“Good weird or bad weird?” I teased.
“Definitely good,” he said with a smirk.
By the time we hit the shops to pick out new clothes, he was starting to look like a completely different person.
***
The holiday dinner started well enough. My parents were delighted to see Christopher, and I could almost feel my mother’s pride as she glanced at me, finally quieting her usual questions about my personal life.
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Christopher played his part perfectly—polite, attentive, and even charming when he spoke. I began to relax, thinking that maybe my crazy plan had worked.
“Christopher, right?” my mother asked, smiling brightly. “You look so familiar. Have I seen you somewhere before? On TV, maybe?”
She laughed lightly as if she had just made a harmless joke.
Christopher politely shook his head. “No, I don’t think so. Maybe I just have one of those faces.”
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My father chuckled, clearly amused by my mother’s playful banter. “Well, if you’re on TV, I’ll have to start watching more closely.”
“So, Christopher,” Mom continued, “what did you do before you met Mia? Business, right?”
Christopher paused, glancing at my mother a bit too long before answering.
“Yes, business,” he said quietly, but there was something in his tone that felt different. “But everything changed for me about five years ago.”
My heart skipped a beat.
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Wait… This isn’t part of the plan.
I shot him a quick look, hoping he’d catch on, but he continued. “There was an accident. A car accident. It… changed my life completely.”
This definitely isn’t something we talked about.
My mother’s face went pale, her fingers clenched the tablecloth, knuckles turning white. Her expression darkened as if she had just pieced something together.
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“A car accident?” she echoed. Her words had sucked the warmth out of the room. “That’s… unfortunate.”
My father glanced at her. “Olivia, are you okay?”
But she wasn’t listening to him. “Not everyone walks away from accidents unscathed, do they?”
Christopher didn’t flinch, quietly sipping his wine.
“He’s not the kind of man you need,” Mom said bluntly, her voice trembling with anger.
I was taken aback. My father’s eyes widened in shock, his fork pausing halfway to his mouth.
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Christopher calmly set his glass down. “Excuse me. I’ll step outside for a moment.”
As he left, I turned to my mother. “What was that about? He didn’t do anything wrong!”
“There’s something you need to know, Mia. Five years ago, I was in a car accident,” she began, her voice lowering as though she were afraid someone else might hear.
“It was late at night, outside the city. There were no witnesses. The man I hit… was Christopher.”
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My heart dropped. “What?”
“Your Christopher,” she said bitterly, “was under the influence that night. I demanded he get tested, but he refused. No one saw what happened, so I chose not to take him to court. But Mia, you need to understand… He’s dangerous. You can’t trust him.”
Christopher? Under the influence?
Finally, I broke the silence. “I need to talk to him.”
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***
Christopher was leaning against the fence, staring off into the night. His expression was calm, but I could see the sadness in his eyes.
“Christopher,” I called softly.
He spoke slowly, choosing his words carefully. “My last name is Hartman. Yes, I was in that accident. I was on sedatives that night—prescribed for my anxiety after my wife died. I was driving carefully.”
He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small, simple ring.
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“You’re the first woman I’ve met since my wife’s death that I’ve wanted to leave something with. This was hers. Thank you for dinner, Mia. It was… more than I deserved.”
He handed me the ring, then nodded slightly before walking away.
“Wait,” I whispered, but the words got lost in the cold night air.
I stood there for a moment, staring at the ring in my hand. When I walked back inside, my mother was waiting.
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“You didn’t tell me the whole truth, did you?” I demanded.
She sighed. “No. I didn’t. I was driving too fast that night. I… I was scared, Mia.”
“Is he worth chasing?”
The look in her eyes said it all. Yes. But it was already too late.
***
I couldn’t stop thinking about Christopher. His story, the accident, the weight he carried. It haunted me.
I placed an ad in the local paper, something simple but direct:
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“Christopher Hartman, if you see this, please meet me at the restaurant where we last had dinner. I eat there every evening. Mia.”
I felt a little foolish, not knowing if he’d ever read it or if he even wanted to see me again. But I had to try. There was too much left unsaid.
***
The day after placing the ad, I arrived at the restaurant early. As the minutes ticked by, doubt started creeping in.
Maybe he didn’t see it. Maybe he didn’t want to.
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But then, just as I was about to give up, the door opened. Christopher stepped in, scanning the room until they landed on me. A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth as he walked over.
“I saw your ad,” he said, sitting down across from me.
We locked eyes for a moment before I spoke. “There’s so much I need to tell you. I found out about your past… about the accident… My mother finally admitted she was at fault, too. And…. she took your money!”
“I didn’t want to blame anyone. After my wife died… nothing mattered.”
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We sat in silence for a moment, letting the weight of his words settle between us.
“I’m sorry,” I whispered.
“You don’t have to be,” he said, his voice soft. “It wasn’t your fault.”
“I know, but still… I want to help. My mother wants to make things right. She’s returning what she took from you.”
We spent the rest of the evening talking. It wasn’t about pretending anymore. It was real. By the end of the night, I realized something. I had fallen in love with Christopher. And the best part? He felt the same.
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