Teenage boy Charlie struggles to understand why his peers receive expensive presents while he is left listening to his mother’s excuses. He discovers that his mother has prepared 15 gifts for his future birthdays. But after learning the reason behind it, he finally realizes what he truly wants.
Charlie, a 15-year-old with a backpack slung lazily over one shoulder, trudged out of school alongside his classmate Mark.
The late afternoon sun cast long shadows across the parking lot, where students chattered and cars honked in a chaotic symphony.
“Did you hear? We’ve got another test on Friday,” Mark said, breaking the silence.
Charlie groaned, his shoulders slumping.
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“Oh no, not again! Is this the fourth test this week? School is exhausting…”
Mark smirked. “Don’t be so dramatic. It’s just studying. You always stress out before tests, but in the end, it all works out fine.”
“Yeah, yeah, whatever,” Charlie muttered, his eyes scanning the parking lot. His expression darkened as he frowned.
“My mom’s late again! How much longer do I have to wait?”
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“Maybe something came up. Don’t be mad at her—she’s picking you up. You should be grateful,” Mark said with a shrug.
Charlie shot him a sideways glare.
“Yeah? I don’t see your mom’s car either. Are you super grateful that she’s late too?”
Mark chuckled softly and shook his head. “She won’t be picking me up anymore. My parents bought me a car for my birthday.”
Charlie stopped in his tracks, his jaw dropping.
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“What!? A car!? I’d be grateful too if someone got me a car!” he snapped, his voice laced with jealousy.
Mark shrugged again, calm as ever. “You should be grateful no matter what. She’s your mom. Anyway, see you tomorrow.”
“Yeah… bye,” Charlie mumbled, watching Mark stroll off toward the student lot.
As he stood there, stewing in frustration, a car horn blared from across the lot. Charlie spun around and saw his mom’s familiar car pulling up.
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With a sigh, he slung his backpack higher on his shoulder and jogged toward it, muttering under his breath. He opened the car door and slid into the passenger seat, his face already setting in a frown.
Alice, his mom, glanced over at him, her hands gripping the steering wheel.
“Sorry, sweetheart, I’m late again. I had to finish up a few things,” she said apologetically.
“You’re always late these days…” Charlie muttered, avoiding her gaze as he slumped further into his seat.
Alice sighed, keeping her voice calm.
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“I said I’m sorry. Now, tell me—how was your day?”
“Not great,” he replied shortly, his eyes fixed on the cars passing outside.
She glanced at him again, concern flickering across her face. “What happened?”
“Mark’s parents bought him a car for his birthday,” Charlie said flatly.
Alice smiled slightly, trying to lighten the mood.
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“That’s wonderful! Did he give you a ride?”
Charlie turned to her, his expression incredulous.
“No. Mom, my birthday’s coming up soon. Can you get me a car?”
Alice’s hands tightened briefly on the wheel before she answered. “Sweetheart, I already have your gift planned. Maybe I can get you a car in a few years…”
“A few years!?” Charlie’s voice rose with frustration.
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“So I have to wait while all my classmates drive around, and I look like an idiot?”
Alice exhaled and tried to keep her tone gentle as she said, “I know it’s hard, but I just can’t afford a gift like that right now.”
Charlie crossed his arms, his voice sharp. “Then return whatever gift you got and buy me a car!”
“I can’t do that, Charlie. I’m sorry,” she said firmly, though her voice was tinged with sadness.
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He turned away, pressing his forehead against the window.
The hum of the engine filled the silence as Alice drove, glancing occasionally at her son, his disappointment weighing heavily on them both.
As she pulled into the driveway, the car came to a slow stop. She turned to Charlie, her face softening.
“Dinner’s in the fridge if you’re hungry. I have a few errands to run, but I won’t be long. Love you, sweetheart!”
“Yeah…” Charlie mumbled without meeting her eyes. He swung the car door open and headed into the house.
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The door clicked shut behind him, and the silence of the empty house wrapped around him.
He dropped his backpack by the couch but didn’t bother to sit down. Something gnawed at the back of his mind—an itch he couldn’t ignore.
His mom had seemed calm, too calm, especially after their earlier argument. Why couldn’t she just tell him what she was up to?
His curiosity got the better of him. Quietly, he tiptoed into her bedroom, the air feeling heavier as if he were crossing an invisible line.
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Sitting at her desk, he opened her laptop.
The screen glowed to life, and he hesitated for a moment before clicking on her email.
Most of it was unimportant—work notices, receipts, newsletters.
Then he spotted something unusual: an email confirming a delivery scheduled for his upcoming birthday.
His brow furrowed as he clicked it open.
His eyes widened. The delivery wasn’t a one-time thing. There were 14 more planned—one every year for the next 15 years.
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“What the…?” he muttered, his heart racing.
Confused and uneasy, he dug deeper, scrolling through her emails until he found an address for a storage unit.
Beneath a pile of papers in her drawer, he found a small key labeled with the same address.
His pulse quickened as he grabbed the key and headed out the door.
The storage unit loomed ahead, its metal door glinting faintly under the dull light of the parking lot.
Charlie unlocked it with trembling hands. As the door creaked open, he froze.
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Inside, more than a dozen neatly wrapped gifts were arranged in a row.
They were all different sizes, some small enough to fit in his palm, others big enough to hold a bike.
Each was topped with a handwritten note in his mom’s familiar, looping script.
He stepped inside, the scent of cardboard and faint perfume hanging in the air. He picked up one note and read:
“Happy 17th birthday, sweetheart. I love you more than anything in the world. I hope you like this computer. Study hard!”
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His throat tightened as he set the note back. Why had she done this?
He moved to the first gift, a small box with two notes attached. Pulling off the first, his breath caught as he began to read:
“My dear son, if you’re reading this, I may no longer be with you. For years, I’ve known I had cancer, and no treatment has worked. My time is limited, but I didn’t want your birthdays to feel empty after I’m gone.”
The words blurred as tears filled his eyes. He wiped his face, but the tears kept coming, spilling onto the paper.
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“That’s why I prepared these gifts ahead of time. They may not always be exactly what you want, but please open one each birthday and know I love you. Always.”
Charlie let out a shaky breath as he clutched the note. His chest ached in a way he’d never felt before.
He looked around the storage unit, the gifts that suddenly felt so much more than just objects.
They were pieces of her love, her effort to stay with him even when she couldn’t.
He gently placed the note back, closed the door, and leaned against it for a moment.
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His heart was heavy, but it was full of something else too—a deeper understanding of what his mom had done for him.
The drive home was quiet. The world outside blurred, but his mind raced with emotions. He didn’t care about a car anymore.
What mattered now was something far greater.
Charlie stepped quietly into the living room, his shoes scuffing softly against the wooden floor.
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His mom, Alice, was perched on the couch, a book resting in her lap.
She was smiling faintly, her eyes scanning the pages, completely unaware of the emotional storm that had just swept over her son.
Charlie hesitated in the doorway, his chest rising and falling with uneven breaths. His eyes were red, swollen from crying, and his face held a mix of fear and heartbreak.
Alice looked up, her smile fading as she took in his expression. Alarm spread across her face.
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“Charlie! What’s wrong? Where were you?” she asked, setting the book aside and leaning forward.
“Mom!” he choked out, his voice breaking as he rushed across the room. He threw his arms around her, clinging to her tightly.
“Sweetheart, tell me what’s going on,” she said, her voice soft but urgent. She stroked his back gently, trying to calm him. “How can I help?”
Charlie pulled back slightly, his hands trembling as he wiped at his face.
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“I know, Mom. I went to the storage unit,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper.
Alice stiffened, her eyes widening.
“What? Why? What were you doing there?” she asked, a hint of panic creeping into her tone.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” Charlie cried, his voice breaking again.
“Isn’t there anything we can do?”
Alice took a deep breath, her lips quivering.
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“There’s nothing, Charlie. I’m so sorry,” she said, tears brimming in her eyes.
“No, Mom, I’m sorry,” he said quickly, shaking his head.
“I’ve been such a terrible son. I don’t need a car or any gifts. None of that matters. I just want you to be with me.”
“Charlie…” she whispered, her voice thick with emotion.
“Please, Mom,” he begged, his voice desperate.
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“I want to spend as much time with you as I can. I love you!”
Alice pulled him close again, her own tears spilling over now.
“I love you too, sweetheart,” she said, her voice breaking as she held him tightly.
The room was quiet except for their soft cries, their embrace a fragile but powerful moment of love and understanding.
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If you enjoyed this story, read this one: Every man reaches a moment when he wants to settle down and have a loving family. But not Henry—he was convinced he would stay single forever, believing it was the better life for him. However, a day spent with his nine-year-old niece makes him realize the true reason behind his life choices.
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Someone Kept Throwing Eggs at My Husband’s Gravestone – One Day, I Saw Who It Was, and It Nearly Destroyed My Life
Every Sunday, I visited my husband’s grave to feel close to him, until I found raw eggs smashed against his gravestone. At first, I thought it was a cruel prank, but when I caught the culprit in the act, I was shattered to discover it was someone I trusted more than anyone else.
I lost my husband, Owen, one year ago. It was sudden. No warnings, no time to prepare. A heart attack stole him from me, just like that. Twenty-five years together, gone in a moment.
A crying woman | Source: Pexels
For months, I felt like I was walking through fog. Everything hurt. I tried to keep things together for our kids, but inside, I was crumbling. Every Sunday, I’d visit his grave. It became my ritual, my way of feeling close to him.
The cemetery was peaceful. Quiet. Just me, Owen, and the flowers I brought each week. It felt like I could breathe there. But three months ago, something changed.
A winter cemetery | Source: Pexels
The first time, I thought I was seeing things. Eggshells. Yellow yolk smeared across the base of Owen’s gravestone.
“Why would anyone do this?” I whispered to myself, crouching down to clean it. I kept looking over my shoulder, thinking maybe it was just kids pulling a cruel prank.
A gravestone covered in eggs | Source: Midjourney
I cleaned it, thinking it was a one-time thing. But two weeks later, it happened again. This time, there were more eggs—at least six. Broken, dripping down the stone. I cleaned it again, but my heart felt heavier.
I tried asking the cemetery staff for help.
“There’s been some vandalism at my husband’s grave,” I told the man at the desk. He looked bored, barely glancing up.
A sad woman talking to a man in an office | Source: Midjourney
“You can file a report,” he said, sliding a clipboard toward me.
“That’s it? Don’t you have cameras or something?” I asked.
He shook his head. “Not in the newer sections. Sorry.”
I filed the report anyway, but deep down, I knew it wouldn’t help.
An upset elderly woman sitting on her bed | Source: Pexels
The third time I found eggs, I cried. I didn’t even try to hide it. It wasn’t just the mess, it was the feeling that someone was targeting Owen, even in death.
“What do you want from him?” I shouted into the empty cemetery. My voice echoed back at me.
I couldn’t sleep the night before the anniversary of his death. Memories of Owen kept swirling in my mind. I could hear his laugh and feel the way he used to hold my hand when we walked.
A grieving elderly woman | Source: Pexels
By 5 a.m., I couldn’t take it anymore. I grabbed my coat and decided to go to the cemetery. The sun wasn’t up yet, and the world felt still.
As I walked toward his grave, I stopped in my tracks.
Eggshells. Fresh ones, scattered around. And a figure.
A gravestone covered in eggshells | Source: Midjourney
They were standing by the stone, holding something in their hand. An egg. I froze, my breath catching in my throat. The egg shattered against the stone, the sound sharp in the quiet morning air.
“Hey!” I yelled, my voice shaking. “What are you doing?”
The figure stiffened but didn’t turn. My heart pounded as I ran toward them.
A woman standing in front of a grave | Source: Pexels
They turned slowly, and my breath hitched.
“Madison?” My sister’s face stared back at me, pale and wide-eyed. She still had an egg in her hand, her fingers trembling.
“Why are you here?” she asked, her voice low and sharp.
“You!” I snapped. “You’ve been the one doing this!”
An angry woman | Source: Freepik
Her face twisted. “You wouldn’t understand.”
“Try me,” I said, stepping closer.
She laughed bitterly. “You think he was perfect, don’t you? The loyal husband, the loving dad. That man lied to you for years.”
“What are you talking about?” My voice cracked.
A bitter woman on a graveyard | Source: Midjourney
Madison’s eyes burned into mine. “We had an affair. Five years, Emma. Five years. He promised me everything — money, a future. But when he died, I got nothing. Not a damn cent. All of it went to you and your precious kids.”
I felt like the ground had disappeared beneath me.
“No,” I whispered. “You’re lying.”
A shocked woman on a cemetery | Source: Midjourney
“Am I?” she shot back. “Didn’t he leave everything to you? You’ve seen the will.”
I stared at her, my hands shaking. “How could you do this? To me? To him?”
Her voice turned cold. “You don’t get to judge me. He lied to both of us. He made promises he didn’t keep.”
I couldn’t speak. The words wouldn’t come.
A sad numb woman at a cemetery | Source: Midjourney
Madison dropped the egg, letting it fall to the ground. “You’ve always had everything, Emma. The perfect life, the perfect husband. Well, he wasn’t perfect.”
I watched her turn and walk away, her words echoing in my ears.
A woman walking away | Source: Midjourney
I sat on the damp ground by Owen’s grave, my mind spinning. Madison’s words were like daggers. “We had an affair. Five years.” How could she say something so vile? How could she claim that the man I had loved, trusted, and built a life with had betrayed me like that?
But the doubts started to creep in.
A thoughtful elderly woman | Source: Pexels
I thought about the times Owen had gone on last-minute business trips, always with a vague explanation. “It’s work, Em,” he’d say, giving me that easy smile. I’d never questioned him. Why would I? He was my husband.
Then there were the phone calls. He’d step outside sometimes, claiming it was “just a client,” but his voice was low, hurried.
A man talking on a phone | Source: Pexels
And Madison. She had always been close to Owen. Too close? I remembered the way she laughed at his jokes, even the ones I found annoying. The way she’d pat his arm when she thought no one was watching.
I shook my head, refusing to believe it.
An elderly woman hugging a photo | Source: Pexels
My chest ached as I stared at Owen’s name on the gravestone. “Did you lie to me?” I whispered. “Did I ever really know you?”
I barely noticed Madison storming off. She didn’t look back, and I didn’t call after her. I stayed by the grave for a long time, scrubbing away the yolk and shells with trembling hands. I cleaned it until there was nothing left but the smooth stone.
A woman scrubbing a headstone | Source: Midjourney
The next afternoon, I ran into Madison’s daughter, Carly, at the grocery store. She was holding a basket of vegetables and looked surprised to see me.
“Aunt Emma,” she said with a smile. “How are you?”
I hesitated. “I’ve been better.”
A niece talking to her aunt | Source: Pexels
Her smile faded. “It’s about the grave, isn’t it? Mom told me what happened.”
I swallowed hard. “Carly, did you know… about your mom and Owen?”
She frowned, looking puzzled. “Know what?”
“She said they… had an affair,” I said, my voice barely above a whisper.
A sad elderly woman | Source: Pexels
Carly’s eyes widened in shock. “What? No. She never said anything like that to me.”
“She claims it lasted five years. That he promised her money, but—” My voice broke, and I stopped.
Carly’s expression shifted to something between confusion and disbelief. “Wait. Mom told you that? She’s never mentioned anything about an affair. Ever. Honestly, Aunt Emma, that doesn’t sound like Uncle Owen at all.”
A thoughtful young woman | Source: Pexels
I stared at her. “Are you sure? She seemed so… certain. She said he lied to both of us.”
Carly sighed. “Mom’s been angry for years, Aunt Emma. You know that. She always said you had everything — a perfect family, a good husband, stability. She feels like she got stuck with the short end of the stick.”
“She’s jealous?” I asked, feeling a pang of guilt.
An elderly woman deep in thought | Source: Pexels
Carly nodded. “It’s not fair, but yeah. That’s how she sees it. But I never saw anything between her and Uncle Owen. Not once. And if something had been going on, I feel like I would’ve noticed.”
I bit my lip. “You’re sure?”
Carly nodded firmly. “Absolutely. Mom might be saying this just to hurt you. I hate to say it, but it wouldn’t surprise me.”
A confident young woman talking to her aunt | Source: Midjourney
I stared at her, unsure whether to feel relieved or more confused.
Carly placed a hand on my arm. “You loved Uncle Owen, didn’t you?”
I nodded, my throat tightening.
“Then hold onto that,” she said gently. “Don’t let Mom take that away from you.”
A woman hugging her aunt | Source: Pexels
Later that evening, I sat in my living room, staring at an old photo of Owen and me. He was smiling, his arm draped around my shoulders. We looked so happy.
Maybe Madison was lying. Maybe she wasn’t. I would never know for sure. But I couldn’t let her bitterness destroy my memories of Owen.
A woman looking at a photo of her husband | Source: Pexels
I thought about our kids, how much they adored their father. They deserved to remember him as the man who loved them, not as the person Madison was trying to paint him to be.
I wiped away a tear and took a deep breath.
“Goodbye, Madison,” I whispered to myself. “You’re not taking him from me.”
A hopeful woman in her living room | Source: Pexels
The next Sunday, I went back to the cemetery. I brought fresh flowers and placed them by Owen’s grave. The air was still and quiet, and for the first time in months, I felt at peace.
This work is inspired by real events and people, but it has been fictionalized for creative purposes. Names, characters, and details have been changed to protect privacy and enhance the narrative. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.
The author and publisher make no claims to the accuracy of events or the portrayal of characters and are not liable for any misinterpretation. This story is provided “as is,” and any opinions expressed are those of the characters and do not reflect the views of the author or publisher.
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