I moved to a broken-down farm I’d just inherited, hoping for peace. But when my neighbor copied my yellow fence, I had no idea it was just the beginning of something much deeper and personal.
I grew up in a foster family that did their best. They were kind and patient, always packed my lunch, and clapped at my school plays, even when I stood in the back wearing a cardboard tree costume.
But real love is more than warm meals and polite claps. It’s… knowing where you come from.
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No one ever told me anything about my biological parents. The papers said they’d asked for complete confidentiality. No names. No birthdays. No stories. Just a blank space where something big should’ve been.
I used to dream that maybe they were spies. Or rock stars. Or lost somewhere in the jungle. Anything was better than the thought that they didn’t care.
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I grew up fast. By 15, I was already handing out flyers outside strip malls.
At 16, I walked dogs for people who barely remembered my name. At 18, I poured coffee for grumpy regulars who tipped in nickels and gave life advice I didn’t ask for.
“You should marry rich, sweetheart. You’ve got kind eyes.”
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By 19, I was an official barista with a crooked name tag and memorized drink orders. Then came more jobs. Caregiver. Mail carrier. Gardener. For a while, I even collected roadkill off the highway.
Don’t ask. No, really—don’t.
I knew how to survive. But it felt like bad luck ran in my DNA.
By 27, I landed my dream office job. A stable paycheck. Weekends off. It felt like winning.
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On the same day, I got sick. Six months of tests, doctors shrugging.
“Could be stress.”
Yeah, no kidding.
At 30, I became a nanny. The other nanny claimed I stole money from the family. I didn’t, but I got fired. I stood outside the building with one suitcase, my emergency fund stuffed in my jacket pocket, and a thousand-yard stare.
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Then my phone rang.
“Ellie? It’s Jake, your father’s attorney,” a warm voice said.
“My who?”
“Your father, Henry. He passed away recently. You’ve been named the sole heir of his farm. It’s about 30 kilometers out of town. You can pick up the keys tomorrow.”
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“A farm?” I repeated. “A father?”
“Biological,” he said gently. “I’ll explain more in person.”
I didn’t sleep a minute that night. I had a father. He left me a home. For the first time in my life, something belonged to me.
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***
When I pulled up to the farm, I sat there for a minute, staring at the house, the fields, the silence. One question circled in my head like a fly that wouldn’t leave me alone.
Why did he leave it to me?
The house looked tired. Chipped paint peeled away from the walls, and weeds covered the yard. But then I saw the barn. It was clean. The red paint was fresh, and the doors were straight and solid. It looked proud.
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Curious, I stepped inside. The scent of hay hit me first. The floor was swept. Neat stacks of hay lined the walls.
A row of fresh eggs sat in a basket like someone had just collected them. A bucket of water glistened in the corner, clean enough to drink.
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And then there were the animals. Chickens clucked softly, pecking the straw. A big brown-and-white cow stood calmly, blinking at me.
The dog was the strangest part. He sat by the door like he’d been waiting for me. His fur was a little shaggy. I crouched.
“Come here, boy…”
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He trotted over and licked my hand like we’d known each other for years.
“Okay, weird,” I said softly, glancing around. “Who’s been feeding you?”
It had been a week since my father had passed away.
So… who’s been taking care of all this? Must’ve been the neighbors.
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I dropped my bag by the door and looked around inside the house. Dust floated through the sunlight like lazy snowflakes.
On the wall hung a single photo. A man in his 50s. His eyes were warm. My chest ached just looking at him—my father.
I sat on the floor and looked around. I didn’t know that man. Didn’t know that farm. But somehow, I wasn’t scared. I stayed.
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***
Each morning, I woke up with a purpose. I fixed the fence, painted the porch, and learned how to collect eggs without getting pecked.
I wasn’t sure how, but I just knew what to do. It was like something inside me had clicked—a secret switch.
“Farmer Mode ON.”
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But just as I started to feel at home, she showed up.
Linda. My neighbor.
At first, I thought she was just shy. Then, I thought she was a little odd.
Then, she… started copying everything I did. That’s when things started to get weird.
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***
“What the…?”
I froze by the kitchen window, a spoonful of cereal halfway to my mouth.
Just the day before, I had painted my fence bright yellow. It was the only can of paint I found in the shed, and I was on a budget. The paint smelled awful, but the fence looked cheerful.
At that moment, staring across the property line, I saw Linda’s fence. It was also yellow, the same shade.
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“Maybe just a coincidence.”
The next day, I built a new mailbox. I was proud of it—wooden, with a tiny sloped roof and a carved little bird sitting on top. It took me all afternoon and three Band-Aids.
I stepped back and said aloud, “You nailed it, Ellie.”
The following morning, I stepped outside… and there it was. Linda’s mailbox. Same shape. Same roof. The exact same bird.
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“You’ve got to be kidding me,” I muttered, clutching my coffee cup.
I tried to be polite and waved to Linda when I saw her outside. She never waved back—just scurried into her barn like I’d caught her doing something illegal.
But then came the daisies. They were my favorite. I planted them in a curved line near my front steps.
The next morning?
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Linda had the same daisies. Same curve. The same little row of stones was around them. I walked outside and just stared at her yard.
Is she watching me? Copying me on purpose?
I tried to brush it off until yoga.
One sunny morning, I rolled my mat on the grass and started my usual routine. Just some stretches to loosen up.
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When I looked over, Linda was wobbling in my exact pose.
She was wearing jeans and a floppy hat. She was copying again.
That was it. My patience was gone. I marched across the yard and knocked on her wooden gate.
“Hey, Linda! We need to talk!”
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The door creaked open slowly. She stood there, still, silent. Her dark eyes met mine. Wide. Serious. A little scared.
“Why are you copying everything I do? What do you want from me?!”
She didn’t answer. Just stepped back and nodded slightly.
I followed her into the house. That’s when I saw them.
Letters. Dozens of them. Scattered on the table. All addressed to me.
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“What are these?”
She picked up the top one and handed it to me. Her fingers shook. I opened it.
“My dear Ellie,
I don’t know how to talk to you. I don’t know if you’d even want to listen.
But I am… your mother. I lived near your father. We were never officially divorced, but we lived apart. When you were born, I was… different.
I have autism.
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Life overwhelmed me. Your father decided it would be best if a stable, loving family raised you. But I always knew about you. And when he died, I took care of the farm. And then you came…
I didn’t know how to approach you or how to speak.
So I started doing what you did.
It was my way… of being close.”
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I reread the letter. And again.
“You…” I looked up.
She stood still, barely breathing. I reached for another letter—an older one. A photo fell out. Young Linda was holding a toddler, both smiling.
“Is this…?”
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“That’s my daughter. Ellie.”
“Me?”
“My daughter,” she repeated softly. “You’re Ellie.”
Suddenly… I don’t know why, but… I turned and ran. Back to my yard. Past the daisies. Past the mailbox.
And I cried. I didn’t know how to fix anything, and I didn’t know if I was ready for it.
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***
A few days passed.
I stayed inside. No reading, no coffee, no watering the daisies. I just lay on the couch, watching shadows crawl across the ceiling, hoping they’d spell out something that made sense.
I wasn’t sick. Not in a way any doctor could fix. It was the kind of ache that fills your chest and makes everything feel… weightless and heavy at the same time.
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I thought that knowing the truth would bring peace.
But instead of closure, I found a mother. And somehow, that unraveled me more than all the years I’d spent wondering.
Then, one morning, I opened the front door. A stack of letters—thick envelopes tied with string—sitting quietly on my doorstep.
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I took them inside with trembling hands. Each envelope was marked with a year. One letter for every year of my life. Thirty letters.
I read the first. Then, the second. Then, all of them.
Each one was handwritten in a neat, careful script. Some had drawings. Others had dried petals tucked inside. All were full of emotion, wonder, sorrow… and love.
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So much love.
Linda wrote to me every year—for birthdays, first days of school I never told her about, and college she didn’t even know I’d never finished. She imagined it all, sending wishes into the void.
I cried over every single page. Sobbed. Because for the first time in my life, I didn’t feel forgotten.
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On the third morning, I opened the door again.
The flowerbeds had been watered. The animals were fed. The yard looked freshly swept.
A folded note was tucked under a jar of jam left on the porch.
“Saved the milk in my fridge.
Love, Mom”
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Mom.
I held the note in my hands and stared at that one word.
For the first time, it didn’t feel imaginary. I had a mother—a quiet, complicated, awkward woman who showed love not through words but through letters and gestures.
And I realized… maybe it wasn’t her who had failed me. Perhaps it was the situation. The way life broke apart before either of us could hold it together.
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Dad’s guilt now lives with me: in these walls, in this land, in the silence he left behind. But I have the power to rewrite the ending.
Right then, I made a decision. I stepped out into the morning sun. Barefoot, like always.
Linda was in her yard, wobbling in a half-hearted yoga pose, her sunhat nearly falling over her eyes. But she was trying—still trying.
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My heart ached. I walked toward the fence.
“That’s… the warrior pose. I’m not a huge fan either.”
She froze, then slowly turned. A small, shy smile tugged at her lips.
“You’re doing great,” I added. “But you’ll do better without the hat.”
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She took it off, smoothed the brim with her fingers, and laid it gently on the grass. Then, she moved into the tree pose. She wobbled and fell over sideways.
I really laughed—for the first time in days.
“Okay,” I said, stepping closer to the fence. “Let’s make a deal. I’ll show you one pose, and you try it. But… no more mailbox copying.”
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“Okay,” she whispered.
“You’ll do better if you relax your fingers.”
And we stood there—both of us—finally on the same side of the yard, under the same sky. A little clumsy. A little unsure. But no longer alone.
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Later, we made tea at my place. I pointed to the photo from her letter.
“That photo… that’s you?”
She nodded.
“And my daughter Ellie. It’s you and me.”
“I’ve read all the letters. Thank you, Mom.”
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She clutched her teacup with both hands.
“Can I… try that one pose tomorrow? The one with the leg in the air?”
I nodded. We both smiled. Then we laughed. And somehow, it felt like life was finding its color again.
And you know what?
That yellow fence didn’t seem so weird anymore. Maybe it was the beginning. Just like us.
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Son Kicks Out 80-Year-Old Mother to Nursing Home, Years Later Doesn’t Find Her There — Story of the Day
When 80-year-old Edith was unable to walk and confined to a wheelchair, her son, Henry, placed her in a nursing home. Years later, Henry realized his error when karma caught up with him. He decided to take Edith back in, but when he got to the nursing home, he didn’t find her there.
Henry Griffith was reared by his single mother Edith after his father died when he was just four years old. Henry came into Edith’s life late, and she loved him more than anything else, doing everything she could to make sure he didn’t miss out on anything.
Likewise, Henry was always there for Edith in any way he could, and he adored her as much as she adored him. But things began to fall apart between them when Henry met his “love,” Courtney Jackson, during his university days.
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In the first month of their dating, Courtney convinced Henry to move in with her, so they bought a little condo with their savings from part-time jobs. Then a few years down the line, when they got married, Courtney began to covertly encourage Henry to move in with Edith so they could save money to purchase a larger house later.
When she noticed Henry was a bit hesitant, Courtney persuaded him that it would also be in Edith’s best interest since they would be able to “care” for Edith better if they lived with her. Henry fell for that, and they moved in with Edith shortly after.
Three years later, when they welcomed a baby boy (who they named Liam), Courtney pushed all household chores onto Edith, claiming she was a new mother and didn’t have enough time for housework. She also used Edith as a babysitter when Henry wasn’t home and she went out with her friends.
Edith didn’t like how Courtney treated her, and she complained to Henry about it one day, but Courtney made everything about herself, and Edith had to apologize to her.
Years later, when Liam grew up, there was no need to babysit him, and therefore there was no need for Courtney to have Edith in the house.
As a result, she began inciting Henry against Edith, often exaggerating how Edith was handicapped and never helped her in household chores or how she smelled bad and couldn’t do anything on her own due to being confined in a wheelchair. She hinted that Edith was better off in a nursing home.
At first, Henry was opposed to the idea. He would never leave his mother in a facility such as a nursing home. Quarrels erupted between him and Courtney as a result, and while Edith was disappointed to learn she was the root of their dispute, she was relieved Henry adored her so much to let her go.
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But a year later, when Courtney became pregnant for the second time, she finally got her chance to kick Edith out of the house.
Courtney was heavily pregnant when it all happened, and she fell ill one day. It was her fault that she didn’t take care of herself, yet she blamed everything on Edith.
“Henry,” she said. “I know you love your mother, but the worst could have happened today. It’s good that the doctor gave me some medications. I’ll be well, but your mother…she is dangerous to our baby.”
“It was just an allergy, Courtney. You must have taken something by mistake.”
“No, Henry,” Courtney insisted. “I’m sure it was because your mom…well, she made lunch today, and after that, I fell sick.”
“What? Are you serious? But mom doesn’t cook these days! How did she…”
“That’s what I’m trying to say…she…Maybe she did it by mistake, but we need to send her to a nursing home before it’s too late, Henry. She’s becoming a threat. Today she made lunch, and I fell sick after eating it. The next time, her actions may harm our children. We need to think of this seriously!”
Henry couldn’t bring himself to send Edith to a nursing home, but when he considered the safety of his children, his parental instincts took over. He made the decision to send his mother to a nursing home.
“Mom,” he told Edith over dinner that night. “I was thinking that because you’re in a wheelchair and I’m not always there to care for you, a nursing home would be much better for you. There’d be people to look after you there, and yes, I guess that would be great.”
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“A nursing home?” Edith whispered, teary-eyed. “But Henry, I’m fine here. I don’t need extra care. I can manage on my own.”
“No, mom,” Henry interrupted. “You don’t get it. I have to send you. We have no other choice. That’s the best for me, Courtney, and everyone else. Pack your bags by tomorrow morning. I’ll drop you off before I go to work.”
Edith was frozen stiff, unable to believe Henry was sending her to a nursing facility. She turned at Courtney, who was smiling brightly.
Edith knew she was the cause of Courtney and Henry’s squabbles, but she never anticipated Courtney would mislead Henry in such a way that she’d be kicked out one day. But at this point, even she was tired of proving her innocence every time, so she gave up and agreed to go to the nursing home.
“Can I ask you a favor before I leave, Henry?” she asked, trembling, staring at her hands on her lap.
“Yeah?”
“Will you visit me when I’m there? Not very often, but at least on weekends?”
“Sure, mom,” he said. “No doubts about that!”
“Well, then, thank you,” she muttered as she walked away to her room.
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Unfortunately, Henry never visited her. Months passed, and his second child arrived. He became preoccupied with parenting and forgot about his elderly mother until three years later when he decided to pay her a visit and discovered she was no longer living at the nursing home.
Henry’s life had taken a turn for the worst in these three years. He caught Courtney cheating on him with his best friend, and when he confronted her, she blatantly acknowledged it. And if that wasn’t enough, she’d transferred all of his assets to her name and evicted him from his house. But that wasn’t all.
Courtney incited Liam against Henry to the point where he hated him. Once, Liam told him he didn’t want him around him. At that point, Henry remembered Edith and how he’d kicked her out.
Having realized his dreadful mistake, Henry wanted to apologize to her and bring her back. However, when he arrived at the nursing home, he did not find her there. He inquired about her at the reception desk, and it was then that he discovered something shocking. “She left here two years ago,” the receptionist remarked after looking over Edith’s file.
“What? But where has she gone? I’m her only living relative,” Henry complained, desperate for answers.
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The receptionist sighed and placed a piece of paper on the table. “Go to this address,” she instructed. “She left after marrying our old janitor, David. Why wouldn’t she, after all? She frequently complained that her son didn’t care about her at all. David treated her as if she were a member of his family. They were madly in love. They deserved to be with each other.”
Henry couldn’t believe his ears. His mother was completely alone and depressed because of him! He wanted to make amends with her, so he went to the address on the note.
A few hours later, he came to a halt in front of a run-down cottage near a tiny farm. He sighed and knocked, and Edith answered. She was still in a wheelchair, but she looked way happier and healthier than before.
“Henry? Oh, my boy! How did you?….”
Henry felt so embarrassed that he couldn’t look her in the eyes. He bowed his head in shame.
“I’m sorry, mom,” he murmured, wiping away his tears. “I apologize for all I’ve done up to this point. I pushed you away to a nursing home, and now that I’ve lost my children to Courtney after she divorced me and kicked me out, I understand how you must have felt. I only get to see my children on occasion, mom, and I know how much it hurts. Please forgive me if possible.”
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“Jesus!” gasped Edith. “Henry, when did all of this happen?”
“It’s been three years, mom. But I don’t blame anyone. I – I deserve this!”
“No, Henry, you don’t!” she said, and Henry looked at her, stunned. “Two wrongs don’t make a right, Henry. An eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth is ridiculous! Wise people move on, as I did. I forgave you long ago. Come here…” She embraced him and patted him on the back. “What you did was bad, extremely wrong, but you realized it, and you want to correct your mistake. People who want to mend their ways should be forgiven. So stop blaming yourself.”
“You’re not angry at me?” he asked, sobbing. “Oh! Thank you, mom. I am so glad you’re happy with David. I found out at the nursing home. I am so happy for you!”
“Oh, I love you, Henry. I am so happy to have you back. David would love to meet you!”
Later that day, Henry met David, and he thanked him for looking after his mother all this time. He also bought a house close to David and Edith’s home so he wouldn’t be too far away from her ever again.
A month later, Henry surprised David and Edith with a destination wedding for them in Miami with his savings. The elderly couple got married in a beautiful ceremony. It was there that Henry met Clara, the woman who not only accepted him but also David and Edith, and they all moved in together like a happy family.
What can we learn from this story?
- A mother’s love has no bounds. Despite Henry’s harsh behavior, Edith forgave him.
- You can’t avoid karma. Henry kicked Edith out at one time and eventually lost his children, home, and everything.
- Never trust others’ opinions on someone. Henry would not have suffered so much if he had not trusted Courtney when she called Edith “dangerous” to his family.
If you enjoyed this story, you might like this one about a man who lies on the couch all day long and mocks his wife for the mess in their house until their mute son interferes.
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