When a workaholic businessman receives devastating news about his health, he meets a young boy in the hospital who changes his outlook on life. Their bond grows through unexpected friendship and small acts of kindness, teaching him what truly matters—until a heartbreaking twist reshapes everything.
Andrew, 50, sat at his desk, shuffling through papers while juggling scheduling meetings with his partners.
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He didn’t hear Michael, his assistant, enter the room. Michael stood there, waiting. After a few moments, he cleared his throat.
No response. Andrew kept working, his focus sharp. Michael tried again. “Mr. Smith.” Still no answer. He repeated his name three more times.
Finally, Andrew slammed his hands on the desk and snapped, “What?”
Michael didn’t flinch. “You asked me to tell you if your ex-wife called.”
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Andrew groaned and rubbed his temples. “How many times do I have to tell you? Ignore her calls. What now?”
Michael held a notepad. “She left a message. I should warn you—it’s a direct quote. Her words, not mine.” He read from the note. “‘You pompous jerk, I will never forgive you for wasting so many years of my life. If you don’t give me back my painting, I’ll smash your car.’ That’s the message.”
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Andrew’s face turned red. “We’ve been divorced for two years! Does she not have anything better to do?”
Michael looked at him, waiting for further instructions. “Should I respond to her?”
“No! And stop taking her calls,” Andrew said. Then he paused. “Actually, tell her I threw that painting in the trash!”
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Andrew grabbed a pen and hurled it toward the wall. Michael ducked slightly, gave a polite nod, and left the room.
Moments later, Andrew’s phone rang. He frowned, picking it up.
“Andrew Smith?” a voice asked.
“Yes. Who’s calling?”
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“This is the hospital. Your test results are ready. The doctor wants to see you.”
“Can’t you just tell me now?” Andrew said, irritated. “I’m busy.”
“Sorry, sir. The doctor will explain in person.”
Andrew sighed heavily. “Fine. I’ll come in.” He hung up, shaking his head.
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Andrew rarely allowed himself the luxury of a lunch break, but this time was different. The doctor’s office was quiet, the ticking clock on the wall the only sound.
Andrew sat stiffly in a chair, his fingers tapping against the armrest. When the door opened, the doctor stepped in, his face serious. Andrew frowned, sensing bad news.
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The doctor sat across from him and spoke in a steady, measured tone, using terms Andrew didn’t understand.
Then came the word—cancer. “We need to act fast,” the doctor said.
“Is this some kind of joke?” Andrew asked, his voice sharp. “I own a company. I can’t just check into a hospital.”
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The doctor met his eyes. “Your health should come first. The company can wait.”
Andrew leaned forward. “What are my chances of getting better?”
“I can’t promise anything,” the doctor said. “Starting treatment right away is critical.”
Andrew’s voice rose. “Can I still work while I’m here?”
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“Treatment affects everyone differently,” the doctor explained. “You will stay in the hospital so we can monitor you. Someone can bring you a computer.”
Andrew frowned and stood up. “Fine. I’ll sort it out.”
The doctor watched him leave. “We’ll see you tomorrow with your things,” he said before Andrew reached the door.
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As Andrew walked through the hospital’s pediatric wing, he noticed a boy, about eight years old, tossing a ball back and forth with a nurse.
The sound of their laughter echoed in the corridor. The ball suddenly rolled across the floor and stopped near Andrew’s feet.
“Excuse me, sir!” the boy called out, smiling. “Can you please throw the ball back?”
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Andrew picked up the ball, his face tense. Without a word, he hurled it down the hall, far from the boy and nurse, then turned and walked away.
“That was mean, sir!” the boy shouted.
Andrew had been in the hospital for days that felt like weeks. He tried to keep working, setting up his laptop and pushing through meetings.
But the treatment was draining. Each session left him weaker. The nausea was constant, and sleep was nearly impossible.
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One afternoon, during another long chemotherapy session, Andrew leaned back, his eyes half-closed. He felt miserable.
Suddenly, a small voice broke through his fog. He opened his eyes to see a boy standing in front of him. Startled, Andrew flinched. The boy giggled. It was the same boy from the corridor.
“What do you want, kid?” Andrew mumbled, not even lifting his head.
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“I’ve been walking around the hospital looking for someone to play with. It’s boring here.”
Andrew glanced at him, annoyed. “What’s your name?” he asked.
“Tommy,” the boy replied with a wide grin.
Andrew sighed. “Listen, Tommy. I’m not in the mood to play. Go bother someone else before I start feeling worse.”
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Tommy didn’t move. Instead, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a small peppermint candy. He held it out to Andrew. “This helps with nausea. You should try it.”
Andrew hesitated, then snatched the candy and set it on the table.
“You’re really grumpy!” Tommy said, laughing. “I’m going to call you Mr. Grouch. Are you mad because you’re scared of needles?” He pointed at the IV attached to Andrew’s arm.
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Andrew frowned. “I’m not scared of anything.”
Tommy nodded. “That’s fine. I was scared at first too, but then I stopped. My mom says I’m a superhero. Do you have a superpower?”
“No,” Andrew said, his voice flat.
“That’s because you’re too sad,” Tommy replied, his tone serious now.
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Andrew looked at the boy, surprised by the honesty in his big, bright eyes. “Is there anything you want?” Andrew asked.
Tommy grinned. “Yeah. I want to buy flowers for my mom. She works really hard, but I don’t have any money.”
Andrew sighed again, reached for his wallet, and pulled out a few bills. “Here. Get your flowers. Maybe buy yourself something too. But leave me alone.”
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Tommy’s face lit up. “Thanks, Mr. Grouch!” He ran out, clutching the money, while Andrew stared at the peppermint candy on the table.
With a sigh, he picked it up, unwrapped it, and popped it into his mouth. To his surprise, the sharp sweetness helped ease the nausea. It wasn’t much, but it made a difference for a while.
That evening, as Andrew stared at his laptop, a nurse knocked on his door.
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She carried a small paper bag. “This is for you,” she said, placing it on the table. “Tommy sent it.”
Andrew opened the bag and found it full of peppermint candies. He shook his head, unsure whether to feel amused or moved.
The next morning, he decided to find Tommy. He needed to make one thing clear: the money wasn’t a gift.
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As he approached Tommy’s room, he saw a woman leaning against the wall, her shoulders shaking. She was crying.
“Are you okay?” Andrew asked, his voice low.
The woman wiped her eyes quickly and looked up. “Yes… Did you need something?”
“Tommy gave me some candies yesterday,” Andrew said.
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The woman’s lips curved into a small smile. “Oh, so you’re Mr. Grouch,” she said.
Andrew raised an eyebrow. “My name’s Andrew,” he replied.
“I’m Sara,” she said. “Are you here for treatment too?”
Andrew nodded.
“Then you understand,” Sara said quietly. “The bills, the stress. I can’t even pay rent right now. They told me we’ll be evicted in two months.”
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Andrew nodded again, unsure of what to say. Before he could respond, the door burst open. Tommy ran out, his face lighting up when he saw Andrew. “Hey, Mr. Grouch!” he called, grinning ear to ear.
From that day forward, Tommy became a constant presence in Andrew’s life.
The boy would wander into Andrew’s room with a big grin and endless energy. At first, Andrew found it annoying, but Tommy’s persistence wore him down.
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Soon, Andrew began looking forward to the visits. Tommy taught him to notice the simple joys in life.
They sat by the window, watching the sunset, guessing the colors in the sky. They played harmless pranks on nurses, earning scolding looks and stifled smiles.
Sometimes, they “borrowed” wheelchairs and raced down the halls, laughing until their sides hurt.
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Andrew didn’t ask about Tommy’s illness. He wasn’t sure how to bring it up. One afternoon, Tommy mentioned Sara had been crying again. “She’s worried about money,” Tommy said. “We might lose our house.”
Andrew quietly gave Tommy an envelope of cash. “Tell her it’s from a magician,” he said.
When Sara tried to return the money, Andrew waved her off. “I’m not a magician,” he said. “I don’t know where it came from.”
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Weeks passed. Andrew’s treatments worked, and the day came when the doctor gave him the news—he was cancer-free.
Ecstatic, Andrew rushed to share it with Tommy. But when he arrived, Tommy was unconscious, Sara sitting beside him, tears streaming down her face.
“What happened?” Andrew asked, his voice barely above a whisper.
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Sara wiped her eyes and shook her head. “The doctors said there’s nothing more they can do.”
Andrew stared at her, struggling to process the words. “But… he seemed so happy. He always smiled. I thought he was improving.”
Sara looked at him, her face full of pain. “He didn’t want you to see how sick he was. He wanted to be strong for you. He thought he was a superhero.”
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Andrew’s chest tightened. “I’m so sorry.”
Sara managed a faint smile through her tears. “Don’t be. He said you saved him. These months, you gave him laughter and hope. You made him forget about being sick.”
Andrew shook his head slowly. “No. He’s the one who saved me.”
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He stepped closer and wrapped his arms around her in a gentle hug. She cried quietly against his shoulder, and though Andrew wished he could take her pain away, he knew nothing would ever truly ease it.
That night, Tommy passed away peacefully, surrounded by the love of his mother and the memories he had made.
Andrew sat alone in his room afterward, overwhelmed by the loss. Andrew couldn’t bear the thought of such a bright soul being forgotten.
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Determined, he started a foundation in Tommy’s name to help sick children, ensuring his kindness would live on.
He also stayed in touch with Sara, offering her support in every way he could.
One afternoon, Andrew stood at his ex-wife’s door, holding the painting she had demanded for so long. She opened the door, her mouth ready to hurl accusations, but Andrew silently handed her the painting.
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“I’m not here to argue,” Andrew said, his tone calm as he held out the painting.
His ex-wife frowned, puzzled. “What is this supposed to mean?” she asked.
“Nothing important,” Andrew replied, a small smile forming. “I’m just making sure I keep my superpowers.” Without waiting for a response, he turned and walked away.
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If you enjoyed this story, read this one: Taking care of Mom was hard enough without the tension with my sister. Accusations flew when precious things started disappearing. I thought I knew who was to blame, but the truth shattered my world. Betrayal came from where I least expected, leaving me questioning everything—and everyone—I trusted.
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My Kids’ Grandmom Came to Our Home, Packed the Christmas Presents She Gave Them & Took Them Away
When Rebecca’s mother-in-law, Darlene, goes home to take away her grandchildren’s Christmas presents, she’s left absolutely speechless. Later, she and her husband, Mark, learn that Darlene did this because she wanted to teach the couple a lesson… but karma intervenes, making sure that the old woman feels the same way the kids felt.
I never thought that this would be a story I’d tell. I mean, toxic in-laws are practically their own genre, but what my mother-in-law, Darlene, did this Christmas left me completely speechless.
Honestly, I’m still in shock.
A woman looking to the side | Source: Midjourney
I’m Rebecca, a mom of three chaotic kids. There’s Caleb (7), Sadie (5), and little Mason (3). Christmas is a huge deal in our house and has been like this since I was a child. We go all out.
The tree, the decorations, and of course, the gifts. Usually, Darlene shows up with her arms full of presents for the kids, playing the part of the doting grandma for one day a year.
This time, though, Darlene really outdid herself. Caleb got the new LEGO set that he had been begging for, and Sadie’s eyes lit up over a princess castle playset. Mason, the little speed demon of the family, zoomed through the living room on an adorable ride-on toy.
A castle made out of LEGO blocks | Source: Midjourney
She even threw in stylish clothes for all three kids.
“They need to be photo-ready, Becca,” she told me. “And this way, they all match!”
It was… impressive. I’ll admit it freely.
The kids were ecstatic. They loved being the center of attention, and they played nonstop, showing off their gifts and parading around in their new clothes.
Three little kids | Source: Midjourney
I thought that maybe this was the year. This was the year that Darlene and I would finally hit a smooth patch in our relationship.
Spoiler alert: I was so wrong.
Two days after Christmas, the house was still glowing with holiday cheer. It wasn’t anything new—we usually kept the decorations up until a few days before New Year’s Eve. My kids were in their element, surrounded by the toys they loved.
I even sent Darlene a text, thanking her for the thoughtful presents.
A woman texting | Source: Midjourney
Hi, Darlene! Thank you for spoiling the babies so much this Christmas. You’re appreciated!
Then, the doorbell rang.
“Mom, will you get it?” Caleb asked, dangling a bunch of grapes above Mason’s head.
“On it,” I said. “Just watch that your brother doesn’t choke on a grape, okay?”
I opened the door to find Darlene standing there, gripping three large empty bags. Her face was bright red, and she looked ready to explode.
A little boy holding a bunch of grapes | Source: Midjourney
“Darlene, hi!” I said. “What’s going on?”
She didn’t say a word. She just marched right past me into the living room, where the kids were now playing with Sadie’s castle.
I stood frozen as she immediately began to scoop Caleb’s LEGO blocks into one of the bags. The ride-on toy was kicked to the side. And then Sadie’s castle went next.
An upset older woman | Source: Midjourney
“Where are the clothes I bought you?” she barked at Caleb.
“In the washing, Grandma,” he said.
“Bring it, now,” she shouted.
I was too shocked to retaliate.
Caleb ran to the bathroom and back with the clothes in his arms.
A washing basket | Source: Midjourney
“Grandma, what are you doing?” Caleb asked, his voice trembling.
Sadie’s lip quivered as she clutched her princess doll.
“Mommy, why is Grandma taking our things?” she asked.
I didn’t have an answer. I just stood there, my mind spinning, trying to process what I was witnessing.
An upset little girl | Source: Midjourney
But it was when Darlene picked up the ride-on toy, preventing Mason from getting onto it, that really set me off.
“Darlene, what the hell are you doing?” I demanded, finding my voice at last.
She didn’t even glance my way.
“You’ll regret what you did,” she muttered coldly, zipping the bags shut with finality.
An angry older woman | Source: Midjourney
And then, without another word, she stormed out, slamming the door behind her.
The kids were devastated. Caleb cried for hours, asking why Grandma was mad. Sadie sat on the floor, clutching a stuffed animal like her world had just ended. And poor Mason kept wandering around the house, looking for his toy.
“Where did the car go, Mommy?” he asked.
An upset little boy | Source: Midjourney
I tried to comfort my children, but honestly, I didn’t know what to say. What had we done to deserve this? Why would Darlene take back the gifts she’d so generously given just a few days earlier?
When my husband, Mark, got home from work, I told him everything.
“She did what?” Mark’s face went beet red as he pulled out his phone. “Oh, hell no. This is unacceptable.”
He called her immediately. There was no answer. He texted his mother. No replies.
A frowning woman | Source: Midjourney
“I don’t understand, Bec,” he said. “How could she be so cold to take their toys away? And their clothes, for God’s sake. I’m so confused.”
“Tell me about it,” I said. “I didn’t know how to react when she stormed around doing whatever she wanted. It was insanity. You should have seen their faces, Mark.”
Darlene had gone completely radio silent, leaving us in the dark about what had triggered this insane stunt.
A man holding his head | Source: Midjourney
Three days later, Mark finally got her on the phone.
I could tell from his side of the conversation that whatever she was saying was absurd. He kept rubbing his temples and muttering under his breath.
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” he sighed.
When he hung up, he looked at me with disbelief.
A man holding his head | Source: Midjourney
“You’ll never believe it,” he said.
“What? Believe what?” I asked.
“She’s mad about her Christmas gift,” he said.
“What?” I repeated.
A frowning woman | Source: Midjourney
“Apparently, she was expecting that expensive designer handbag she’s been hinting about all year. Instead, we got her a $250 gift card to her favorite store. It was unacceptable, according to her.”
I stared at my husband, completely lost for words.
“So, she took away the kids’ gifts because of that? What on earth is wrong with her?”
A store gift card | Source: Midjourney
Mark nodded slowly, still processing the absurdity himself.
“Yeah, she said that we disrespected her with the gift card and gave us a few days to make it right. Since we didn’t, she took the kids’ presents to teach us a lesson.”
I was floored.
“You’ve got to be kidding me, Mark,” I said.
A woman holding her head | Source: Midjourney
“Nope,” he sighed again. “She took the kids’ Christmas gifts away over a damn handbag.”
We were furious, but we weren’t about to let Darlene’s tantrum ruin Christmas for our kids. That weekend, we dipped into our savings and bought replacements for the toys she took.
It wasn’t easy on our budget, but seeing the kids’ faces light up again made every penny worth it.
But Darlene?
Three smiling children | Source: Midjourney
Karma had other plans for the old woman.
A few days later, Mark’s cousin, Abby, called with some unexpected news.
I was in the kitchen, grilling chicken and vegetables for dinner, while Mark was going through Caleb’s holiday homework.
“Did you hear what your mom did?” she asked, practically choking with laughter.
A platter of grilled chicken and vegetables | Source: Midjourney
“Oh yeah,” Mark muttered. “We know all about her behavior. Why’s it funny to you?”
“Well, apparently, she’s been bragging to the family about how she taught you guys a lesson. But one of her friends, the one who’s super involved with that charity, found out.”
“Charity? Abby, what are you talking about?” Mark asked.
“Uh-oh,” I said, uncertain of where the conversation was going.
A woman talking on the phone and laughing | Source: Midjourney
“Yeah, so her friend was horrified at what Darlene did. The things that she took from the kids? She donated them to a charity. Dirty clothes and all! Word has spread fast, and now people are distancing themselves from her. Big time.”
Mark raised an eyebrow and looked at me.
“So, what? People are icing her out?”
Donation boxes at a charity shelter | Source: Midjourney
“They are, but that’s not the best part!” Abby said.
“Then what is the best part?” I asked.
“Oh, Becs,” she laughed. “Lovely Aunt Darlene has been uninvited from the New Year’s Eve gala. You know, the one she brags about all year? Her favorite event of the year? Yep. All gone!”
A man talking on a phone | Source: Midjourney
Mark and I exchanged glances. Darlene loved that gala more than anything. It was the ultimate social slap in the face. And she would have probably been planning her outfit since October.
Abby cut the call, still laughing to herself.
“She’s going to be so upset,” I said, slicing a lemon.
Lemons on a board | Source: Midjourney
“Serves her right,” my husband said. “She deserves this. She’s full of nonsense. And she donated the kids’ clothes just like that? She didn’t even wash it! What the hell, Becca?!”
“Let’s just have dinner with the kids and leave Darlene for the night,” I said.
A week later, Darlene called Mark, desperate for sympathy.
“They’ve all turned against me,” she sobbed. “I don’t understand what I did wrong!”
An upset older woman | Source: Midjourney
Mark didn’t miss a beat.
“Mom, you took all your grandkids’ Christmas presents because you didn’t get a handbag. Now you’re paying the price for being petty.”
She tried to apologize, but Mark wasn’t having it.
“If you want a relationship with my wife and children, you have a lot to make up for. And my kids are incredible. It’s your loss, Ma.”
Three smiling children | Source: Midjourney
In the end, we spoke to our children, explaining to them that their grandmother was angry with us, not them.
“She just wanted to teach Mom and me a lesson,” Mark said. “You guys did nothing wrong.”
“Are you sure?” Sadie asked, her lower lip jutting out.
A smiling man standing in a living room | Source: Midjourney
“Yes, I promise!” I said. “And this isn’t how we teach lessons. Dad and I will never take away something you love just to punish another person.”
“If we’re naughty, we get a timeout until we learn our lesson, right?” Caleb chimed in.
“Exactly, buddy,” Mark said. “Now, come on, let’s all get some ice cream cones.”
Ice cream cones | Source: Midjourney
That’s how one handbag led to a family falling out, a Christmas nearly ruined, and a grandmother learning the hard way that karma never misses.
And honestly? We’re in no rush to forgive.
Trust me, Darlene’s next holiday season won’t be quite as merry and bright.
A smiling woman | Source: Midjourney
What would you have done?
If you’ve enjoyed this story, here’s another one for you |
My Son Stays Quiet as His Wife Insults Me — But He Soon Teaches Her a Lesson in Front of Guests
Kate cannot wait to spend the holidays with her son and his wife. It’s her first Christmas with the family, and Kate needs to see how she fits. But when Liz criticizes her cooking, and John chooses silence over defending his mother, will the holidays be ruined?
Cooking was always my way of showing love. From the moment I got married, I became the “one who feeds everyone.” Every family dinner, every major holiday, especially Christmas, revolved around me in the kitchen, making meals from scratch.
It wasn’t just about the food. It was about creating something special that brought us together.
A smiling older woman | Source: Midjourney
But when Oliver, my husband, passed away a few years ago, the joy of cooking died with him.
Now, I only cook for myself, enough to get by. But Christmas is different. Christmas is when my son, John, comes home. He’s the reason I still dust off my old recipes, roll up my sleeves, and get to work in the kitchen.
His love for my Christmas dinners has always been special to me. A kind of pride, I guess. This year, though, something was different.
A smiling older man | Source: Midjourney
And not in a good way.
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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