I came home early from my business trip to surprise my husband. But instead of a warm welcome, I found him in the garden, drenched in sweat and burying a large black egg. He wouldn’t tell me the truth, so I dug deeper myself. What I found sent my heart racing.
I hadn’t slept in days. The Chicago business conference had dragged on, each presentation blending into the next until I couldn’t take it anymore. Three years of marriage, and lately, Ben and I had been like ships passing in the night, him with his investment banking and me with my consulting work. When my last meeting finished early, I decided to surprise him with an early return.
A smiling woman holding a cup of coffee | Source: Midjourney
“You’re really skipping the closing ceremony?” my colleague Linda asked, watching me pack my laptop. “The VP’s giving the keynote. Could be good for your promotion.”
I zipped my bag with finality. “For once, my marriage comes first. Ben and I haven’t had a real conversation in weeks.”
“Regina, putting love before career?” she smiled. “Must be serious.”
“It is.” I checked my phone, calculating times. “If I leave now, I can catch the 6 p.m. flight and surprise my hubby.”
A cheerful woman holding her phone | Source: Midjourney
“Go get your man,” Linda winked. “But text me when you land. These surprise returns don’t always go as planned.”
If only she knew how right she’d be.
The setting sun cast long shadows across our front lawn as I wearily pulled into the driveway after a long, exhausting flight. My hands trembled slightly as I killed the engine. The house stood quiet, warm lights glowing behind drawn curtains.
Something felt off the moment I stepped inside. The house was eerily quiet. Through the kitchen window, I could see dirty dishes in the sink — so unlike my usually meticulous husband.
A startled woman in the kitchen | Source: Midjourney
“Ben?” I called softly, letting myself in. No answer.
The house felt different somehow. Mail was scattered across the coffee table, including several official-looking envelopes marked “URGENT.”
A half-empty cup of coffee with a lipstick-like ring of dried coffee around its rim sat beside Ben’s laptop.
A cup of coffee near a laptop on a table | Source: Midjourney
Assuming he was holed up in his office as usual, I decided to check on my garden first. The tomatoes should have ripened by now, and tending to them would help me unwind after the flight.
But as I approached the garden doors and stepped into the backyard, I FROZE.
Ben stood in the middle of our vegetable garden, between the tomato plants he’d been so proud of just weeks ago. His shirt was stained dark with sweat and his sleeves rolled up as he dug into the earth like a man possessed.
But it wasn’t his frantic movements that made my blood run cold. It was the LARGE, OBSIDIAN-BLACK EGG sitting beside him.
A man holding a large black egg | Source: Midjourney
The thing was enormous, at least two feet tall, its surface gleaming like polished glass under the evening light. As I watched, frozen, Ben kept glancing at it between shovel loads, his movements growing more desperate.
“Just a little deeper,” I heard him mutter. “Has to be deep enough to bury this thing.”
My hand flew to my mouth. Was this really happening? I blinked hard, convinced I was hallucinating from travel exhaustion. But the scene remained unchanged — my husband, digging what looked like a grave for some alien artifact in our backyard.
“Ben?” I called out softly, careful not to startle him.
A woman gaping in shock | Source: Midjourney
He whirled around, shovel clattering against something metal in the hole. His face, usually so composed, was pale with panic. A streak of dirt ran across his cheek, and I noticed his hands were shaking.
“REGINA?” He shrieked, his voice trembling and loud. “WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE?”
“I came home early to surprise you.” I took a step closer, gravel crunching under my feet. The egg seemed to pulse in the lamplight, drawing my eyes. “Though I think I’m the one who’s surprised. What is THAT thing?”
“It’s NOTHING.” His words came too fast, too sharp. He moved to stand between me and the egg. “Reggie, just go inside, honey. You shouldn’t be here.”
A startled man holding a big black egg | Source: Midjourney
“Nothing? Ben, I don’t think that’s ‘NOTHING.’ What is it? What’s going on?”
“I’ll explain later. Please go inside.”
“Later?” I gestured at the hole he’d been digging. “You’re burying something that looks like it came from a sci-fi movie in our garden at sunset, and you want me to wait for an explanation?”
Ben ran his fingers through his hair, leaving streaks of dirt across his forehead. His eyes darted between me and the street as if expecting someone.
“Please, Regina. Trust me on this. I’m just doing what needs to be done. I’m handling it.”
An anxious man holding his head | Source: Midjourney
“Handling what exactly?” My voice rose. “Because from where I’m standing, my husband is either having some kind of breakdown or—”
“I said I’m handling it!” The force in his voice made me step back. In three years of marriage, I’d never heard him shout.
“Fine.” I turned toward the house, tears stinging my eyes. “Handle it yourself. Just like you’ve been handling everything else lately.”
“Reggie, wait—” He reached for me, but I pulled away.
“Don’t. Just… don’t.”
A furious woman | Source: Midjourney
Sleep evaded me that night. Ben never came to bed, and the couch creaked periodically with his restless movements. Around 3 a.m., I heard the back door open and close. Through the bedroom window, I watched him check on the place where he’d buried the mysterious egg, pacing around it like a sentry.
What’s wrong with him? What is he hiding from me?
Morning came too quickly. I waited until Ben’s car disappeared down the street before grabbing the garden shovel. My hands trembled as I approached the freshly turned earth. I HAD TO DIG UP THAT THING!
“What are you hiding, Ben?” I whispered, pushing the shovel into the soft dirt.
A woman holding a shovel | Source: Midjourney
It took 20 minutes of digging before I hit something solid. The egg was surprisingly light when I unearthed it, though my arms shook with the effort.
Up close, its surface felt wrong — not like shell, but like… plastic? I twisted it slightly, and to my shock, it separated in the middle like some oversized Easter egg.
Empty. Completely empty except for more layers of black plastic.
“Regina?” Someone called out from behind.
I jumped, nearly dropping the egg. Our elderly neighbor, Mr. Chen, peered over the fence, his eyes fixed on the object in my hands.
A shocked woman holding a big black egg | Source: Midjourney
“I saw someone in your garden late last night,” he said slowly. “Everything okay?”
“Fine,” I said quickly, hiding the egg behind me. “Just… gardening.”
His expression said he didn’t believe me, but he nodded politely and disappeared. I waited until I heard his door close before examining the egg more closely. The craftsmanship was impressive, but it was definitely artificial. What had Ben gotten himself into?
My mind raced through possibilities. This wasn’t just about a buried object. It was about Ben’s bizarre behavior and the way he was terrified when he saw me home early.
Something bigger was happening. Something that made my usually steady-handed husband dig like a madman in our backyard.
A puzzled woman holding a big glossy black egg | Source: Midjourney
With trembling fingers, I wrapped the egg in an old blanket and tucked it behind the lawn equipment in our garage. It was out of sight, but not out of mind.
“Think, Regina, think,” I muttered, pacing the concrete floor. “Maybe this was some elaborate joke? A midlife crisis? Or something far more sinister?”
I dragged myself to the car, hoping work might distract me from this madness.
The radio clicked on automatically as I started the engine. The news anchor’s voice cut through my fog of exhaustion, making my blood run cold:
“Breaking news: Local authorities have uncovered a massive counterfeit operation targeting antique collectors. The scammers sold fake antiques, including unique black egg-shaped plastic containers, to unsuspecting buyers. Total losses are estimated in the millions…”
A shocked woman driving a car | Source: Midjourney
My coffee cup slipped from my fingers, splashing across the dashboard. The pieces started falling into place. That evening, I placed the egg on our kitchen table and waited. When Ben walked in, his briefcase hit the floor with a thud.
“Reggie, I-I can explain—”
“How much did you pay for this thing?” I cut him off.
He sank into a chair, his shoulders slumped. “Fifteen thousand.”
“Jesus, Ben.”
A nervous man | Source: Midjourney
“I wanted to surprise you.” His voice cracked. “This guy at work, he said he knew someone selling rare artifacts. Said the egg was some ancient fertility symbol that would triple in value within a year.”
He pressed his palms against his eyes. “I used our savings. I was going to sell it and take you on that European trip you’ve always wanted.”
“The trip we’ve been saving for? That we’ve talked about for years?” My voice quavered. “Why didn’t you just tell me?”
“Because I’m an idiot who got scammed like some naive teenager. I was so ashamed.” He looked up, eyes red-rimmed. “Things have been so tight lately, with your mom’s medical bills and the house repairs. I just wanted to fix everything.”
An upset man sitting on the couch | Source: Midjourney
“By gambling our savings on some stranger’s promise?”
“I know, I know.” He slumped forward. “When I realized it was fake, I couldn’t face you. Couldn’t admit I’d thrown away our money on a plastic egg.”
“We’ll figure this out,” I said, moving around the table to take his hand. “But no more secrets, okay? We’re supposed to be partners.”
“I filed a police report this morning,” Ben added. “They said we’re not the only ones. Apparently, this guy’s been targeting young professionals and antique collectors, playing on their financial stress.”
An anxious man sitting on the couch | Source: Midjourney
I squeezed his fingers. “I don’t need expensive trips or ancient artifacts. I just need my husband to talk to me, even when things get hard. Especially when things get hard.”
“What should we do with it?” Ben gestured at the egg, still gleaming mockingly in the kitchen light.
I studied it for a moment. “Maybe we’ll plant it in the garden for real. Right next to those tomatoes you’ve been trying to grow.”
A smiling woman holding a big black egg | Source: Midjourney
“As a reminder of what not to do?” A ghost of a smile crossed his face.
“As a reminder that the only thing we need to grow is our trust in each other.” I leaned against him. “And maybe as a conversation piece. ‘Hey, want to hear about the time my husband buried a fake artifact in our backyard?!’”
Ben’s laugh was shaky but real. “I love you, Reggie. Even when I’m an idiot.”
“Lucky for you, I love idiots.” I kissed his forehead. “Now, let’s figure out how to get our money back. Together this time.”
A man laughing | Source: Midjourney
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.
Neighbor Asked My Son to Shovel Snow for $10 a Day but Refused to Pay — So I Taught Him a Lesson He’ll Never Forget
When my 12-year-old son Ben took up our wealthy neighbor’s offer to shovel snow for $10 a day, he couldn’t wait to buy gifts for the family. But when that man refused to pay, calling it a “lesson about contracts,” Ben was heartbroken. That’s when I decided to teach him a lesson he’d never forget.
I’d always known my son Ben had a bigger heart than the world seemed to deserve. He was only 12 but carried a determination that could humble men twice his age.
A boy carrying many books | Source: Midjourney
Even so, I never imagined I’d be standing in the icy driveway next to my husband, exacting revenge against the man who thought cheating a child was just another business move.
It all began on a snowy morning early in December. Ben was buzzing with excitement after shoveling the driveway while I made breakfast. He burst into the kitchen, cheeks flushed from the cold.
“Mom, Mr. Dickinson said he’ll pay me $10 every time I shovel his driveway!” His grin stretched ear to ear.
A smiling boy | Source: Midjourney
Mr. Dickinson, our neighbor, was as insufferable as he was wealthy. He always bragged about his business ventures and showed off his luxury toys.
It wasn’t hard to guess he thought he was doing us all a favor by letting Ben “earn” his money. Still, Ben’s excitement was contagious, and I wasn’t about to crush his enthusiasm.
“That’s wonderful, sweetheart,” I said, ruffling his hair. “What’s the plan for all this cash?”
A smiling woman | Source: Midjourney
“I’m buying you a scarf,” he said with the seriousness only a 12-year-old could muster. “And a dollhouse for Annie.”
His eyes sparkled as he described every detail of the red scarf with tiny snowflakes, and the dollhouse with working lights that Annie had been obsessed with since she saw it in the toy store’s window display.
My heart swelled. “You’ve got it all planned out, huh?”
A happy woman | Source: Midjourney
He nodded, bouncing on the balls of his feet. “And I’m saving what’s left for a telescope.”
Over the next few weeks, Ben became a blur of determination. Every morning before school, he bundled up in his oversized coat and boots, a knit hat pulled low over his ears. From the kitchen window, I watched him disappear into the frosty air, shovel in hand.
The muffled scrape of metal on the pavement echoed through the stillness.
A boy shoveling snow | Source: Midjourney
Sometimes he’d stop to catch his breath, leaning on the shovel, his breath forming little clouds in the freezing air. When he came inside, his cheeks were red, his fingers stiff, but his smile always shone through.
“How was it today?” I’d ask, handing him a cup of hot chocolate.
“Good! I’m getting faster,” he’d reply, his grin lighting up the room. He’d shake snow off his coat like a dog shedding water, sending damp clumps onto the rug.
A rug in an entrance hall | Source: Pexels
Each evening, Ben would sit at the kitchen table, tallying his earnings. The notepad he used was dog-eared and smudged with ink, but he treated it like a sacred ledger.
“Only 20 more dollars, Mom,” he said one night. “Then I can get the dollhouse and the telescope!”
His excitement made the hard work seem worth it, at least to him.
By December 23rd, Ben was a well-oiled machine of winter labor.
A person shoveling snow | Source: Pexels
That morning, he left the house humming a Christmas carol. I went about my day, expecting him to return as usual, tired but triumphant.
But when the door slammed open an hour later, I knew something was wrong.
“Ben?” I called out, rushing from the kitchen.
He stood by the door, his boots half-on, his gloves still clenched in his trembling hands. His shoulders heaved, and tears clung to the corners of his wide, panicked eyes.
A sad boy | Source: Midjourney
I kneeled beside him, gripping his arms. “Sweetheart, what happened?”
He wouldn’t talk at first, but eventually, he told me everything.
“Mr. Dickinson… he said he’s not paying me a single cent.”
The words hung in the air, heavy as a stone.
“What do you mean, he’s not paying you?” I asked, though I already knew the answer.
Ben sniffled, his face crumpling.
A boy sobbing | Source: Midjourney
“He said it’s a lesson. That I should never accept a job without a contract.” His voice cracked, and the tears spilled over. “Mom, I worked so hard. I just don’t understand. Why would he do this?”
Anger surged through me, sharp and blinding. What kind of person cheats a child as a “business lesson”? I pulled Ben into a hug, pressing my hand against his damp hat.
“Oh, baby,” I murmured. “It’s not your fault. You did everything right. This is on him, not you.” I pulled back, brushing his hair from his face. “You don’t worry about this, okay? I’ll take care of it.”
A determined woman | Source: Midjourney
I stood, grabbed my coat, and stormed across the lawn. The sight of Dickinson’s house, glowing with holiday cheer, only stoked my fury. Laughter and music spilled into the cold night as I rang the doorbell.
He appeared moments later, wine glass in hand, his tailored suit making him look like a villain straight out of a bad movie.
“Mrs. Carter,” he said, his voice oozing false charm. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”
A man raising one eyebrow | Source: Midjourney
“I think you know why I’m here,” I said evenly. “Ben earned that money. You owe him $80. Pay him.”
He chuckled, shaking his head. “No contract, no payment. That’s how the real world works.”
I clenched my fists, willing myself to stay calm. I opened my mouth to argue about fairness and the cruelty of his supposed lesson, but the look in his eyes told me none of that would persuade him to do the right thing.
A man staring ahead | Source: Midjourney
No… there was only one way to deal with the Mr. Dickinsons of the world.
“You’re absolutely right, Mr. Dickinson. The real world is about holding people accountable.” My smile was so sweet it could’ve rotted teeth. “Enjoy your evening.”
As I walked away, an idea began to form. By the time I stepped back into our house, I knew exactly what had to be done.
A furious woman | Source: Midjourney
The next morning, while Dickinson and his guests still slept, I woke the household with a determined clap of my hands.
“Time to go, team,” I said.
Ben groaned as he crawled out of bed, but caught the determined gleam in my eye. “What are we doing, Mom?”
“We’re righting a wrong.”
A determined woman | Source: Midjourney
Outside, the air was bitter and still. My husband started the snowblower, the rumble cutting through the early quiet. Ben grabbed his shovel, gripping it like a sword. Even Annie, too small for the heavy work, bounced along in her boots, ready to “help.”
We began with our driveway, then moved to the sidewalk, clearing paths for the neighbors. The pile of snow grew steadily as we pushed it all toward Dickinson’s pristine driveway.
The cold bit at my fingers, but the satisfaction of each shovelful fueled me.
A person shoveling snow | Source: Pexels
Ben paused to catch his breath, leaning on his shovel. “This is a lot of snow, Mom,” he said, a smile creeping onto his face.
“That’s the point, honey,” I said, piling another scoop onto the growing mountain. “Think of it as a reverse Christmas miracle.”
Annie giggled as she pushed tiny mounds of snow with her toy shovel. “Mr. Grumpy’s not going to like this,” she chirped.
By mid-morning, Dickinson’s driveway was buried under a fortress of snow.
A huge pile of snow in a driveway | Source: Midjourney
It was higher than the hood of Dickinson’s sleek black car. I dusted off my gloves, stepping back to admire our handiwork.
“That,” I said, “is a job well done.”
It wasn’t long before he noticed. Soon, Dickinson stormed over, his face as red as the Christmas lights on his roof.
“What the hell have you done to my driveway?” he bellowed.
A man shouting at someone | Source: Midjourney
I stepped outside, brushing off my gloves like I had all the time in the world. “Oh, Mr. Dickinson, this is a little something called quantum meruit.”
“Quantum what?” His eyes narrowed, his confusion almost comical.
“It’s a legal concept,” I explained with a smile. “It means if you refuse to pay for someone’s labor, you lose the right to enjoy the benefit of it. Since you didn’t pay Ben, we simply undid his work. Fair’s fair, wouldn’t you agree?”
A woman glancing to one side | Source: Midjourney
Dickinson sputtered, his mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water. “You can’t do that!”
I gestured toward the neighbors who had gathered to watch, their smiles thinly veiled. “Actually, I can. And if you’d like to call a lawyer, keep in mind that I have plenty of witnesses who saw you exploit a minor for free labor. That wouldn’t look great for someone like you, now would it?”
He glared at me, then at the crowd, realizing he’d lost. Without another word, he turned on his heel and stomped back to his house.
A house decorated for Christmas | Source: Pexels
By evening, the doorbell rang again, and there stood Dickinson, holding an envelope. He didn’t look me in the eye as he handed it over.
“Tell your son I’m sorry,” he mumbled.
I closed the door and handed the envelope to Ben. Inside were eight crisp $10 bills. Ben’s smile was worth more than all the money in the world.
Cash in an envelope | Source: Pexels
“Thanks, Mom,” he said, hugging me tight.
“No,” I whispered, ruffling his hair. “Thank you for showing me what real determination looks like.”
Here’s another story: When I arrived at the hospital to bring home my wife and newborn twins, I was met with heartbreak: Suzie was gone, leaving only a cryptic note. As I juggled caring for the babies and unraveling the truth, I discovered the dark secrets that tore my family apart.
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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