For Nancy her son Henry was everything, she never imagined her life without him. It had been 23 years since the horrible accident that took Henry’s life. Every year on that day, she took his favorite pie to his grave to honor his memory. But this year, everything was about to change.
For 23 years, Nancy, now 61, never missed a single day on this date. She baked her late son’s favorite pie and took it to his grave every year since.
The pie, a simple yet delicious apple and cinnamon creation, had been Henry’s favorite since childhood.
The scent of apples and cinnamon brought back memories of when Henry was little, running into the kitchen, his eyes lighting up at the sight of the pie.
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It was his favorite dessert, and baking it had become a tradition they both cherished.
Since Henry’s tragic accident at 17, this ritual had been Nancy’s way of keeping his memory alive.
It gave her a sense of connection to him, like she was still doing something special for her boy. Losing him had been the hardest thing she had ever gone through. The pain of that day never left her.
Even though the years had passed, her grief remained, only softened by time and the small comfort this tradition brought her.
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On this particular day, just like every year before, Nancy carefully carried the freshly baked pie to the graveyard.
The weight of the dish felt heavier, as it always did when she walked toward Henry’s resting place. The grave was neat and covered in flowers, a sign of how much he was still loved.
The stone had become smoother over the years, as she had often run her fingers over it, lost in her memories.
Nancy knelt, placing the pie gently on the gravestone. Her heart ached as she began to speak, her voice quiet, as though Henry might somehow hear her.
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“Henry, I hope you’re at peace, my love. I miss you every day. I baked your favorite pie again. Remember how we used to bake it together? You’d always sneak a taste before it was done.”
She smiled, but her eyes were misty with tears. “I wish we could do that one more time.”
The familiar sorrow welled up inside her, but Nancy had learned over the years to push through the tears.
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She wiped her eyes quickly and managed a small smile. After a few more moments of silence, she kissed her fingers and touched the top of the gravestone as she said her quiet goodbye.
Then, with a heavy but comforted heart, she turned and walked away, knowing she’d be back next year, just like always.
The next day, as part of her routine, Nancy made her way back to Henry’s grave to clean up the remains of the pie.
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Usually, by the time she returned, the pie was either untouched or spoiled by the weather, a quiet reminder of her son’s absence.
She had always found it a bittersweet comfort, knowing the pie stayed where she left it as if waiting for him.
But today, as she approached the grave, something felt different. Nancy’s heart skipped a beat when she saw that the plate was clean—completely empty. For a moment, she stood frozen in disbelief.
Then, she noticed something else. Resting on the plate was a small piece of paper, folded in half.
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Nancy’s hands trembled as she picked up the note. Her breath caught in her throat as she unfolded it.
The handwriting was shaky, as though whoever had written it had struggled to form the letters. The simple words read: “Thank you.”
Her heart pounded with confusion and anger.
“Who would take Henry’s pie?” she muttered under her breath, clutching the note tightly. “This was for my son. No one had the right to touch it!”
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Her private ritual, her way of honoring and remembering her son, had been invaded by a stranger.
She felt violated, as if someone had stolen a piece of her grief.
With her emotions swirling—part outrage, part confusion—Nancy left the cemetery, her mind set on finding the person who had taken her son’s pie. She had to know who had done this, and why.
Determined to catch the culprit, Nancy decided she would take matters into her own hands. She couldn’t let someone continue to disturb the way she honored Henry. So, she devised a plan.
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That night, she baked another of Henry’s favorite pies, the same apple and cinnamon recipe she had been making for over two decades.
The next morning, with renewed resolve, she placed the freshly baked pie on Henry’s grave, just like before, but this time she wasn’t leaving.
She found a large oak tree nearby and hid behind it, close enough to see the grave but far enough to not be noticed.
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The warm aroma of the pie drifted through the air, filling the quiet cemetery.
Time passed slowly as Nancy watched and waited, her heart racing in anticipation.
An hour later, she spotted movement. A small figure cautiously approached the grave. Nancy squinted, leaning forward to get a better look.
It wasn’t the greedy thief she had imagined. No, this was something entirely different.
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A young boy, no older than 9, with ragged clothes and dirt smudged on his face, moved toward the pie with hesitant steps.
Nancy’s heart tightened as she watched him. The boy didn’t immediately take the pie.
Instead, he knelt by the grave and reached into his pocket, pulling out a small scrap of paper and a dull pencil. His hand trembled as he carefully scribbled something on the paper, his brow furrowed with concentration.
It was clear the boy struggled with writing, but he took his time, making sure each word was legible.
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Nancy’s heart softened as she saw him write “Thank you” on the paper, just like before. He wasn’t a thief. He wasn’t someone disrespecting Henry’s memory. He was just a hungry child, grateful for the kindness of a pie left behind.
The anger that had once consumed Nancy melted away in an instant. She realized this boy wasn’t stealing; he was surviving. He was in need, and her son’s favorite pie had somehow brought him comfort.
As the boy began to pick up the pie, his small hands shaking, Nancy stepped out from her hiding spot.
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The rustle of leaves under her feet made him freeze, wide-eyed. Startled, he dropped the pie, and it tumbled onto the grass. His face paled, and he backed away, looking terrified.
“I’m sorry, I’m really sorry!” the boy cried, his voice trembling with panic. “I was just so hungry, and the pie was so good. Please don’t be mad.”
Nancy’s heart softened instantly. The sight of him—thin, dirty, and scared—erased any trace of anger she had felt before.
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She knelt beside him, speaking gently, her voice as comforting as she could make it. “It’s alright, sweetheart. I’m not mad at you, Where are your parents?” she said, her tone soothing. The boy stayed silent and shook his head. “What’s your name?” Nancy asked another question understanding that the boy had nowhere to go.
“Jimmy,” he muttered, still avoiding her eyes, ashamed of what he had done.
“Well, Jimmy,” Nancy smiled softly, trying to reassure him, “it’s okay. You don’t have to steal pies. If you’re hungry, all you had to do was ask.”
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Jimmy looked up at her, his lips quivering as he tried to speak. “I didn’t mean to steal,” he said, his voice small and shaky. “I just… I don’t get to eat much, and that pie was the best thing I’ve ever had.”
Nancy’s heart ached for him, her mind flooded with thoughts of how different this boy’s life must be.
The hunger in his eyes reminded her of her own son, Henry, when he would eagerly wait for that first bite of her freshly baked pie.
But Henry never had to worry about where his next meal would come from. Jimmy, on the other hand, looked like he had been living with hunger for a long time.
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“Come with me,” Nancy said after a moment of thought. She stood up and reached out her hand to him. “I’ll bake you a fresh pie, just for you.”
Jimmy’s eyes widened in disbelief, as if he couldn’t trust his own ears. “Really?” he asked, his voice filled with a mix of hope and doubt.
Nancy nodded, her heart filled with a strange but comforting warmth. “Yes, really. You don’t have to be afraid.”
Slowly, Jimmy reached out and took Nancy’s hand.
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She led him back to her home, the boy walking beside her in silence, his eyes darting around as if he wasn’t sure if this was all real. Nancy’s heart swelled with the thought of what she was about to do.
Baking had always been her way of expressing love, and now, after years of baking for a son she could no longer see, she was about to bake for someone who truly needed it.
When they reached her cozy kitchen, Nancy set to work, rolling out the dough, slicing the apples, and adding the perfect amount of cinnamon—just as she had done so many times before.
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Jimmy watched her quietly from the corner of the kitchen, his eyes wide as he followed every move she made.
The smell of the pie began to fill the room, warm and comforting, like a hug from a long-lost friend.
Once the pie was baked, Nancy placed it in front of Jimmy. “Here you go, sweetheart,” she said softly.
“This one’s all for you.”
Jimmy hesitated for a moment, as if he couldn’t believe what was happening. But then he grabbed a slice and took a bite. His face lit up with joy, his eyes sparkling as he chewed.
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“This is the best pie I’ve ever had,” he said, his mouth still full. He ate with such happiness that it brought tears to Nancy’s eyes.
She watched him in silence, thinking about how something as simple as a pie could bring so much comfort to someone.
As Jimmy devoured the warm slices with obvious delight, Nancy couldn’t help but think of Henry.
She had always dreamed of seeing her son eat his favorite pie again, of watching him enjoy it the way he used to when he was a child.
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But now, in some strange and unexpected way, she was sharing it with another boy who needed it just as much.
Watching Jimmy eat, Nancy felt a deep sense of peace wash over her. Perhaps this was how it was meant to be.
Maybe fate had brought Jimmy into her life for a reason. By feeding him, by offering him kindness when he needed it most, she was honoring Henry’s memory in a way she had never imagined.
For the first time in years, Nancy felt that her grief had led her to something beautiful—a connection, a purpose that gave new meaning to her life.
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Maybe, just maybe, this was Henry’s way of sending her a message—that love and kindness should always find their way back to those in need.
Nancy smiled as she watched Jimmy finish the last slice of pie, her heart full of warmth and gratitude.
She had found an unexpected connection in the most unlikely place, and it filled her soul in a way that nothing else had in years.
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If you enjoyed this story, read this one: Martha was always quiet and smiling. No matter how hard or small the task, she was always ready to help. One of her colleagues, Chelsea, often took advantage of Martha’s kind nature by asking her to do her work for her. But this time, Chelsea unintentionally did Martha a favor.
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Michael Douglas and Catherine Zeta-Jones: The Untold Story of Their Family and Kids
Michael Douglas and Catherine Zeta-Jones have been through a lot together. They’ve lived in both the US and Bermuda with their children, Dylan Douglas and Carys Zeta-Douglas, and have experienced many changes along the way.
Now, Dylan is an adult. At 20 years old, he has chosen his own path in life. Being the son of a famous Hollywood star, and the grandson of the legendary Kirk Douglas, brings a lot of pressure.
However, his parents made sure he had the best childhood possible, even moving away from Bermuda to support him.
Michael Douglas was born on September 25, 1944, in New Brunswick, New Jersey, to actor parents Diana and Kirk Douglas.
When Michael was six years old, his parents divorced, and he went to live with his mother. He only saw his father during holidays.
Growing up, Michael Douglas attended the Eaglebrook School in Massachusetts and later went to the elite Choate School.
Michael was introduced to the acting world at a young age. He spent summers with his father, Kirk, who was often shooting films. By his teenage years, Michael knew he wanted to be an actor and asked his father to help him find roles.
Kirk, however, didn’t think acting was right for his son because of the pressure and unpredictability of the industry. He didn’t want either of his sons in show business, but Michael couldn’t be stopped.
Michael Douglas decided to turn down studying at Yale University and instead moved to California.
“I grew up on the East Coast and was going to go to an Ivy League school, but at the last minute, I decided to be a hippie,” he explained. “There were protest movements about the war and peace movements at our university. It was a fantastic time.”
While studying at the University of California, Santa Barbara, he kept asking his father, Kirk, for help to get into the movie industry. In 1966, he landed his first role.
### Start of Acting Career
Michael Douglas made his debut in *Cast a Giant Shadow*, where his father also starred. He played an uncredited driver in the film.
“I was lucky to grow up watching how my father acted, along with stars like Tony Curtis, Burt Lancaster, and Frank Sinatra, who were often at our house,” Michael said on *The Talk*. “You see stars with their insecurities and how they behave, so I think that’s kept me grounded.”
Michael Douglas graduated with a bachelor’s degree in 1968 and decided to move back to the East Coast. This time, he settled in New York City, where he continued to pursue his career in film.
Michael Douglas studied at the American Place Theatre and later at the Neighborhood Playhouse. He landed some leading roles and spent time performing in off-Broadway productions.
### Academy Award Winner
Before his first film role, Michael Douglas had a small part in the television show *The F.B.I.* The producer, Quinn Martin, was impressed with him, and Douglas then got a role in the new police series *The Streets of San Francisco*. The show premiered in 1972 and became Douglas’s big breakthrough.
*The Streets of San Francisco* became one of ABC’s highest-rated programs in the mid-1970s, airing during prime time. Michael Douglas received three consecutive Emmy Award nominations for his performance. He also directed two episodes of the series, gaining experience in directing, which he would use later.
In 1975, Michael produced the classic film *One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest*, which helped establish him as a top producer. The film won several Academy Awards, and Douglas himself won an Academy Award for Best Picture.
By this time, Douglas was a successful producer and director, and everyone wanted to work with him. He produced and starred in *The China Syndrome* (1979) alongside Jane Fonda. The movie received more Academy Award nominations and was named one of the best films of the year by the National Board of Review.
Michael Douglas went on to become a major Hollywood star with his performances as Gordon Gecko in *Wall Street* (1987), in *Falling Down* (1993), and *The Game* (1997).
### Michael Douglas – Catherine Zeta-Jones
During this time, he met his love, Catherine Zeta-Jones. Even before they met, he admired her talent.
“I was watching this movie and thought, ‘Wow, who is this girl? She’s incredible,’” Douglas remembered. He was watching a screening of her upcoming movie *The Mask of Zorro* at that moment.
The two stars met in 1996 at the Deauville Film Festival.
“I had been told Michael Douglas wanted to meet me,” Zeta-Jones said in a 2001 interview with Larry King. “I was a little nervous because I didn’t quite know what he wanted to meet me about.”
Michael Douglas knew right away that he had just met the love of his life.
However, Michael Douglas worried he had ruined any chance of a future with Catherine during their first meeting.
“I said to her after about half an hour, ‘You know, I’m going to be the father of your children,’” Douglas recalled on *The Jonathan Ross Show*, as quoted by E! News. “It sounded good, but she said, ‘You know, I’ve heard a lot about you and I’ve seen a lot about you, and I think it’s time I say goodnight.’”
### Married in 1999
Douglas and Zeta-Jones kept talking on the phone for about nine months and continued to enjoy dinners together. They eventually wondered why they weren’t officially together, so they decided to sit down and discuss it.
“He certainly didn’t want me as an ex-girlfriend on his list, and I certainly didn’t want ‘Michael Douglas’ as an ex-boyfriend on my list,” she said. “We looked at each other one day and said, ‘We’re having a lot of fun together.’”
Their romance blossomed. Despite the 25-year age difference, which attracted media attention, they didn’t care because their love was strong. On New Year’s Eve in 1999, Michael Douglas proposed to Catherine at his home in Aspen, Colorado.
“Both of us were sick as dogs because we had the flu,” Douglas recalled in 2016. Later that year, they got married.
“I don’t take any of this for granted,” Zeta-Jones told *People* during their wedding. “When I look at Michael, I run around like a little girl. I can’t believe I came into his life and he came into mine.”
### Dylan Douglas
Just months after their engagement, there were rumors that the couple was expecting a child. In August 2000, Dylan Douglas was born. He was Catherine Zeta-Jones’s first child and Michael Douglas’s second; his first son, Cameron, was born in 1978 to his former wife, Diandra Luker.
Catherine and Michael welcomed their second child, a daughter named Carys Zeta-Douglas, in 2003. Like any marriage, they faced ups and downs, but their love always prevailed.
Now, their children are all grown up, and Dylan Douglas has chosen a very different career from that of his parents. He seems to be quite the daredevil.
Dylan Douglas is now 20 years old and has already lived in several places.
### Dylan Douglas – Childhood
As a young child, Dylan and his family lived in Bermuda. Michael Douglas has strong ties to the islands because his mother is from there, and he spent many teenage summers there.
In 2001, when Dylan was just one year old, Michael and Catherine decided to move the family to Bermuda. Being two major celebrities, they believed it would be better for their children to grow up away from the spotlight, which can often be toxic.
Douglas and Zeta-Jones, who were living in New York City at the time, wanted their kids to have a safe and calm upbringing without the hassle of paparazzi.
In Bermuda, they felt people respected their privacy.
“Bermuda creates an environment for us away from the entertainment business and gives our kids independence and freedom where showbiz isn’t on everybody’s lips,” Douglas said, as quoted by the *Bermuda Sun*. “It’s a lovely, lovely place.”
However, the family only stayed on the island for eight years because Dylan was diagnosed with dyslexia.
### Dylan Douglas – Dyslexia
Dylan didn’t start reading until he was five years old. His parents, Michael Douglas and Catherine Zeta-Jones, decided it was best for him to attend a special school in New York. So, the Douglas family left Bermuda, and Dylan finally got the chance to show everyone what a great kid he was. He enrolled at the Windward School, which specializes in helping children with dyslexia.
Those years were very challenging for the Douglas family. Not only was Dylan’s half-brother Cameron sentenced to five years in prison, but Michael Douglas also found out that he had stage 4 tongue cancer. He went through chemotherapy and radiation therapy while Dylan was adjusting to his new school.
In the end, Michael Douglas successfully overcame his cancer treatment, and Dylan went on to enjoy school. During an emotional speech at a Windward School fundraiser, Dylan honored the school that helped him overcome his dyslexia and also talked about how his father’s cancer had affected his life.
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