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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Bus Driver Insults Breastfeeding Mom Unaware Her Husband Would Get in at Next Stop – Story of the Day
A bus driver mocks a breastfeeding mom on his bus and is surprised to see her being greeted by his son at the next stop. Moreover, the son is unexpectedly in a wheelchair.
Keith was behind the wheel, ferrying passengers across the city, when a young lady with a baby boarded the bus. Keith’s lips curled into a sly smirk.
Babies were too unpredictable and could start bawling at any moment. So nothing was worse to Keith than putting up with the baby’s loud cries during rush hour.
As the lady occupied a vacant seat with her toddler, Keith grumbled. “That should stop the child from whining,” he frowned…
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When a stop light arrived, and Keith turned around to check how many people were aboard, he saw the lady breastfeeding her baby. His anger flared, and his cheeks turned crimson red. “Hey, Lady! You can’t do that here!” he yelled.
“Why, of course, I can! I’m nursing my baby,” the mother responded.
Keith looked around at the others and was unsettled. The traffic light turned green, and he started driving, expressing his disapproval of the woman feeding her child.
“Disgusting! Kids think they’re entitled to everything and just display their breasts in front of complete strangers,” Keith mumbled loudly.
Keith’s murmurs intensified as the woman adjusted to cover up her chest. “Youngsters lack respect for others. Since when did breastfeeding in public become the norm?”
The lady overheard everything, and Keith’s discomfort persisted, echoing through the bus.
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A few men near Keith joined in taking a dig at the woman. Keith chuckled, and the mocking continued. “Like I said, no decency! Where’s her husband? Why didn’t anyone in her life teach her some self-respect?” he added.
The woman finished feeding her child and prepared to leave. As the bus doors opened, Keith’s gaze shifted to a man in a wheelchair waiting for her, and his jaw dropped.
“DANIEL?” he gasped, recognizing his son, who was now in a wheelchair. It was only the second time he’d ever seen him. Daniel was perfectly alright seven years ago, and Keith couldn’t understand what had happened to him.
His anxiety surged even more when he realized the woman he had insulted for the last half hour was his daughter-in-law. And the baby…his grandson. Keith’s heart cracked again.
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“Are you going to drive, old man?” a youngster in the back yelled, snapping Keith out of his reverie.
Keith turned around, trying his best to get his job done. But it wasn’t easy, especially when the vision of his life 22 years ago came flashing back into his mind…
“Honey, I’m home,” Keith gleefully cried out to his girlfriend, Sarah. “Ummm! That tastes delicious!” he exclaimed, gobbling a spoonful of pasta.
“I can’t do it, Keith,” she rose. “I want to have this baby.”
“I thought we agreed. You know we’re not ready for a baby yet,” he sighed.
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“I’m already 15 weeks along,” Sarah brushed her belly. “I want this baby. I love him. I…I’m sorry…I can’t.”
Keith was worried now. He tried to explain to Sarah that their one-bedroom flat in the secluded part of town and their minimum wage salaries wouldn’t be enough to raise a baby. But she stood her ground.
“Fine!” Keith eventually agreed. “We’ll figure out something.”
Deep inside, he was haunted by what to do all evening. And that’s when he remembered his best friend, Victor, and left for the pub to meet him.
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“Keith! Where the hell have you been, man?” Victor exclaimed as soon as Keith walked through the door of their favorite bar. They often hung out there, but Keith had refrained from nights out after moving in with Sarah.
“And how’s your girl?” Victor said, downing a drink.
“She’s good, man,” Keith nodded, licking his dry lips. “Is there any job for me…with you? Look, man, I’m ready to do anything. Please…talk to your boss Mr. Abraham. I’m good with cars…”
Keith knew the stakes were high but took up a job pretty soon. Hotwiring a car in less than a minute and stealing parts was a cakewalk for Keith, and soon, money started rolling in.
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Keith and Sarah eventually moved to a new area only a month after he started his new job. They were doing exceptionally well, and one night, when he arrived home, he found Sarah crying on the couch.
“The cops were here, Keith. They asked terrifying questions about you and Victor…and some Mr. Abraham… Why are the cops after you?” she asked.
A lump rose in Keith’s throat. “It’s better if you don’t know,” he said as Sarah’s worst fears were confirmed.
“Jesus! Are you in a gang, Keith? Wha—what if you get arrested? What’s gonna happen to me and our baby if you go down?” She cried.
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“Nothing’s gonna happen,” Keith pressed Sarah’s shoulders. “I’ll take care of it.”
“Really, Keith? You think the cops will spare you?”
Keith’s anger boiled over. “For God’s sake, Sarah! Can’t you see why I’m doing this? I had to bring more money…I’m doing all this for us!”
“Please, stop it,” Sarah cried her heart out, begging Keith to quit his illegal gig and return to the normal, simple life they once lived.
“We need MONEY to live!” he yelled.
“You can make that MONEY by doing something else…NOT THIS!” Sarah shot back as she cried, squinting her eyes. “The baby kicked…Ow!”
Keith calmed down as he cupped her face and looked into her eyes. “Look, babe, I have this huge gig coming up. It could set us up for life. I can’t give up in the middle. I want to give our son everything,” he said.
Sarah’s face contorted. “If you don’t quit this job, you’ll never be able to get out of it. The cops are after you…do you even realize that?”
“Sarah, this is my chance. I don’t want to return to some stupid low-wage job, okay? This is beyond my control. I used to feel low. But now, I have everything they said I could never have.”
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Sarah’s gaze lowered as she clutched her belly tight. “I don’t think this is gonna work out, Keith. You’re not the man I loved,” she sobbed.
“Oh, c’mon! How convenient, Sarah,” Keith lashed out at her expletively. “You enjoyed the money I made…What’s wrong now? Like it or not, I’m not quitting,” he declared, storming out of the room.
It was early morning when Keith returned home from another successful score. “Honey, look…I’m sorry. Things got a bit intense last night…Sarah?” He called out to her over and over.
But still no answer. So Keith hurried to their bedroom, wondering if she was sick or still sleeping, only to find it empty.
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Keith grew anxious as he rang Sarah’s number. But all his calls landed in voicemail. He rummaged through the closet and noticed some of her clothes were gone. All the onesies were missing from the nursery. “Sarah?” Keith panicked and ran around the house, but she was nowhere to be found.
They didn’t have many friends, so Keith thought Victor or the rest of his gang could help find her. Just as Keith frantically pressed the call button on Victor’s number, a loud knock on the front door jolted him.
“Police! Open the door, Mr. Griffith. We know you’re in there,” a cop yelled and banged on the door. “We have an arrest warrant.”
“Argh!” Keith held his head, knowing there was no escape now.
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Keith was arrested and sentenced to 20 years. However, he was released on parole after 15 years owing to good conduct. He didn’t go back to Victor or Mr. Abraham, and all he wanted was to find Sarah and their baby.
Keith tracked down their address and eagerly raced to a suburban area several miles west of their old neighborhood. The beautiful houses and picturesque landscapes pleased his eyes. This was the kind of place he wanted to live with Sarah and their son.
Finally, Keith made it closer to Sarah’s house, and just as he was about to enter the gate, an SUV drove past him. A well-dressed man got down as Keith stood puzzled. “Did I get the address wrong? But the mailbox shows the same number…”
“DAD!” a boy’s voice startled him. Keith looked up, his heart pounding in his chest, and a smile formed on his face.
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Keith’s heart shattered to a million pieces when he saw a teen boy bolting from the front door toward the stranger who had just gotten down from the SUV. And Sarah emerged from the doorway. “Guys, dinner is ready! Hurry!” she chuckled.
“Dad, let’s go,” the boy chirped. “Mom made spaghetti!”
“You’re right, Daniel! Let’s hurry!” Keith watched as the man wrapped his hand around the boy’s shoulder, and they walked inside the house. It could mean only one thing—he was the boy’s stepfather who had taken Keith’s rightful place in Sarah’s and their son’s lives.
Heartbroken, Keith decided to turn around and leave. But he wanted to see how happy they were together. He secretly peeked through the window and saw the teen and his stepdad cheering for a baseball game on TV. Sarah was sitting beside them and looked as beautiful as ever.
As the street lights turned on, Keith gathered his bits and pieces and walked away.
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A blaring horn in the distance snapped Keith to reality as tears rolled down his cheeks. He finished his last route for the night, and the thought of seeing Daniel in a wheelchair broke his heart again. “What happened to my boy? He was fine when I saw him seven years ago…” Keith wondered.
A few days later, he drove to the same address he last saw Sarah and Daniel to find out. He pulled over outside a neighboring house and waited nervously until a knock on his side window startled him.
“Hey, who are you? Why’s your car parked outside my compound? If you don’t leave, I’ll call the cops,” an older lady barked at him.
Keith stepped down from his car with a start. “No, please, ma’am. I just wanted to go there…”
“Go where?” she raised her hands and growled.
“Over there…to that house. I want to meet Sarah and Daniel. I haven’t seen her in years,” Keith clarified.
“Oh, dear,” the older lady’s voice softened. “Don’t you know what happened?”
“Yeah?” Keith’s forehead wrinkled with unease.
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“Sarah and her husband died last year,” the older woman revealed. “Their son Daniel lives with his wife and baby there.”
“WHAT? NO!” Keith’s eyes bulged with shock.
“Car accident. Daniel luckily survived because he was in the backseat. But he can’t walk,” the lady added. “It’s so sad. I saw that boy grow up. They were such a lovely family. And his baby…he won’t ever see his grandparents.”
Keith thanked the woman and regretfully walked past her, heading straight to the front door. He knew it was time to step up and face his son, no matter what. Keith adjusted his voice and sighed deeply before knocking on the door. It creaked open moments later, and Daniel rolled his wheelchair closer.
“Yes?” He looked up at Keith.
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A spoiled rich teen thought he could get away with insulting a flight attendant. However, his dad, who was watching everything from behind, decides to teach his arrogant kid an unforgettable lesson.
This piece is inspired by stories from the everyday lives of our readers and written by a professional writer. Any resemblance to actual names or locations is purely coincidental. All images are for illustration purposes only. Share your story with us; maybe it will change someone’s life.
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