When Maggie moves into a new house with her son, Ethan, and husband, Kyle, she is more than ready for a new start. Her son needed fresh scenery and a new school, and Maggie just wanted him to be happy. But one day, a husky wanders into their yard, eating their food and growing close to Ethan. Soon after, the husky leads Maggie and Ethan into the woods, ready to show them something devastating…
When we moved into our new house, I had a good feeling. It was a new chapter in our lives, and I was more than ready for it. Kyle, my husband, and I were excited to give our son, Ethan, a fresh start. He had recently gone through a bullying experience at school, and we all wanted to just put it behind us.
The house had belonged to an older man named Christopher, who’d passed away recently. His daughter, a woman in her forties, sold it to us, telling us that it was too painful to keep and that she hadn’t even lived in it since her father’s death.
“There’s too many memories in there, you know?” she told me when we first met to walk through the house. “And I don’t want it to get into the wrong hands. I want it to be a home to a family who will love it as much as my family did.”
“I know exactly what you mean, Tracy,” I said reassuringly. “We’ll make this house into our forever home.”
We were eager to settle in, but from the first day, something strange happened. Every morning, a husky would show up at our front door. He was an old dog, with graying fur and piercing blue eyes that seemed to look right through you.
The sweet boy didn’t bark or make a fuss. He would just sit there, waiting. Of course, we gave him some food and water, figuring that he belonged to a neighbor. After eating, he’d wander off like it was routine.
“Do you think his owners just don’t feed him enough, Mom?” Ethan asked one day when we were at the grocery store getting our weekly groceries and food for the husky, too.
“I don’t know, E,” I said. “Maybe the old man who lived in our house fed him, so it’s part of his routine?”
“Yeah, that makes sense,” Ethan said, adding some dog treats to our cart.
At first, we didn’t think much of it. Kyle and I wanted to get Ethan a dog; we just wanted to wait until he was settled down at his new school first.
But then, he came the next day. And the day after that. Always at the same time, always sitting patiently by the porch.
It felt like the husky wasn’t just any stray. He acted like he belonged here. Like we were just temporary guests in his home. It was strange, but we didn’t think much of it.
Ethan was over the moon. And I knew that my son was slowly falling in love with the husky. He spent as much time as he could running around with the dog, tossing sticks for him, or sitting on the porch, talking to him like they’d known each other forever.
I would watch from the kitchen window, smiling at the way Ethan had immediately bonded with this mysterious dog.
It was exactly what Ethan needed after everything he had been through at his old school.
One morning, while petting him, Ethan’s fingers traced the dog’s collar.
“Mom, there’s a name here!” he called out.
I came over and knelt down next to the dog, brushing away some of the fur covering the worn leather collar on him. The name was barely visible, but there it was:
Christopher Jr.
My heart skipped a beat.
Was it just a coincidence?
Christopher, just like the man who had owned our house? Could this husky have been his dog? The thought sent a chill down my spine. Tracy hadn’t mentioned anything about a dog.
“Do you think he’s been coming here because it used to be his home?” Ethan asked, looking up at me with wide eyes.
I shrugged, feeling a little unsettled.
“Maybe, sweetheart. But it’s hard to say.”
At the same time, it felt like the husky wasn’t just any stray. He acted like he belonged here. Like we were just temporary guests in his home. It was strange, but we didn’t think much of it.
Later that day, after Christopher Jr. had eaten, he began to act strange.
He whined softly, pacing back and forth near the edge of the yard, his eyes darting toward the woods. He had never done that before. But now, it was almost like he was asking us to follow him.
The dog stopped and stared straight ahead, and that’s when I saw it.
“Mom, I think he wants us to go with him!” Ethan said excitedly, already pulling on his jacket.
I hesitated.
“Darling, I’m not sure that’s a good idea…”
“Come on, Mom!” Ethan said. “We’ve got to see where he’s going and what’s going on. We’ll take our phones and I’ll text Dad so that he knows. Please?”
I didn’t want to do it, but I was curious. There was something about the dog’s urgency that made me think that this was more than just a random walk in the woods.
So, we followed.
The husky led the way, glancing back at us every so often to make sure we were still there. The air was crisp, and the woods were quiet, except for the occasional snap of a twig under our boots.
“You’re still sure about this?” I asked Ethan.
“Yes!” he said excitedly. “Dad has our location, don’t worry, Mom.”
We walked for about twenty minutes, deeper and deeper into the forest. Deeper than I’d ever been before. I was just about to suggest turning back when the husky stopped abruptly at a small clearing.
The dog stopped and stared straight ahead, and that’s when I saw it.
There was a pregnant fox, trapped in a hunter’s snare, barely moving at all.
“Oh my God,” I whispered, rushing toward the fox.
She was weak, her breathing shallow, her fur matted with dirt. The trap had dug into her leg, and she was trembling with pain.
“Mom, we’ve got to help her!” Ethan said, his voice shaking. “Look at her, she’s hurt!”
“I know, I know,” I said, my hands fumbling to free her from the cruel trap. The husky stood close, whining softly as if he understood the fox’s pain.
After what felt like an eternity, I managed to loosen the trap. The fox didn’t move at first. She just lay there, panting heavily.
“We have to get her to the vet immediately, E,” I said, pulling out my phone to call Kyle.
When Kyle arrived, we gently wrapped the fox in a blanket that he brought and rushed her to the nearest vet clinic. The husky, of course, came with us.
It felt like he wasn’t going to leave the fox, not after all of this.
The vet said that the fox needed surgery, and we waited nervously in the small, sterile room. Ethan was quiet, sitting next to the husky, his hands resting on the dog’s thick fur.
“You think she’ll make it, Mom?” Ethan asked.
“I hope so, honey,” I said, squeezing his shoulder. “She’s tough. And we did everything we could.”
The surgery was successful, but when the fox woke up, she was howling, her cries echoing through the clinic.
The vet couldn’t calm her down, and neither could Kyle. But when I walked into the room, she stopped. Her eyes locked onto mine, and she let out one last soft whimper before falling silent.
“It’s like she knows you helped her,” the vet said.
We went back for her two days later, and brought her home. We set her up in a small den in the garage where she could rest and recover. CJ, the husky, as Ethan had taken to calling him, stayed with Vixen the fox the entire time.
A few days later, she gave birth to four tiny kits. It was truly the most amazing thing I’d ever seen. And she let me be a part of it.
“She only lets us near her babies,” Ethan told me one day when we went to check on Vixen and the babies. “She trusts us.”
I nodded and smiled.
“And the dog too,” I added. “Little CJ seems to be right at home with us.”
When the babies were old enough, Kyle and I knew it was time to let them go. We built a proper den for them back in the forest and watched as Vixen disappeared into it with her babies.
Now, every weekend, Ethan, CJ, and I walk to the forest to visit them. The fox always comes out to greet us, her kits trailing behind her, just as curious as ever.
What would you have done?
My Stepmom Gifted Me a Funerary Urn for My 17th Birthday
I always knew my stepmom, Monica, wasn’t exactly the nicest person—annoying, yes, but not evil. She was the type who would talk over me, forget my birthday, and call me “kiddo” even though I was practically an adult.
But what she did on my 17th birthday? It was the final straw.
It all started after my mom, Sarah, passed away when I was ten. After that, it was just me and Dad. We were a team—movie nights, pizza dinners, and a mutual understanding that we had each other’s backs, always.
Then Monica came along about three years ago. She wasn’t the worst, just kind of… there. She moved in, slowly took over the bathroom with her endless beauty products, and managed to inch her way into Dad’s life, whether I liked it or not.
Monica had dreams—big dreams—of opening a hair salon. I didn’t have a problem with people having dreams, but I had my own, too, and she treated me like I was an inconvenience that came with the house.
But I had a plan. College was my way out, and Dad had promised me from the time I was little that there was a college fund waiting for me. “Your mom and I set it up when you were five, Lila,” he’d say. “It’s all there, and I add to it every year.”
So, I worked hard in school, counting down the days until I could leave for college and start a life of my own.
On the morning of my 17th birthday, I wasn’t expecting much. Maybe some pancakes, a card—Dad was at work, so it was just Monica and me. But when Monica handed me a gift bag, things took a weird turn.
Inside the bag was a pink funerary urn. Yes, you read that right. An urn.
I stared at it, completely confused. “What the hell is this?” I asked.
Monica leaned against the kitchen counter, a smug look on her face. “It’s symbolic,” she said as if that explained anything.
“Symbolic of what?” I asked, already feeling a sinking feeling in my stomach.
Monica smiled wider. “It’s time to bury your college dreams, kiddo. Your dad and I decided to put that fund to better use.”
“Better use?” I repeated, my heart racing.
“Yep. We used it to help me open my salon. College is a gamble, Lila. But a business? That’s a real investment.”
I was frozen. Had they really taken my future, my college fund, and sunk it into Monica’s dream? How could my dad have let this happen?
“Life’s full of disappointments,” she added, as if that was supposed to be comforting.
I ran upstairs and slammed my door, sobbing harder than I ever had. Everything I’d worked for, everything my mom had wanted for me, was gone.
For the next few days, I barely spoke to either of them. Monica pranced around like she owned the house while I sat with the urn on my desk, a twisted reminder of what I had lost.
Then, a few days later, something strange happened.
When I got home from school, there was a note on my desk in Monica’s messy handwriting: Meet me at the salon at 6 P.M. tonight. No questions. Just trust me.
I almost laughed. Trust her? After what she did?
But my curiosity got the better of me, and against my better judgment, I went.
When I arrived at the salon, the lights were off, but the door was unlocked. Hesitant, I stepped inside. There, in the middle of the room, were Monica and my dad, both grinning.
“Surprise!” Monica shouted.
I was speechless.
“Look,” Monica said, stepping aside to reveal a shiny new sign on the wall: Dream Cuts: A Scholarship Fund in Honor of Sarah.
“What is this?” I asked, completely lost.
Monica’s smile softened. “We didn’t use your college fund, Lila. It’s all still there. The salon isn’t just for me—it’s for you, too. And for others like you. A portion of the profits will go toward funding scholarships in your mom’s name.”
I blinked, feeling like the ground was shifting beneath my feet.
“But… why make me think otherwise?” I asked, still trying to wrap my head around it.
Monica winced. “Yeah, the urn thing… That was not my best idea. I thought it would be motivational, like burying the past and embracing the future. Turns out, it was just creepy.”
Dad stepped forward, placing a hand on my shoulder. “We’ve been planning this for months. Your mom always wanted to help kids get to college. This way, her dream lives on.”
I stood there, stunned, my anger melting into something softer.
Monica looked at me earnestly. “I’m not trying to replace your mom, Lila. I just want to build something meaningful, something that helps you and others. I know I haven’t been the best stepmom, but I hope this can be a fresh start.”
For the first time in a long time, I smiled.
It wasn’t perfect, and maybe things with Monica never would be. But in that moment, standing in a salon named for my mom, I realized she wasn’t trying to destroy my future—she was trying to honor it in a way I hadn’t expected.
And yeah, I kept the urn. I planted peace lilies in it. Maybe it wasn’t the symbol Monica had intended, but it had become something new. A symbol of hope.
What would you have done in my shoes?
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