Martha made it her mission to ensure her daughter’s success: numerous classes, a violin teacher, and daily chores. Martha was certain that all of it would help Ellie find happiness. But after participating in a “Best Mother” contest with her neighbors, she realized what being a mother truly meant.
Martha and her cheerful neighbor Jen strolled up the pathway to Lois’s house, the faint scent of freshly trimmed grass mingling with the floral perfume wafting from Lois’s garden.
As the door swung open, there stood Lois, her impeccably styled hair and tailored outfit a testament to her attention to detail.
“Welcome, ladies,” Lois greeted them with a smile that hinted at smugness. She grandly gestured for them to enter.
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“Come in, come in.”
Jen, ever the social butterfly, stepped in first. “Wow, Lois, your home looks stunning as always!” she said, her tone warm and genuine.
“I can’t wait to hear what’s new with you.”
Martha followed, already feeling a knot tighten in her stomach. For her, stepping into Lois’s house wasn’t just a visit — it was entering enemy territory.
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Lois wasn’t just a neighbor; she was Martha’s unspoken rival, someone who always seemed to flaunt her accomplishments.
Lois led them into the living room, a space that looked like it had been pulled straight out of a magazine. Every piece of furniture was perfectly coordinated, and the room practically sparkled.
“Let me show you something,” Lois said, her voice dripping with pride. She motioned to a set of plants lining the windowsill.
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“These are imported from Italy. Aren’t they divine? They really bring a sense of elegance to the room.”
“Oh, they’re gorgeous!” Jen said, leaning in for a closer look. “You have such a knack for decorating, Lois.”
Martha, however, merely nodded, forcing a tight smile. To her, this wasn’t about plants — it was Lois reminding everyone how much better she was.
The tightness in Martha’s jaw betrayed her efforts to stay calm.
“And look at this,” Lois continued, picking up a delicate tea set from the table.
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“It’s made from a rare ceramic. Took weeks to arrive, but it was worth it, don’t you think?”
Jen clapped her hands together.
“Beautiful! You really know how to choose the best.”
As the women settled into their chairs, Jen suddenly lit up with an idea.
“You know what we should do? Let’s have a little contest this weekend — a ‘Best Mom’ competition!”
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Lois raised an eyebrow. “Oh?”
“Yeah!” Jen said, her excitement growing.
“Each of us can cook a dish, show off our homes, and have our kids perform something. It’ll be fun! A little family-friendly rivalry never hurt anyone.”
While Jen imagined a fun, lighthearted event, Martha and Lois exchanged glances.
To them, this was more than a casual game — it was a chance to prove who was better. Both women nodded without hesitation, their competitive spirits igniting.
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“Sounds perfect,” Lois said, her tone sharp and confident.
“I’m in,” Martha added, determined not to be outdone.
Jen clapped her hands together.
“This will be so much fun!” she exclaimed, oblivious to the subtle tension simmering between her neighbors.
Back home, Martha stood in the kitchen, her mind already racing with ideas for the competition.
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She called out sharply, “Ellie! Come here, please!” Her voice echoed through the house, urgency clear in her tone.
Ellie appeared moments later, her hair slightly messy from playing outside. “What’s up, Mom?” she asked, her cheerful demeanor lighting up the room.
Martha wasted no time.
“This weekend, we’re participating in a competition with Lois and Jen — a ‘Best Mom’ contest. We need to give it everything we’ve got. Our family’s reputation is on the line.”
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Ellie’s smile faltered slightly, sensing the weight in her mother’s voice. But she nodded quickly, her usual optimism kicking in.
“Don’t worry, Mom. I won’t let you down. I’ll do my best.”
Martha gave her a brisk nod. “Good. Let’s get started.”
They dove into the first task: cooking. Martha had decided on her famous apple pie, a recipe she knew could impress.
She meticulously instructed Ellie; from peeling the apples to mixing the dough.
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“No, not like that,” Martha corrected when Ellie tried rolling out the crust. “It needs to be perfect.”
Ellie smiled nervously and adjusted her technique. “Got it, Mom.”
Despite the sharpness in Martha’s tone, Ellie didn’t complain. She softly hummed as she worked, trying to stay positive.
The kitchen smelled heavenly as the pie baked, its golden crust a testament to their hard work.
Next, Martha dragged Ellie outside to inspect the lawn.
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“We can’t have a single weed or blade of grass out of place,” she declared, bending down to straighten a flower. They worked side by side, ensuring every detail was flawless.
Finally, they moved to Ellie’s room to rehearse her violin performance. Ellie set up her sheet music, her fingers slightly trembling as she began to play.
Halfway through, she stumbled on a note, her nerves taking over.
“Ellie, focus!” Martha snapped, her frustration clear. “You need to get this right.”
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Ellie’s cheeks reddened, and she swallowed hard.
“I will, Mom. Let me try again.”
As she lifted the bow to the strings, the pressure in the room felt almost tangible.
Ellie pushed forward, determined to meet her mother’s expectations, even as the weight of it all began to build.
The day of the competition dawned bright and chilly. Neighbors gathered in the crisp morning air, chatting excitedly as the three contestants prepared for their first challenge.
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Martha stood near her table, carefully arranging her apple pie on a decorative platter.
Nearby, Jen cheerfully set out her mac and cheese, and Lois placed her lasagna with an air of confidence that made Martha’s jaw tighten.
Nigel, the elderly man appointed judge from across the street, shuffled forward to begin the tasting.
His reputation for fairness and thoughtful opinions made him the perfect choice. He picked up his fork with a kind smile and approached Jen’s dish.
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“Mac and cheese,” he remarked, taking a bite. Jen’s sons watched with wide, eager eyes as he chewed thoughtfully. Finally, he smiled warmly.
“Simple but comforting. Well done.”
Jen grinned, clearly pleased. “Thank you, Nigel!”
Next, Nigel turned to Martha’s apple pie. Martha clasped her hands tightly, her stomach churning with nerves as he sliced into the golden crust. He took a bite, his face betraying nothing as he chewed.
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Then, with a small nod of approval, he said, “Lovely balance of flavors. A classic done right.”
Martha exhaled in relief, allowing herself a small smile. But that relief was short-lived as Nigel moved to Lois’s table.
Her lasagna, perfectly layered with bubbling cheese and a rich tomato sauce, looked straight out of a cooking show.
Nigel took one bite, then another, and another, finishing the entire serving.
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“Well,” he said with a chuckle, wiping his mouth. “This lasagna is exceptional. The first point goes to Lois.”
Lois beamed while Martha’s face fell.
“It’s just one round,” she muttered under her breath, trying to stay composed. She quickly urged Nigel to begin the next stage.
Nigel moved from house to house, inspecting the exteriors.
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Jen’s home was charming, with bright flowers in simple pots, but Nigel seemed more impressed by Martha’s perfectly manicured lawn and vibrant flower beds.
“This is beautiful,” he declared, awarding Martha the point for the best exterior. Martha felt a rush of satisfaction as Lois’s expression soured.
Finally, it was time for the last round: the children’s performances. Pam, Lois’s daughter, was first.
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She stepped forward confidently to sing but faltered midway, her voice cracking. Her face flushed, and she ran off, refusing to continue.
Martha smirked, feeling her chances of winning improve.
Next, Jen’s sons performed. Their dance routine was unpolished, but their playful energy and heartfelt song about their mom touched the audience.
“She’s our superhero,” they sang, drawing smiles and applause.
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As the boys finished, Martha realized Ellie was nowhere to be seen. Her confidence wavered.
“Go get her,” Nigel said, glancing at his watch. “We don’t have all day.”
Panicked, Martha rushed back to the house, her heart pounding. Something was wrong, and she needed to find Ellie fast.
Reaching Ellie’s room, Martha paused outside the door, hearing muffled sobs from within. Her heart sank.
Ellie was always cheerful, her laughter lighting up even the gloomiest days. Hearing her cry was like a punch to Martha’s chest.
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She hesitated, unsure how to approach her daughter, then gently knocked and opened the door.
Ellie spun around, hastily wiping her eyes. Her face was red, and her hands trembled as she tried to shove something into her desk drawer.
“What’s wrong, sweetheart?” Martha asked, her tone soft and concerned — a stark contrast to her usual commanding voice.
Ellie forced a shaky smile. “It’s nothing, Mom. Don’t worry. I’ll win. I promise to make you proud.”
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Her voice wavered as she spoke, but before Martha could say anything, Ellie grabbed her violin and bolted past her.
Martha stood frozen for a moment, staring at the desk. Something didn’t feel right.
Glancing toward the hallway, she hesitated. Part of her knew she should respect
Ellie’s privacy, but another part — her instincts as a mother — told her to look. Slowly, she opened the drawer and found Ellie’s diary.
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Her hands trembled as she flipped through the pages, the last entries smudged with tear stains. The most recent page caught her eye. As she read the words, her heart broke:
“Today, I can’t fail. I have to be perfect. Mom is counting on me, and I know I can do it. But why am I so scared? I’ve played this piece perfectly before, so why do I keep messing up now? Please, let everything go right. I want Mom to be proud of me. I want her to love me. I can’t lose…”
Tears welled up in Martha’s eyes. She had never realized how much pressure she had put on Ellie — not for Ellie’s sake, but for her own pride.
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Ellie wasn’t trying to succeed for herself; she was doing it to win her mother’s love and approval.
Placing the diary back carefully, Martha rushed outside. Ellie was standing by the stage, gripping her violin tightly, her knuckles white.
Her eyes darted nervously across the crowd.
Martha ran to her without a second thought, pulling her into a tight embrace.
“I’m so sorry, Ellie,” Martha whispered, her voice breaking. “You don’t have to do anything. You don’t have to prove anything. I already love you, and I’m so proud of you — no matter what.”
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Ellie froze for a moment, then relaxed into her mother’s arms. Her tears spilled over, but this time, they were tears of relief. “Thank you, Mom,” she whispered.
Back on stage, Nigel smiled kindly as he announced that the points would be shared evenly, declaring all three mothers winners.
Jen clapped enthusiastically, her joy infecting the crowd. “This was so much fun!” she exclaimed.
Martha turned to Jen, her eyes filled with gratitude. “Thank you for helping me see what being a great mom truly means.”
Tell us what you think about this story, and share it with your friends. It might inspire them and brighten their day.
If you enjoyed this story, read this one: As good friends often do, Lisa and Lora decided to show their support and took Emma to a ski resort for Christmas to help her forget about her recent breakup. However, veering off the trail with Sam made her realize that this Christmas wouldn’t go as planned. Read the full story here.
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.
Businessman Loses All Hope After His Diagnosis, but One Hospital Encounter Changes Everything — Story of the Day
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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Tell us what you think about this story and share it with your friends. It might inspire them and brighten their day.
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.
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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