A man who had lost his family decides to adopt a little boy that no one wants because he has Down syndrome. Years later, he is contacted by a lawyer with surprising news.

David paced nervously up and down the hospital waiting room. His brother Jack said, “Calm down, Dave! You’d think no one ever had a baby before!”

David smiled. “I know,” he said. “I’m just so nervous! I’ve always wanted to be a father!”

Jack grinned and patted his brother on the back. “Get ready to be a daddy, my man!” It was then that the doctor walked in and headed for David. There was something in his expression that killed all laughter, and David just knew.

It was, the doctor said, one of those one-in-a-million flukes, a rare mischance but it had cost Rita and their baby their lives. David listened to him very calmly and nodded in all the right places.

He didn’t even cry, but when he tried to take a step, his knees just folded. A weeping Jack had to hold up his brother and carry him home as if he were a child.

Days later, after Rita and their baby were buried, and everyone but Dave seemed ready to forget, he woke to a silent house. He reached out to Rita’s side of the bed. Empty.

Parents will make the most heartbreaking decisions for their children’s welfare.

He got up and walked down the corridor to the nursery and turned on the pretty nightlight that cast soft pastel stars up onto the ceiling. He and Rita had decorated that room as much with pain as with dreams. It was all gone.

Dave sat in the rocking chair Rita had insisted was a must-have and cried. His heart and his house were empty, his dreams were gone. He wanted to tear that nursery apart and negate that emptiness.

Suddenly, a thought invaded his mind. “You can’t fill a hole with anger, only with love.” Who said that? Dave wondered. He’d heard that somewhere, sometime. Now, maybe that idea might save his life.

Dave contacted social services and inquired about adopting or fostering a child. At first, the social worker was hesitant. “We don’t usually give children to single parents,” she said. “Though it IS becoming more common.”

“I have a good life,” Dave said. “I have a lot to give a child, especially love. My wife and I dreamed of being parents — I want to make that dream come true.”

The social worker picked up a file with lots of colored stickers on it. “Would you consider a special needs child?” she asked.

Dave shrugged. “All children are special, they all have needs,” he said quietly. “We never know what God might send us. I’ll take the child who needs me.”

Of course, Dave had to go through a lot of interviews and had to do some parenting workshops, but eventually, the big day came. They told him he had a son.

“We have a little boy who has been through three different foster families,” the social worker said. “His name is Sam, and he is two years old. He has Down syndrome…”

“Where is he?” asked Dave.

“Sam has some health issues you should be aware of,” the social worker said.

“I’ll take him to the pediatrician,” Dave said. “Whatever he needs, he’ll get.”

When Dave saw Sam, it was love at first sight. Sam was the cutest baby he’d ever seen!

At first, Sam was shy, but when he realized how much Dave loved him, and how caring he was, he slowly came out of his shell. Dave couldn’t understand how anyone could not want such an adorable child!

Of course, it took Sam a little longer to reach his milestones, and the doctor said they would have to watch his heart, but in almost every way, he was perfect!

The best part of Dave’s day was when he picked Sam up from childcare, and his little boy ran to him, arms opened wide. Dave would swing Sam up high and tickle his fat little belly, and his heart would overflow with love.

“Rita,” he’d whisper to his dead wife when he watched Sam sleeping. “I made our dream come true, I filled the hole you and our baby left in my life with love.”

The years went by, and Sam grew as fast as any other child. The doctor said his heart was just fine. He was a happy, friendly boy who made friends out of everyone he met. No one could resist Sam and his happy grin!

The phone was constantly ringing with invitations for sleepovers and playdates, and Dave could hardly keep up with Sam’s busy social life!

Then Sam turned twelve, and he started wanting to go out with his friends on his own like the big boy he was. It wasn’t easy for Dave, but like every other parent, he learned to give his son space.

Then one day, he received a phone call from a lawyer. “Mr. Wallace,” the man said. “I’m calling on behalf of your adoptive son’s birth parent…”

“What do you want?” Dave asked sharply.

“I would like to talk to you…” the lawyer said.

“I’m not interested,” Dave said. “Those people abandoned my son. There’s nothing you could say that I want to hear.”

“Please, Mr. Wallace,” the lawyer said. “For Sam’s sake.”

Reluctantly, Dave agreed to meet the lawyer. As soon as he arrived, the man handed Dave a letter. “This will explain everything so much better than I ever could, Mr. Wallace,” he said.

Dave opened the envelope and started reading: “Dear Mr. Wallce, if you are reading this, I’m finally at rest with my beloved wife. I thank you for loving my sweet Sam and for caring for him.

“Before Sam was born, the doctors told us he had Down syndrome, and it made no difference to us. We welcomed him joyfully. We imagined we’d have many long and happy years as a family, but it was not to be.

“When Sam was three months old, he was in the hospital for some tests. My wife, Emily, and I drove to the hospital to pick him up, and we were hit by a truck.

“Emily died instantly, I survived, but as a quadriplegic. For these last twelve years, I’ve been a dead man who still breathed and cried and cursed God.

“I was not the father Sam deserved. I wanted better for my son, so I placed him for adoption. I was right, Mr. Wallace, because you took my boy in and you’ve been the best father.

“One day, I want you to be able to tell Sam that his birth parents loved him and wanted him. I don’t ever want my boy to think we abandoned him.

“Please, tell him! My lawyer will give you the papers for Sam’s trust fund which will be in your hands. Thank you again, Mr. Wallace, for loving my Sam, for being the father I should have been.”

The lawyer gave Dave access to Sam’s trust fund which came to $1.2 million, money which he vowed would secure his son’s future, just as his biological father had wished.

Dave wondered if the families who had turned away from Sam would have turned down the money if they had known it existed! Sam’s biological father had been right to hide his fortune, so his son could be loved for himself.

What can we learn from this story?

• Don’t give yourself up to bitterness and anger. Fill your heart with love. Dave chose to turn away from his grief and pour all the love in his heart into a needy child.
• Parents will make the most heartbreaking decisions for their children’s welfare. Sam’s father gave him up so he could have a normal childhood with a loving family.

Share this story with your friends. It might brighten their day and inspire them.

If you enjoyed this story, you might like this one about an ambitious woman who gives up her wheelchair-bound young daughter for adoption so she can concentrate on her career, but the future brings some surprises.

The owner of a restaurant is outraged when he discovers that one of the cleaners is stealing the scraps from the customer’s plates and follows her to find out why.

George Carson was the proud owner of one of New York’s most prestigious and famous restaurants, The Kettle of Fish. George had inherited the restaurant from his father, who’d inherited it from his father.

Even though George had a supremely efficient manager, Colt Farlow, he kept a close eye on his restaurant, often dropping in at odd hours when the staff least expected and that was how he discovered that Consuelo Ruiz was stealing.

The kitchen usually closes at 10:30 and that’s when the cleaning staff takes over. The chef and his assistants would go home to their well-deserved rest, leaving their workstations spotless.

The dirty glasses, dishes, and cutlery are cleared and placed into the huge industrial dishwashing machines by a team of three. When the staff walks in the next day, they would find everything spotless.

One day, George walked in at 1:00 am and sauntered through the kitchen towards the back to check on his beloved wine collection for which The Kettle of Fish was justly famous.

As he was passing, he noticed that one of the women was scraping the leftover steak from one of the dishes on a tray into a plastic bag tied to her waist under her apron. When she finished, she carefully rinsed the dish and placed it in the dishwasher.

She picked up the next dish and did the same. This time the leftovers were an almost intact serving of Chicken Kyiv. George stood back and watched. The woman looked to be in her mid-forties and had a thin, drawn face.

As she worked, she hummed softly to herself. “Ruiz!” George was startled to hear the sharp tones of his manager Colt Farrow. “Shut your trap and stop your pilfering. I want to close up!”

The woman flushed, ducked her head and closed the door to the dishwasher, poured in the detergent, and set the huge steel machine to humming. Then she dashed into the locker room, while another woman started cleaning the kitchen floor.

George, who’d kept himself carefully out of sight, slipped out and waited in the shadows by the back door. Soon the three cleaners exited, followed by the grumbling Farrow.

The woman Farrow had called Ruiz pulled a thin coat closer around her and hurried away down a dark, narrow alley and George followed. Three blocks away, the woman opened a door and vanished into an industrial building.

George frowned when he read the huge plaque outside: ‘CONDEMNED.’ That meant that this large former factory was deemed unsafe, so what was the woman doing there?

Remember your own past, and help those trying to build a better future.

George opened the door and walked in. He followed the sound of voices and the glow of lights until he came to what must once have been an administrative office with glass walls.

The walls were intact, and inside George could see the woman Ruiz, and what appeared to be four children of different ages. Ruiz was carefully removing a series of plastic bags from her purse and setting them on a table.

Then she quickly served the scraps of food onto plates and distributed them to the children. So Ruiz was taking the leftovers from the customers’ dirty dishes and feeding them to her children!

George was outraged. How could this happen in his beautiful Kettle of Fish? He was going to put an end to this. He slipped away quietly without the woman or the children seeing him.

The next day, when the restaurant staff came in to prepare for the dinner rush, George was there. “Farrow,” he called. “Come here please, I need to speak to you.”

Farrow followed George into his office. “Mr. Carson,” Farrow greeted him with an unctuous smile. “What a lovely surprise!”

“That remains to be seen,” George said coldly. “There are a few things going on in the restaurant that I disapprove of, Farrow.”

Farrow frowned. “Anything that displeases you… please, let me know and I will remedy it immediately.”

“I was in last night at closing time, Farrow, and I saw one of the women scrape the leftovers from the dishes and take them home — presumably to eat.”

Farrow looked suitably shocked. “Really? I wasn’t aware…”

“Yes, you were,” George snapped. “I heard you talk to the woman.”

“Sir,” whined Farrow. “I assure you…”

“I gave orders that leftover food and ingredients from our kitchen were to be delivered to the shelter,” George said. “And you knew that. And you also knew one of our employees was living off leftovers from dirty dishes?”

“Erh…” Farrow cleared his throat. “Well, yes, but I’ll put a stop to it! It’s this woman — Ruiz? We took her on temporarily. She’s an immigrant, and you know how they are!”

“Yes,” said George coldly. “I do know how they are. Desperate, willing to work for a pittance, sometimes starving. I know how immigrants are. You see, Farrow, my grandfather was an immigrant too.”

“Sir,” gasped Farrow, “I assure you…”

“I presume you’ve been hiring Ms. Ruiz at a fraction of the salary I budgeted for her position and pocketing the rest,” George accused and Farrow turned a dark beetroot-red.

“You’re fired, Farrow. You have been exploiting these poor desperate women, driving them to feed their children on scraps,” George roared. “But it’s over!”

Then George called Consuelo Ruiz. “Ms. Ruiz?” he asked the frightened-looking woman gently.

“Yes,” she whispered.

“I know you’ve been taking scraps home to your children, and I’m here to tell you that it’s over,” George told her.

“Please, sir,” Consuelo said with quiet dignity, “Don’t fire me. I just have no one, and I need the food… The money is not enough.”

“I know,” George said gently. “Which is why you will be getting a salary increase and a work contract.”

Consuelo stared at him and her mouth hung open. “An increase?”

“Also,” George added, “my grandfather bought this whole building, and at the back, there is a small apartment that we’ve been using as dry-goods storage. I’ve ordered it cleared out and cleaned.

“It’s small but better than an abandoned factory, and it has electricity and hot and cold running water. You and your children will be moving in today. And no more scraps, you get proper food!”

Consuelo was crying. “Why are you doing this?” she whispered. “Helping us?”

“Because,” George said gently, “many years ago, my grandfather came to this city, this country, with nothing but his dreams, and someone helped him. I’m doing the same for you.”

“Maybe one day, you or one of your grandchildren will lend someone else a helping hand. That, Ms. Ruiz,” George smiled, “is the true American Dream.”

What can we learn from this story?

• It is wrong to exploit the desperation of those who are trying to build a better life. The manager was paying Consuelo less than he should and stealing the rest until George discovered the truth.
• Remember your own past, and help those trying to build a better future. Even though he was rich, George remembered where he came from and was determined to help others.

Share this story with your friends. It might brighten their day and inspire them.

If you enjoyed this story, you might like this one about a wealthy woman who is outraged when a homeless man gives her shivering daughter his coat.

When Judge Judy Sheindlin divorced her husband, she was facing a heartbreaking situation. However, their split didn’t last, and later, she revealed the reason why she decided to remarry him.

Judge Judy Sheindlin, known for her role as a television court arbitrator and her background as a prosecutor and family court judge, is married to Jerry Sheindlin, who is also a lawyer and former judge.

Judy and her husband have always supported each other in their legal careers. When Jerry, then a New York State Supreme Court judge, was offered a spot on “The People’s Court,” he turned to his wife for advice.

In an interview, he recalled, “She is the one who told me I should do it,” adding that he wouldn’t have accepted the role if Judy had any doubts.

Despite his wife’s massive success on TV, the New York native wasn’t concerned about the competition, saying, “I think that behind every great woman there is a man. […] But I also heard a rumor that behind every great man, there is a woman.”

Jerry had just started easing out of his Supreme Court role when he began taping for “The People’s Court.” His new role, presiding over about 10 cases a day for two days a week, was much lighter compared to the 150 cases he used to manage.

Jerry and Judy’s connection has always been rooted in their shared legal careers, even from the very beginning. Their first meeting happened in a bar after Jerry had just finished defending a murder case.

He was talking to a reporter when Judy walked in, pointed a finger at him, and asked, ‘And who is this?'” Jerry recalled. His response was direct, “‘Lady, get your finger out of my face.’ We’ve been together ever since.”

While Jerry has enjoyed watching Judy’s television success, he humorously added, “If my show takes off and I beat her, I am contacting Hollywood immediately to remake the movie ‘Sleeping With the Enemy.'”

The couple’s relationship continued to evolve with their characteristic boldness and humor. After a year together, Judy subtly suggested marriage, but Jerry had his reservations.

“Why does the government have to dictate our relationship, it’s just a piece of paper. We’re already devoted to each other, we’re already committed to each other,” he told her.

Rather than pushing the issue, Judy simply stated that if Jerry wanted them to live together, he should ask for her father’s permission. Not wanting to face her dad, Jerry made a different choice—he set a wedding date, and the two were married in 1977.

Though the pair were deeply committed to each other, their relationship faced a challenge in 1990 when they divorced. The strain came after the passing of Judy’s father, Murray Blum, which left her under immense emotional stress. However, their time apart didn’t last long, as they remarried just a year later.

Jerry reflected on that difficult period, saying, “I missed her presence the very first week that we were separated. It was the first time in years that we didn’t get to see each other every single day. It was such a strange experience.”

Meanwhile, Judy acknowledged that she enjoyed being married and had missed Jerry during their time apart. To her, there’s something special about sharing life as a couple and the connection that comes with marriage.

After remarrying after their divorce, Judy opened up about the brief split in a rare interview. When asked why she chose to reunite with Jerry in 1991, she explained, “That’s a long story, but the end of the story is: I found … that most men were alike.”

The public figure went on to share her thoughts about the differences between men and women. “They have basic needs that are different from women’s,” she said.

They enjoy being taken care of, receiving affection, and having their personal space. As long as they are fed, shown love, and given room to do their own thing, they tend to be content, Judy added.

She has always been candid about the dynamics of her long-lasting marriage with Jerry. In a January 2024 interview, she offered some insight into how they’ve kept their relationship strong after nearly 50 years together.

“You don’t spend 24 hours together because that’s deadly,” she explained, highlighting the importance of personal space. Judy added, “Jerry just celebrated his 90th birthday and I still like to look at him when he walks in the room—that’s a key.”

Judy, now nearing her 82nd birthday on October 21, 2024, has always stressed the value of maintaining a good appearance, especially as one ages. However, when it comes to Jerry, she doesn’t need to remind him—he’s already well aware of how to stay in shape.

“He loves himself desperately. Jerry is almost ten years older than I am, but I think his goal is to outlive me. He takes very good care of himself,” said the TV star, who once had a mini-stroke during a show taping.

Judy and Jerry’s enduring bond continues to charm fans, both on and off the screen. In a heartfelt Facebook post, she uploaded a picture of the couple, which quickly drew admiration from followers.

One person commented, “You and your husband look so good together. Love [sic] your smiles,” while another added, “You look amazing. Love your down to earth [sic], common sense judgments.”

Judy Sheindlin and Jerry Sheindlin’s long-lasting relationship highlights the power of love, mutual respect, and shared humor. After nearly five decades together, their bond remains strong, proving that true companionship can endure through all of life’s challenges.

My elderly neighbor thrust a battered suitcase into my hands and asked me to keep it safe until she returned. Less than 24 hours later, I saw police swarming her yard. What secret did I agree to hide? The truth I discovered later left me in tears.

It was just another lazy Thursday afternoon. I was sprawled on my worn leather couch, mindlessly scrolling through my phone when a frantic pounding on my front door jolted me upright.

I shuffled to the door, and as I swung it open, I found myself face-to-face with Margaret, my elderly neighbor from next door. Her silver hair was in disarray, her eyes wide with an urgency I’d never seen before.

“Kimberly,” she gasped, thrusting a battered suitcase into my arms. “I need you to keep this safe until I return. Don’t open it. Please, just promise me you’ll keep it hidden.”

I staggered under the weight of the unexpected burden. “Margaret, what’s going on? Are you okay?”

She shook her head, her gaze darting over her shoulder as if expecting to see someone following her.

“No time to explain, dear. Just promise me you’ll keep it safe. It’s for someone I truly adore.”

Before I could muster a response, she scurried back to her house like a frightened rabbit. I stood there, dumbfounded, clutching the mysterious suitcase to my chest.

“Margaret, wait!” I called after her, but she had already disappeared into her house.

I looked down at the suitcase in my arms. It was old, probably from the ’70s, and it was covered in scratches and dents. What on earth had I just been dragged into? What was in this suitcase?

I couldn’t sleep that night. I tossed and turned, Margaret’s panicked face haunting my thoughts.

The suitcase sat in my closet like an ominous presence I couldn’t ignore. Every creak of the house made me jump and I imagined someone coming to claim the mysterious package.

As dawn broke, I made up my mind to check on Margaret and find out about the mysterious suitcase. But as I stepped outside, my heart plummeted.

Police cars surrounded her house, their lights painting the quiet street in surreal flashes of red and blue.

I rushed over, my chest tight with dread.

“Ma’am, I’m going to need you to step back,” an officer stopped me, holding up a hand.

“What happened, Officer? Is Margaret okay?”

His expression softened, and he let out a heavy sigh. “I’m sorry. She passed away in her sleep last night. Her maid called us this morning.”

The world seemed to cave in around me. “But that’s impossible. I just saw her yesterday!”

The officer’s brow furrowed. “You saw her? When exactly?”

I hesitated, Margaret’s urgent plea echoing in my mind. “Just in passing. Nothing unusual.”

He nodded, seemingly satisfied. As he turned away, I retreated to my house, my mind reeling.

Margaret was gone, just like that. And I was left with her secret, whatever it was, sitting in my closet like a ticking time bomb.

For days, I avoided the suitcase like it was radioactive. Every time I passed it, its ominous presence pulled at the edges of my mind.

What secrets lay hidden behind that tarnished brass latch?

The image of Margaret’s terror-stricken face flashed before my eyes. It didn’t make sense. We were neighbors, sure, but hardly close.

Why me? Why not her daughter or a close friend?

I found myself jumping at every unexpected sound, half-expecting shadowy figures to come knocking, demanding the suitcase.

The whole affair reeked of mystery, like I’d stumbled into the pages of a thriller novel. Whatever was happening, it was clear I was now entangled in something far beyond my quiet, suburban life.

As days passed, the urge to peek inside the suitcase grew stronger. But every time my hand reached for the latch, Margaret’s urgent plea echoed in my ears: “Don’t open it.”

But curiosity gnawed at me, relentless as a hungry dog. Finally, a week after Margaret’s death, I couldn’t take it anymore.

With trembling hands, I unlatched the case and sat back, frozen.

Inside, I found stacks of cash. It was more money than I’d ever seen in my life. And nestled among the bills was a letter addressed to… me?

With trembling hands, I unfolded the paper and began to read:

“Dear Kimberly,

If you’re reading this, I’m already gone, never to return again. I’m sorry for the mystery, but I hope you’ll understand why. You’re the person I truly adore, and I didn’t want you to find out what was in this suitcase until I’m gone.

I’ve been battling cancer, keeping it to myself. Recently, I overheard my daughter Regina planning to put me in a nursing home and take my savings. The pain of that was worse than any cancer.

I couldn’t let that happen. I want my money to mean something. That’s when I remembered you.”

“Remember when your little girl brought me that homemade pie?” the letter continued. “She told me about your dream to open a bakery that would hire older folks and people with Down Syndrome. That dream touched my heart, Kimberly. It’s exactly what this world needs more of.

So, I’m entrusting my life savings to you. Use it to make your dream a reality. Give people a chance to work, to belong, to matter. It’s what I want my legacy to be.

I know this is a lot, and I’m sorry for burdening you. But I’ve watched you over the years. You’re kind, decent, and hardworking. You’re the daughter I wish I’d had.

With love and gratitude,

Margaret”

I stood in the hallway, stunned by this kind older lady’s words blurring through my tears.

And for the first time since her death, I allowed myself to really grieve for Margaret.

This woman, who I’d exchanged nothing more than friendly waves with for years, had seen something in me that she believed in. Something worth risking everything for.

But could I accept it? Was it right to use someone’s money to fuel my dreams?

My mind reeled. The bakery I’d dreamed of for years was suddenly within reach. But the path to that dream was paved with Margaret’s heartbreak and her daughter’s betrayal.

The fact that Margaret had remembered my little girl’s innocent chatter about my aspirations made my chest ache with gratitude and sorrow.

For days, I grappled with the enormity of Margaret’s gift. Guilt gnawed at me.

Was it right to benefit from this family tragedy? What if Regina contested the money? The thought of neighbors whispering and judging made me queasy.

But every time doubts crept in, I re-read Margaret’s letter. Her words were clear: she wanted her hard-earned money to create something positive and give opportunities to those often overlooked. She’d chosen me to fulfill that wish.

After a week of sleepless nights and endless internal debates, I made my decision. I would honor Margaret’s last wish.

Months passed in a whirlwind of activity. The bakery, which I named “Margaret’s Sweet Memories,” became a reality. I hired retirees and people with Down Syndrome, just as I’d always dreamed.

Every day felt like a tribute to Margaret’s kindness.

Mrs. Johnson, a retired teacher with arthritis, found joy in teaching our younger staff members the art of cake decorating. Billy, a young man with Down Syndrome, blossomed into our most enthusiastic greeter, his smile warming even the grumpiest of customers.

Then, one sunny afternoon, a shadow fell across the counter. I looked up to find a woman in her early forties, with Margaret’s eyes and a hard set to her jaw.

“You must be Kimberly. I’m Regina. Margaret’s daughter.”

My heart raced. “How can I help you?”

“I know about the money. My mother’s diary was quite illuminating.”

“Whatever you think you know—”

“Save it, Kimberly. I’m not here for explanations. I want what’s rightfully mine.”

“Regina, your mother made her wishes clear. This bakery, these people… it’s what she wanted her money to do.”

“And what about what I wanted? She was my mother!”

“Was she? Because from what I understood, you were planning to dump her in a home and take her money anyway.”

Regina recoiled as if I’d slapped her.

Finally, her shoulders sagged. “You don’t understand. I was desperate. My husband left and I lost my job. I had no choice.”

I softened, recognizing the pain in her eyes. “There’s always a choice, Regina. Your mother knew that. That’s why she made hers.”

She looked around the bakery, at the smiling faces of the staff and the warm atmosphere. “She really wanted this, didn’t she?”

“More than anything. She wanted to make a difference.”

Regina’s eyes welled up. “God, I messed up. I messed up so bad.”

On impulse, I reached out and squeezed her hand. “It’s not too late to make it right. Want to hear about your mom? The Margaret I got to know in her final days?”

She nodded, a tear sliding down her cheek. “I’d like that.”

We sat down with cups of coffee, and I told her about Margaret’s bravery, her kindness, and her dream of making a difference. As Regina listened, I saw the hardness in her eyes slowly melt away, replaced by grief and regret.

Weeks turned into months and “Margaret’s Sweet Memories” flourished. Regina became a regular, slowly rebuilding her life and her connection to her mother’s memory.

One year after Margaret’s passing, I stood in the bakery, watching my diverse staff work together seamlessly. Mrs. Johnson was patiently guiding Billy through the art of cake decorating, both of them laughing at a lopsided flower.

Regina appeared at my elbow, a wistful smile on her face. “You know, I think I finally understand why Mom did what she did.”

I turned to her, curious. “Oh?”

She gestured around the bakery. “This place… it’s not just about the money or even the jobs. It’s about dignity and purpose. Mom always said everyone deserves a chance to shine.”

“Your mom was a wise woman.”

Regina’s eyes shimmered. “Yeah, she was. I just wish I’d realized it sooner.”

As we stood there, watching the bustling bakery, I felt Margaret’s presence all around us. In the laughter of the staff, in the smell of freshly baked bread, and the warmth of the community she’d helped create.

And somewhere, I knew that Margaret was smiling down on us all, her mission accomplished, and her legacy secure in the hearts of those she’d left behind.

Here’s another story: When my greedy brother demanded the house I’d inherited from our late dad, I gave it up to him. But the next day, he called me in tears and begged me to take it back.

My sister was the golden child, and I had to raise her baby when she got pregnant. But my parents would not give me any love and did the unspeakable years later.

By the time I was five years old, I could tell that my parents preferred my sister, Madeline, over me. Although I was younger, they barely paid me any attention. My birthdays were small and simple, whereas they would throw big events for my sister.

The worst part is that she knew it too. Madeline would laugh when my mother would scold me for something she did. I got blamed for everything that went wrong in our house, no matter who did it. Soon enough, I started fending for myself.

I had a ton of chores around the house, and my father would yell at me often. But Madeline would sit around the house doing nothing. It was so unfair. I had no idea why my family didn’t like me but couldn’t do anything about it.

I secretly worked part-time and hoped that my 18th birthday would come by quickly. But when I was 16 years old, Madeline announced she was pregnant. Our parents were delighted because she could do no wrong in their eyes.

“That’s wonderful, honey,” my mother said.

“I’m just telling you so you can give me money for an abortion, Mom. I’m not going to keep it. It’ll ruin my life,” my sister replied.

“No, Madeline, you can’t do that to your baby. You’re carrying our grandchild. We’ll do anything to help you, but abortion is out of the question,” my father told her, almost angrily. It was the first time in my life that I had seen him seemingly displeased at their favorite kid.

“I don’t know, Tom. Maybe we should think about what Madeline needs right now,” my mother suggested. I knew she would cave to Madeline’s wishes quickly.

“I’m sorry, Priscilla. I support women’s choices, but that’s our grandchild. Madeline, you’re going to love your baby, and we’ll support you completely. It’s that alright?” my father continued. “Your sister will be there for you always.”

Of course, he volunteered me without my consent. “I’ll think about it,” Madeline finally answered. I knew she would cave because a baby would guarantee that our parents would support her forever. And my big sister wanted an easy life.

She decided to keep the baby, and I had to be at her beck and call during the pregnancy. But things only got worse when the baby came around. Madeline got up once or twice during those first few days to feed her son, Brandon, but then, it was all up to me.

Madeline went back to her old ways and partied all the time while I had to stay home raising her baby. Despite their promises, our parents refused to help with the baby, and it was clear that they didn’t like Brandon at all either.

So, I had to step up and eventually dropped out of school to care for him. I still worked part-time and studied to get my G.E.D. to continue my plans of moving away at 18. But one day, Madeline came home after a week away with a new announcement.

“Mom, Dad. I’m leaving,” she said.

“What do you mean you’re leaving?” I asked.

“Chloe, shut up. I’m not talking to you,” she snapped at me.

“Honey, it’s ok if you need a few days away. When are you coming back?” my mother asked her.

“I’m not coming back. That’s what I’m telling you. I’m going on the road with my boyfriend, Zak, and I’ll probably never come back,” Madeline continued.

“What about Brandon? You can’t abandon your baby,” I yelled at her, trying to make her see reason. “I’m leaving for college in a few months. Who is going to raise the baby?”

“That’s not my problem. Bye!” Madeline said and walked away. My mother started crying, and Dad could only comfort her.

“What are we going to do about Brandon?” I asked my parents.

“Chloe, can’t you see that your mother is heartbroken? Please, don’t bother us. Go away,” my father answered.

That day, I stopped considering them my family. Clearly, I was on my own, and it looked like they didn’t care about Brandon at all. I was not going to leave him with these people. I would become his mother.

A few months went by, and I had saved up enough to move away. My parents barely noticed that I was leaving and taking Brandon with me.

I worked tirelessly to provide for Brandon and signed up for online college because I needed a flexible schedule. It was hard, but I was making it work. Eventually, I made a great group of friends that would help with Brandon.

Some people judged me for raising a child at a young age, but someone had to do it. He was my biological nephew, but he was now also my son in all the ways that mattered. I would not abandon him like my irresponsible big sister and our parents.

A few years later, I met my boyfriend, Dallas. He was studying law and planned to work at his father’s law practice. He adored Brandon, and we talked about getting married when he graduated.

One day, Dallas was cooking dinner when my doorbell rang. It was Madeline. She looked rough and way older than her age. “What are you doing here?” I asked.

“Where’s my baby?” she asked immediately and tried to come in, but I blocked the doorway.

“Your baby? He’s not yours, Madeline. You gave him up years ago. He’s my son now, and you can’t see him right now,” I answered. Brandon was playing in his room, and I hoped he wouldn’t come out now.

“You can’t keep me from MY CHILD, Chloe. You’re the most horrible person in the world!” Madeline yelled at me. That’s when Dallas came over and asked her to calm down.

“I will not calm down! I’m going to get my child back no matter what,” she screamed again, but Dallas closed the door in her face. Madeline continued yelling outside for a while until my boyfriend threatened to call the police.

“What am I going to do?” I asked him later that night. “She’s his mother. They could take him away.”

“Don’t worry, baby. I’ll talk to my father tomorrow. He’ll tell us what to do legally so that Brandon never has to leave with that harpy,” he answered. Dallas’ father arranged everything so that I became Brandon’s legal mother.

Soon enough, Madeline returned with my parents. The three of them demanded to see Brandon and get him back, but there was nothing they could do legally. In the end, I discovered that Madeline only returned for Brandon because she wanted to get some benefits from the government.

But she couldn’t do that now that I became his official mother, and she disappeared once again. Luckily, I was not alone anymore, and Brandon would never have to feel what I felt growing up.

What can we learn from this story?

1. Don’t pick favorites. Some parents pick a favorite child, and that dynamic can only damage their familial relationship.
2. Some people are not meant to be in your life. Don’t force love where there’s none to give. Find new people who will love you no matter what. They’re out there.

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If you enjoyed this story, you might like this one about a man who couldn’t let go of his past and lost his future.