
Hello, my name is Demodex folliculorum and I live in the pores of the skin of your face that’s why it’s important to wash your face and remove makeup!!
The only way you can see me is with a microscope. I measure between 0,3 and 0,4 mm, and like spiders, I have 8 legs.
I like living in hair follicles that have your nose, cheek and eyelashes. These are places where there’s more fat to feed me.
I feed on your secretions and your dead skin. I can put up to 25 eggs in every hair follicle.
My digestive system is not able to eliminate my waste, so i accumulate them in my body until I explode and die. My remains cause hypersensitivity reactions.
According to some studies, in some people, I can cause infections on eyelids and rosacea.
I am a mite that is present in almost every adult on this planet.
Are you going to sleep in makeup tonight?
My Daughter and Son-in-Law Died 2 Years Ago â Then, One Day, My Grandkids Shouted, âGrandma, Look, Thatâs Our Mom and Dad!â

Georgia was at the beach with her grandkids when they suddenly pointed toward a nearby café. Her heart skipped a beat as they shouted the words that would shatter her world. The couple in the café looked exactly like their parents who had died two years ago.
Grief changes you in ways you never expect. Some days, itâs a dull ache in your chest. Other days, it blindsides you like a sucker punch to the heart.

A woman sitting in her house | Source: Midjourney
That summer morning in my kitchen, staring at an anonymous letter, I felt something entirely different. I think it was hope mixed with a little bit of terror.
My hands trembled as I read those five words again, âTheyâre not really gone.â
The crisp white paper felt like it was burning my fingers. I thought Iâd been managing my grief, trying to create a stable life for my grandkids, Andy and Peter, after losing my daughter, Monica, and her husband, Stephen. But this note made me realize how wrong I was.

Two brothers playing with toys | Source: Pexels
They got into an accident two years ago. I still remember how Andy and Peter kept asking me where their parents were and when theyâd return.
It took me so many months to make them understand their mom and dad would never return. It broke my heart as I told them theyâd have to manage things on their own now, and that Iâd be there for them whenever they needed their parents.
After all the hard work Iâd put in, I received this anonymous letter that claimed Monica and Stephan were still alive.

An envelope | Source: Pexels
âTheyâre⊠not really gone?â I whispered to myself, sinking into my kitchen chair. âWhat kind of sick game is this?â
I had crumpled the paper and was about to throw it away when my phone buzzed.
It was my credit card company, alerting me to a charge on Monicaâs old card. The one Iâd kept active just to hold onto a piece of her.
âHow is that even possible?â I whispered. âIâve had this card for two years. How can someone use it when itâs been sitting in the drawer?â

A woman talking on the phone | Source: Midjourney
I immediately called the bankâs customer support helpline.
âHello, this is Billy speaking. How may I help you?â the customer service representative answered.
âHi. I, uh, wanted to verify this recent transaction on my daughterâs card,â I said.
âOf course. May I have the first six and last four digits of the card number and your relationship to the account holder?â Billy asked.
I gave him the details, explaining, âIâm her mother. She⊠passed away two years ago, and Iâve been managing her remaining accounts.â

An older woman talking on the phone | Source: Midjourney
There was a pause on the line, and then Billy spoke carefully. âIâm very sorry to hear that, maâam. I donât see a transaction on this card. The one youâre talking about has been made using a virtual card linked to the account.â
âA virtual card?â I asked, frowning. âBut I never linked one to this account. How can a virtual card be active when I have the physical card here?â
âVirtual cards are separate from the physical card, so they can continue to function independently unless deactivated. Would you like me to cancel the virtual card for you?â Billy asked gently.

A customer care representative | Source: Pexels
âNo, no,â I managed to speak. I didnât want to cancel the card thinking Monica mustâve activated it when she was alive. âPlease leave it active. Could you tell me when the virtual card was created?â
There was a pause as he checked. âIt was activated a week before the date you mentioned your daughter passed.â
I felt a chill run down my spine. âThank you, Billy. Thatâll be all for now.â
Then, I called my closest friend Ella. I told her about the strange letter and the transaction on Monicaâs card.

An older woman using her phone | Source: Pexels
âThatâs impossible,â Ella gasped. âCould it be a mistake?â
âItâs like someone wants me to believe Monica and Stephan are out there somewhere, just hiding. But why would they⊠why would anyone do that?â
The charge wasnât large. It was just $23.50 at a local coffee shop. Part of me wanted to visit the shop and find out more about the transaction, but part of me was afraid Iâd find out something I wasnât supposed to know.

A woman sitting on a couch | Source: Midjourney
I thought Iâd look into this matter on the weekend, but what happened on Saturday turned my world upside down.
Andy and Peter wanted to go to the beach on Saturday, so I took them there. Ella had agreed to meet us there to help me look after the kids.
The ocean breeze carried the salt spray as the children splashed in the shallow waves, their laughter echoing across the sand. It was the first time in ages Iâd heard them so carefree.

A kid standing near a sand castle | Source: Pexels
Ella lounged on her beach towel beside me, both of us watching the kids play.
I was showing her the anonymous letter when I heard Andy shout.
âGrandma, look!â he grabbed Peterâs hand, pointing toward the beachfront cafĂ©. âThatâs our mom and dad!â
My heart stopped. There, barely thirty feet away, sat a woman with Monicaâs dyed hair and graceful posture, leaning toward a man who could easily ihave been Stephanâs twin.
They were sharing a plate of fresh fruit.

A plate of sliced fruits | Source: Pexels
âPlease, watch them for a bit,â I said to Ella, urgency making my voice crack. She agreed without question, though concern filled her eyes.
âDonât go anywhere,â I told the boys. âYou can sunbathe here. Stay close to Ella, okay?â
The kids nodded and I turned toward the couple in the café.
My heart skipped a beat as they stood and walked down a narrow path lined with sea oats and wild roses. My feet moved of their own accord, following at a distance.

An older womanâs shoes | Source: Midjourney
They walked close together, whispering, and occasionally laughing. The woman tucked her hair behind her ear exactly like Monica always had. The man had Stephanâs slight limp from his college football injury.
Then I heard them talk.
âItâs risky, but we had no choice, Emily,â the man said.
Emily? I thought. Why is he calling her Emily?
They turned down a shell-lined path toward a cottage covered in flowering grapevines.
âI know,â the woman sighed. âBut I miss them⊠especially the boys.â

A woman standing outdoors | Source: Pexels
I gripped the wooden fence surrounding the cottage, my knuckles white.
It is you, I thought. But why⊠why would you do this?
Once they went inside the cottage, I pulled out my phone and dialed 911. The dispatcher listened patiently as I explained the impossible situation.
I stayed by the fence and listened for more proof. I couldnât believe what was happening.
Finally, gathering every ounce of courage I possessed, I approached the cottage door and rang the doorbell.
For a moment, there was silence, then footsteps approached.

A doorknob | Source: Pexels
The door swung open, and there stood my daughter. Her face drained of color as she recognized me.
âMom?â she gasped. âWhat⊠how did you find us?â
Before I could respond, Stephan appeared behind her. Then, the sound of approaching sirens filled the air.
âHow could you?â My voice trembled with rage and grief. âHow could you leave your own children behind? Do you have any idea what you put us through?â
The police cars pulled up, and two officers approached quickly but cautiously.

A police car | Source: Pexels
âI think weâll need to ask some questions,â one said, looking between us. âThis⊠this is not something we see every day.â
Monica and Stephan, who had changed their names to Emily and Anthony, spilled out their story in bits and pieces.
âIt wasnât supposed to be like this,â Monica said, her voice wavering. âWe were⊠we were drowning, you know? The debts, the loan sharks⊠they kept coming, demanding more. We tried everything, but it just got worse.â

A woman talking to her mother | Source: Midjourney
Stephan sighed. âThey didnât just want money. They were threatening us, and we didnât want to drag the kids into the mess we created.â
Monica continued, tears trickling down her cheeks. âWe thought if we left, weâd be giving the kids a better, more stable life. We thought theyâd be better off without us. Leaving them behind was the hardest thing we ever did.â
They confessed that they had staged the accident to look like theyâd fallen off a cliff into the river, hoping the police would soon stop searching and theyâd be presumed dead.

A man standing in a house | Source: Midjourney
They explained how they moved to another town to start fresh and had even changed their names.
âBut I couldnât stop thinking about my babies,â Monica admitted. âI needed to see them, so we rented this cottage for a week, just to be close to them.â
My heart broke as I listened to their story, but anger simmered beneath my sympathy. I couldnât help but believe there had to be a better way to deal with the loan sharks.

An older woman | Source: Midjourney
Once they confessed everything, I texted Ella our location, and soon her car pulled up with Andy and Peter. The children burst out, and their faces lit up with joy as they recognized their parents.
âMom! Dad!â they shouted, running toward their parents. âYouâre here! We knew youâd come back!â
Monica looked at them and tears welled up in her eyes. She was meeting her kids after two years.

A worried woman | Source: Midjourney
âOh, my sweet boys⊠I missed you so much. Iâm so sorry,â she said, hugging them.
I watched the scene unfold, whispering to myself, âBut at what cost, Monica? What have you done?â
The police allowed the brief reunion before pulling Monica and Stephen aside. The senior officer turned to me with sympathy in his eyes.
âIâm sorry, maâam, but they could face some serious charges here. Theyâve broken a lot of laws.â
âAnd my grandchildren?â I asked, watching Andy and Peterâs confused faces as their parents were separated from them again. âHow do I explain any of this to them? Theyâre just kids.â

A worried older woman | Source: Midjourney
âThatâs something youâll have to decide,â he said gently. âBut the truth is bound to come out eventually.â
Later that night, after tucking the children into bed, I sat alone in my living room. The anonymous letter lay on the coffee table before me, its message now holding a different kind of weight.
I picked it up, reading those five words one more time, âTheyâre not really gone.â
I still didnât know who had sent it, but they were right.

A woman reading a letter | Source: Midjourney
Monica and Stephan werenât gone. Theyâd chosen to leave. And somehow, that felt worse than knowing they werenât alive.
âI donât know if I can protect the kids from the sadness,â I whispered to the quiet room, âbut Iâll do whatever it takes to keep them safe.â
Now, I sometimes feel I shouldnât have called the cops. Part of me thinks I couldâve let my daughter live the life she wanted, but part of me wanted her to realize what she did was wrong.
Do you think I did the right thing by calling the cops? What would you have done if you were in my place?

A woman looking straight ahead | Source: Midjourney
If you enjoyed reading this story, hereâs another one you might like: While Claire is dropping her kids off at summer camp, she gets a devastating phone call. Her 67-year-old mother, an Alzheimerâs patient, is missing. After three days of looking for Edith, police officers bring her home, and only then does the old woman reveal a horrible truth about Claireâs husband.
This work is inspired by real events and people, but it has been fictionalized for creative purposes. Names, characters, and details have been changed to protect privacy and enhance the narrative. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.
The author and publisher make no claims to the accuracy of events or the portrayal of characters and are not liable for any misinterpretation. This story is provided âas is,â and any opinions expressed are those of the characters and do not reflect the views of the author or publisher.
Leave a Reply