The phone call was a jolt, a cold splash of dread that ripped through the quiet of my afternoon. My mother’s voice, usually a warm, familiar melody, was a panicked whisper, a desperate plea. “Please, come save me from him!” she cried, the line abruptly going dead.
My son, Michael, had volunteered to spend the summer with her, a surprising turn of events. He’d always been a city kid, resistant to the quiet charm of my mother’s small-town life. But this year, he’d insisted, offering to take care of her, to give her caregiver a break.
My mother, fiercely independent despite her disability, refused to leave her house or move into assisted living. Michael’s offer seemed like a win-win, a chance for him to prove his newfound maturity, a break for me.
The first week had been idyllic. Michael was cheerful on the phone, regaling me with stories of fishing trips and local festivals. But a nagging unease had crept in when he consistently deflected my requests to speak with my mother, claiming she was busy or asleep.
Now, this phone call, a desperate cry for help, confirmed my worst fears. I didn’t hesitate. I grabbed my keys, my heart pounding against my ribs, and sped towards my mother’s town.
The drive was a blur, a frantic race against time. The familiar landmarks of my childhood blurred past, each mile a torturous delay. As I pulled into my mother’s street, a sense of dread settled over me. The house, usually a beacon of warmth and light, stood dark and silent, its paint peeling, its once vibrant garden overgrown and neglected.
I parked the car and rushed to the front door, my hand trembling as I turned the knob. The door creaked open, revealing a scene that made my blood run cold.
The house was a disaster. Furniture was overturned, dust motes danced in the single beam of moonlight filtering through a grimy window, and a strange, acrid smell hung in the air.
“Mom?” I called out, my voice echoing through the silent house. “Michael?”
I moved through the living room, my footsteps muffled by the thick layer of dust on the floor. The kitchen was a scene of chaos, dishes piled high in the sink, food rotting on the counter.
Then, I saw her. My mother was slumped in her wheelchair, her head resting on the armrest, her body still.
“Mom!” I cried, rushing to her side. I gently shook her shoulder, and her eyes fluttered open.
“Oh, darling,” she whispered, her voice weak. “He’s gone. He took everything.”
“Who, Mom? Michael?”
She nodded, her eyes filled with fear. “He changed, darling. He… he wasn’t the boy I knew. He became obsessed with… with things. He kept asking about your father’s old coin collection, and your grandmother’s jewelry.”
I helped her sit up, and she continued, “He said he needed to ‘make things right’ and that we were holding him back. He stopped letting the caregiver in, and he wouldn’t let me call you. He said he was taking care of me, but he was just… waiting.”
“Waiting for what, Mom?”
“I don’t know, darling. I woke up this morning, and he was gone. He took the coins, the jewelry, even my old locket. He left me here, alone, in the dark.”
I looked around the ravaged house, the empty spaces where precious heirlooms once sat, and a wave of anger washed over me. Michael, my son, had betrayed my trust, had abandoned his grandmother, had stolen from her.
I called the police, my voice trembling with rage. As I recounted the events of the past few weeks, a sense of disbelief settled over me. How could my son, the boy I had raised with love and care, have turned into this?
The police searched the house, documenting the damage, taking my mother’s statement. They promised to investigate, to find Michael, to bring him to justice.
As I sat beside my mother, holding her frail hand, I knew that the summer had taken a dark turn, a turn that would forever change our lives. I didn’t know what had happened to my son, or what had driven him to this act of betrayal. But I knew that I would find him, and I would make him answer for what he had done.
Mother Came Out of Coma After 17 Years and Took Revenge on Her Own Daughter – Story of the Day
After a difficult delivery, Olivia’s mother became comatose, but she woke up years later, not realizing how long it had been. She hated her daughter for everything that happened until she saw something on Olivia’s computer.
“Dad, can you tell me what happened back then?” Olivia asked her father once again. Heath had always been reluctant to tell his daughter this story, but she was old enough to know now.
“I met your mother the night I saw her performing for the first time. Renata was the best ballerina this town had ever seen, and I had to meet her. I thought she would reject me, but she didn’t. We started dating immediately,” Heath reminisced.
Olivia visited her mother constantly for 17 years. | Source: Shutterstock
“What happened?”
“I really wanted a child after we got married, but she would have had to give up her career. Eventually, Renata agreed, and we were so happy. When she was about 7 months pregnant, the doctors told us that she had a big spinal problem,” Olivia’s father continued.
“Oh no!”
“Yeah, honey. It was bad. They told her it would be better to induce her labor then and try to repair it. You were born premature but healthy and thriving. Unfortunately, Renata’s surgery was complicated. The doctors said she pulled through, but she never woke up,” Heath said sadly.
Doctors couldn’t explain exactly what happened. | Source: Pexels
“They didn’t explain why?” Olivia asked.
“No. They said that she could wake up any minute. That’s why we visited her so often. I’ve been waiting, but it doesn’t seem like it will happen. I’m losing hope,” her father added.
“No, dad! She’ll wake up! She’s my mom!” Olivia exclaimed. Coincidentally, the doctor called the next day, as Renata had miraculously awakened.
“How is this possible, Dr. Green?” Heath asked when they arrived at the hospital.
“There’s no explanation right now, Mr. Haney. We’ll have to run some tests, but there might never be an answer,” the physician answered.
Heath wanted to see Renata before she met Olivia. | Source: Pexels
“Honey, let me go in first. Remember, she doesn’t know that 17 years have gone by,” Heath told Olivia. She agreed and stayed back, although the teen girl was dying to talk to her mother after all these years.
Heath walked into Renata’s room. “My love! You’re here! Why am I so tired? Did the surgery go well?” she wondered and hugged Heath. He didn’t know how to answer her questions but settled on hugging her back.
“Where’s the baby? Can I see her?” Renata wondered.
“Yes, darling. But you might be a little surprised,” Heath began. “Olivia, can you come in here, please.”
Olivia greeted her mom happily. | Source: Pexels
Olivia stepped into the room, and there she was. Her mother was sitting up on the bed and smiling. She had been dying to see this after so many years of talking to her sleeping form. “Hello, Mom!” Olivia said.
“What is this, Heath? Is she the nanny? Where’s our baby?” Renata asked in confusion, frowning when Olivia called her “mom.”
“No, darling. It’s a long story,” Heath started. He explained everything to Renata slowly, and at first, she refused to believe it.
“No! You’re lying! This is a prank! That’s impossible!” Renata yelled and cried. “Get that girl out of my room and bring me my baby!”
Renata didn’t want anything to do with her daughter. | Source: Pexels
“Renata, calm down, please,” Heath said. But just then, Renata saw herself in the mirror. She saw all those 17 years on her face, and any chance to be the best ballerina in the world was gone now. She went quiet.
After a few days, the doctor cleared her to go home, but Renata refused to speak to Olivia. Olivia did everything around the house, hoping to please her mother. “Mom, what do you want for dinner?” she asked one evening.
“Don’t call me ‘mom.’ I don’t want anything from you,” she replied disdainfully and went upstairs. That night, she made Heath have dinner alone with her, while Olivia stayed in her room. Over the next few days, Renata treated her daughter worse.
Renata made messes that Olivia had to clean. | Source: Pexels
When Olivia cleaned, Renata purposely made another mess like cracking a raw egg on the kitchen table, which Olivia had to clean again. “Why are you doing this to me?” Olivia asked.
“I’m not doing anything. I just don’t want you in my house,” Renata said nonchalantly.
“I’m your daughter!” Olivia wailed.
“That’s what Heath says, but I don’t care! I don’t want you here! You need to leave now!” Renata added angrily. She walked into Olivia’s room and decided that the girl had to leave immediately. She started packing her things until she saw her computer.
She looked through Olivia’s computer and discovered heartwarming videos. | Source: Pexels
She started clicking stuff and discovered a folder named “For Mom.” It was a collection of videos Olivia made dedicated to her. She was there in the hospital on Renata’s birthday. She talked about missing her mom and how she couldn’t wait to see her wake up.
It brought tears to her eyes and she suddenly grieved all the years she had lost and how she blamed her child for it. “Mother! Why are you packing my things? Is this revenge for what happened when you got pregnant with me?” Olivia exclaimed when she entered her room.
“No, baby. I’m so sorry! I shouldn’t have blamed you. None of this was your fault! Waking up from a coma and discovering everything was overwhelming. I love you!” Renata cried. They both hugged and started to build a relationship right there.
Olivia practiced ballet, and Renata was her teacher. | Source: Pexels
Eventually, Renata opened her own ballet studio, and Olivia started taking lessons directly from her mother.
What can we learn from this story?
- You can’t blame others for what happens to you. Sometimes, freak incidents happen, and there might not be someone to blame.
- Pregnancy is a serious matter. You have to research thoroughly before taking that important step because it can derail your life and plans.
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 woman who refused to care for her mother in her old age.
This account is inspired by our reader’s story but written by a professional writer. All names have been changed to protect identities and ensure privacy. Share your story with us; maybe it will change someone’s life.
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