A woman who was kicked out of her wealthy father’s house at sixteen for marrying a poor man ended up living on the streets with her four children after her husband passed away.
Steve Walton was not happy when his butler informed him that Pastor Morris was waiting to see him. After a long flight from Singapore, he was tired and not interested in hearing the pastor’s lectures or requests for community support.
He had the pastor brought in and, showing his impatience, said, “Get on with it, man! What do you want this time?”
“Mr. Walton, I saw Susan,” the pastor said quietly. Steve’s heart nearly stopped. His only daughter had left his house nearly fifteen years ago, and he hadn’t seen her since.
“Susan?” Steve asked anxiously. “Where? When? How is she?”
“I was in Los Angeles, helping out a friend with a mission for the homeless, and that’s where I saw her,” the pastor explained.
“Was she volunteering? Did you tell her I’ve been looking for her?” Steve asked.
“No,” Pastor Morris replied gently. “She wasn’t a volunteer, Mr. Walton. She’s homeless. She and her children are living in a car.”
Steve felt so dizzy he had to sit down. “Homeless? My Susan? With children?” he gasped.
“I’m afraid so,” the pastor said. “And she wouldn’t even listen to me when I told her to come home.”
“But why?” Steve asked angrily. “She’s not still with that loser, is she?”
“Her husband passed away three years ago, Mr. Walton,” the pastor explained. “She told me she wouldn’t bring her children into a house where their father was hated.”
Steve Walton felt a wave of old rage sweep over him. Even fifteen years later, Susan was still defying him! He remembered the scene in his study, and how Susan had looked him in the eyes as he ranted.
“Pregnant at sixteen, and by the GARDENER!” he had screamed. “We are going to have THAT taken care of, and HE’S fired! You will never see that man again!”
“THAT is my baby, daddy,” Susan had said with a trembling voice. “And HE is the man I love. I’m going to marry him.”
“You marry that man and you’re on your own, Susan, do you hear?” Steve shouted furiously. “No more money, nothing! You marry him and you get out of my house!”
Susan had looked at him with tears in her eyes. “I love you, daddy,” she said. Then she turned and walked away. Despite hiring detectives to find her, no one had been able to trace her.
“How many children?” Steve asked Pastor Morris.
“Four,” the pastor replied. “Three girls and a boy. Beautiful children.”
Steve picked up his phone and demanded that his plane be prepared. “Pastor, would you come with me to Los Angeles and take me to my little girl?” he asked quietly.
The pastor nodded, and within two hours, he and Steve were on Steve’s private jet heading south. When they landed, a limo was waiting to take them to a parking lot outside a large mall.
At the far end of the lot, they found a pickup truck with a tent set up in the back. Pastor Morris had told Steve that after Susan’s husband died in a work accident, the insurance company refused to pay out, and the bank foreclosed on their home.
Susan had packed her children and their few belongings into the old pickup. She worked as a cleaner at the mall and used the mall’s facilities. She also bought leftover food from the restaurants at the end of the day.
Despite everything, Susan managed to keep her four children fed, clean, and in school. As Steve and the pastor approached the truck, they heard cheerful voices and laughter. Two children tumbled out of the back, excited to see them.
The oldest girl, around fourteen, was laughing as she tickled a boy of about seven. When Steve and Pastor Morris approached, the children stopped and stared.
“Mom!” the girl shouted. “That old preacher friend of yours is here!”
From inside the tent, a familiar voice asked, “Preacher Morris?” Susan then emerged, and Steve saw the shock on her face when she saw him standing next to the pastor.
“Daddy?” she asked, tears welling up in her eyes.
Steve was taken aback. His daughter was only thirty-one, but she looked much older. Her face was lined with worry and hardship, and her hands were rough from hard work.
“Susan,” Steve cried. “Look at you! Look at what HE did to my princess! I wanted so much more for you! And you married that loser! What could he have given you? Poverty?”
Susan shook her head and said, “He loved me, Daddy, and he gave me four beautiful children. He passed away, and I had nowhere to go, but I’ve done my best for my kids. I will always love their father, just like I’ve always loved you.”
Steve found tears streaming down his face. “Forgive me, Susan,” he sobbed. “Please forgive me. Come home, I want you all to come home with me. Let me help you take care of the children!”
As Steve held his weeping daughter, he knew that everything would be alright. Susan introduced him to his three granddaughters and then placed her hand on the boy’s shoulder. “And this,” she smiled, “is little Stevie!”
“You named him after me?” Steve asked, amazed. “After what I did?”
Susan looked at her father and said softly, “I love you, Daddy. Don’t you know that?”
That afternoon, they all flew back to Texas together. It marked the start of a new, better life for the whole family.
What can we learn from this story?
– **Love Your Children Unconditionally:** Steve’s anger at Susan for loving someone poor led him to lose his daughter. Accept your children no matter who they love.
– **Don’t Judge People by Wealth:** Steve didn’t like Susan’s husband because he was poor, but he was a loving and dedicated father. Don’t judge people by their money or status.
Share this story with your friends. It might bring them hope and inspiration.
My Best Friend Married My Ex-husband — Then She Called Me in the Middle of the Night, Terrified
When Stacey married Lily’s ex-husband, Alan, it seemed like the ultimate betrayal. But a late-night call filled with terror revealed a dark secret neither woman was prepared for, forcing Lily and Stacey to confront the man who shattered both their lives.
Alan and I had been married for seven years. Seven long years that gave me two beautiful daughters, Mia (5) and Sophie (4), and left me with a heart fractured in ways I didn’t know were possible.
A couple | Source: Unsplash
At first, Alan was my dream man. He had this magnetic charm, the kind that made people lean in just a little closer when he spoke. He knew how to make me feel like I was the only woman in the world. But that glow didn’t last.
By year five, I noticed the cracks. Alan would come home late, his excuses so thin they were practically see-through. Work trips that didn’t make sense. Texts he wouldn’t let me see. Then, one night, I got the confirmation I’d been dreading. A single blonde hair on his suit jacket. Not mine.
My heart screamed with rage. I knew something was wrong. I knew he was destroying everything we built.
A distressed woman | Source: Midjourney
I confronted him. His reaction? A cold denial, followed by an avalanche of gaslighting. “You’re imagining things, Lily. Stop being so insecure,” he yelled once.
But it wasn’t just my imagination. It was real. Silently, I vowed to myself that I would not let him make me doubt my instincts.
The final straw came when I caught him red-handed. The image of him with her — Kara, a woman I didn’t even know — was burned into my memory. He didn’t even apologize. He just packed a bag and left as though nothing had happened.
And just like that, Alan abandoned me and our daughters. For a year and a half, I struggled to rebuild my life. Therapy, late nights working to support the girls, and a constant ache in my chest that wouldn’t go away.
Then came the news that made my stomach churn: Alan had married Stacey, my best friend.
A newlywed couple | Source: Unsplash
I couldn’t believe it at first. Stacey had been my confidante during my marriage, the one person I told everything to. She knew everything about me… about how I felt like I was losing Alan, how I feared he was cheating, and how devastated I was when he finally left.
A painful realization cut through me, “How could she do this to me?”
When Stacey called to tell me she was engaged to Alan, I froze. “You’re kidding, right?” I asked, trying to keep my voice steady.
“No,” she said. “Alan loves me, Lily. I hope… I hope we can still be friends.”
Friends? Was she serious?
“You’re marrying the man who broke me, Stacey. And you think I want to stay friends? Good luck with that.” I hung up before she could respond.
Grayscale shot of a woman holding a phone | Source: Midjourney
I thought that was the end of it. I wanted it to be the end of it. But then, a year into their marriage, my phone rang at three in the morning, dragging me back into Alan’s world.
Groggy and annoyed, I squinted at my phone. Stacey’s name flashed on the screen. I didn’t want to believe it.
“Of all the nerve, calling me at this hour?” I muttered to myself.
I debated ignoring it. Why would she, of all people, be calling me in the middle of the night? But curiosity won out, and against my better judgment, I answered.
A phone on the bed flashing an incoming call | Source: Midjourney
“Hello?” I said, my voice heavy with irritation.
What I heard next made me sit up straight.
“Lily, I need your help!” Stacey’s voice was frantic and barely coherent. “This concerns you more than you think. Please… don’t hang up. Please.”
My heart raced with anger and anticipation. What could she possibly want?
A woman seeing her phone | Source: Midjourney
“Stacey?” I rubbed my eyes, trying to shake off the grogginess. “What’s going on? Look, I don’t have anything to—”
“Alan… he’s not who I thought he was. He’s worse, Lily. So much worse,” she cut me off.
I felt a shiver run down my spine. What could be worse than what I already know?
“Worse? What are you talking about?” I asked.
She inhaled sharply, trying to steady her voice. “He has a wardrobe in his office. He always told me not to go in there, but yesterday I did. Lily, the inside is covered in photos. Of women. Dozens of women. Me. You. Her. And others I don’t even recognize.”
An anxious woman talking on the phone | Source: Pexels
A cold realization crept into my thoughts. This is about to get ugly.
I gripped the phone, my stomach turning. “Photos? What kind of photos?”
My mind raced with horrifying possibilities. What could be in those photos? How had I not found them? Was this why he’d prohibited me from entering his office when we were married?
“They all have dates and numbers written on them,” she whispered. “I think… I think he’s been cheating on me. On both of us. On everyone.”
A woman holding a photograph of another lady | Source: Midjourney
My throat felt dry. But I didn’t care. “Stacey, why are you telling me this? You married him. You knew what he was capable of.”
Her voice cracked. “Because I didn’t believe you! I thought you were bitter. But now, I’m scared, Lily. I don’t know what he’ll do if he finds out I’ve seen it. Please, can I come over? I don’t feel safe.”
Stacey showed up at my house less than an hour later, her face pale and drawn. She was clutching her phone like a lifeline.
“Start talking,” I said, crossing my arms. My eyes bore into her, demanding the full truth.
She sat on my couch, wringing her hands. “I went back into his office last night. After he left for a two-day fishing trip, I managed to break into the wardrobe. He keeps it locked. But I managed to open it with a screwdriver. It wasn’t just photos, Lily. There were journals. Notes about the women. Ratings. Scores. He’s been doing this for years.”
A frustated woman | Source: Pexels
A twisted sense of validation burned inside me. “I always knew he was worse than he seemed,” I laughed.
“How many women?” My heart raced, dreading the answer.
“At least 40 during your marriage,” she said, her eyes brimming with tears. “And eight more since we got married. Eight women in just two months.”
The weight of betrayal pressed down on me, threatening to suffocate. It was like a punch to the gut. I thought I had moved on, but the betrayal felt fresh and raw.
“Why are you dragging me into this?” I asked, my voice trembling.
“Because he’s the father of your daughters,” Stacey said. “Don’t you want to know who he really is? What he’s capable of? Don’t you want to expose him?”
A woman lost in deep thought | Source: Midjourney
Her words hit a nerve. As much as I hated Alan, I had to protect my girls. “Fine,” I said, grabbing my laptop. “Show me what you’ve got.”
For the next few hours, Stacey and I worked together, identifying the women in Alan’s photos. Reverse image searches online led us to their social media profiles. When we reached out and met some of them in person the following morning, most confirmed short, meaningless encounters with Alan.
My mind raced with horror and vindication. How could one person be so calculated?
One woman described him as “charming, until he wasn’t.” Another called him “cold and calculating.” Each story added a new layer to the monster I’d once called my husband.
A bitter laugh escaped me. “I should have known. I always knew something was off,” I told Stacey.
Two women sitting on the couch | Source: Midjourney
By dusk, she looked at me, her face pale. “What do we do now?”
“We’re not victims anymore. We’re survivors,” I declared. “We fight back.”
A dangerous glint entered my eyes, “Alan has no idea what’s coming,” I added.
When he returned from his fishing trip and found Stacey gone, his rage spilled over. He tried to show up at her new place, banging on the door, demanding answers. She called the police, and he left before they arrived.
The weeks that followed were a whirlwind. Stacey filed for divorce, cutting all ties with Alan. I reopened my custody case, armed with evidence of his behavior.
Alan didn’t take it well. He sent me a flurry of messages, first pleading, then threatening. I blocked him.
A woman looking at her phone | Source: Pexels
In court, the evidence we presented was damning. Alan’s charm couldn’t save him this time. The photos, the journals, the testimonies… every bit of it painted a clear picture of the man he truly was.
After the dust settled, Stacey and I found ourselves sitting in my living room, a quiet relief hanging between us.
“We made it through!” I said, feeling a weight lift from my shoulders
“Thank you,” Stacey said softly. “For helping me. For believing me.”
My anger softened, replaced by an unexpected understanding. We were both victims of his manipulation. But we were not weak.
A sad woman | Source: Midjourney
I looked at her, the anger I’d carried for so long finally fading. “We both deserved better than him.”
A moment of shared pain and healing passed between us.
She nodded. “So… what now?”
My spirit felt renewed, ready for whatever came next. I took a deep breath, letting it out slowly. “Now, we move on. Together.”
A fierce sense of sisterhood emerged, stronger than any betrayal. And for the first time in years, I felt free. Not just from Alan, but from the pain he had caused.
Two women hugging each other | Source: Midjourney
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 “as is,” and any opinions expressed are those of the characters and do not reflect the views of the author or publisher.
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