When my estranged father, who left 20 years ago, called from his deathbed, I was torn between anger and curiosity. His final wish was something I never expected, and what he revealed about his disappearance shattered everything I thought I knew.
I was getting ready for bed when my phone buzzed on the nightstand. The number was unfamiliar, so I let it go to voicemail. Not even a minute later, a text came through: “ALICE, THIS IS YOUR DAD. PLEASE CALL, I AM IN THE HOSPITAL.”
A woman in her bedroom at night, looking at her phone | Source: Midjourney
My heart stopped. Dad? After twenty years? I sat on the edge of my bed, staring at the message. Part of me wanted to delete it and forget, but curiosity won. I called the number back.
“Hello?” The voice was weak, barely audible.
“Dad?”
“Alice, it’s me. I… I don’t have much time.”
“Why are you calling now?” My voice was harsher than I intended.
“I need to explain… to ask something of you. But please, don’t tell your mother.”
Doctors standing beside a hospital bed, looking concerned | Source: Pexels
There it was, the same secrecy that defined my childhood. “What do you want?”
He took a shaky breath. “I left because your grandfather, Harold, paid me to disappear. He hated me, thought I was a failure. He found someone else for your mom, someone better.”
I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. “Grandpa? He did that?”
“Yes. I was struggling back then. Addictions, bad decisions. Your grandfather saw a chance to get rid of me, and I took the money.”
A sick-looking man lying in bed | Source: Pexels
“So you just left us for money?” Anger bubbled up.
“I know it sounds awful. But I invested that money, built a business. It was all for you, Alice. To secure your future.”
“Why didn’t you ever come back?”
“Part of the deal. I couldn’t approach you or your mom. But I was there, watching. I saw your graduation, your volleyball games. I was always there, just… from a distance.”
I felt like my world was tilting. “Why didn’t Mom ever tell me?”
An old man in a hospital bed talking on a cell phone | Source: Midjourney
“I don’t know. Maybe she didn’t want you to hate him. Or maybe she thought she was protecting you.”
“What do you want now?” I asked, my voice trembling.
“I need to see you, Alice. One last time before I go. I’m at St. Mary’s Hospital.”
I didn’t know what to say. Could I face him after everything?
“Please, Alice. It’s my dying wish.”
The exterior of a hospital building at night | Source: Midjourney
The line went silent, and I sat there, the phone still in my hand, my thoughts tumbling. Should I go? What would I even say to him? I needed to think, but there was no time. He was dying.
The next morning, I called in sick to work and sat in my kitchen, staring at my coffee. Should I tell Mom? But he’d asked me not to.
I called my best friend, Jen. “Hey, can we talk?”
“Of course. What’s up?”
A woman talking on a cell phone | Source: Pexels
“It’s… it’s my dad. He called last night.”
“Your dad? The one who left?”
“Yeah. He’s dying, and he wants to see me.”
“Wow. How do you feel about that?”
“I don’t know. Angry, confused. He told me things, Jen. About my Grandpa.”
“Like what?”
“That my grandfather paid him to leave. He said he was there at my graduation, my games. But he couldn’t approach us.”
“That’s insane. What are you going to do?”
“I don’t know. He wants me to visit him, but I’m not sure I can.”
A woman in conversation on a cell phone | Source: Pexels
Jen was silent for a moment. “Maybe you should go. Get some answers. Closure.”
“I guess. But I don’t know if I’m ready to face him.”
“Take your time, but don’t take too long. If he’s dying…”
“I know. Thanks, Jen.”
After hanging up, I sat back, deep in thought. Jen was right. Maybe I did need closure. I couldn’t keep living with these unanswered questions. And if he really was dying… I had to see him.
A woman driving a car | Source: Pexels
I decided to go to the hospital. As I drove, memories of my childhood flashed through my mind. The good times before he left, the confusion and pain afterward. The way Mom never spoke about him, the unanswered questions that haunted me.
I walked into the hospital room, feeling the weight of years and unanswered questions pressing down on me. The beeping machines filled the stark room with an unsettling rhythm. My dad lay in the bed, looking more frail than I had ever imagined. His eyes lit up when he saw me, a weak smile forming on his lips.
An old man sitting up in a hospital bed | Source: Midjourney
“Alice,” he whispered, his voice barely audible.
“Hi, Dad.” I stood at the foot of the bed, not sure what to say. Anger and confusion swirled inside me, but seeing him like this, so vulnerable, made it hard to voice them.
“You came,” he said, relief evident in his eyes.
“I had to. I needed to understand why.”
“I know, and I’m so sorry for everything.” He reached out a trembling hand, and I took it, feeling the cold, fragile skin.
A young woman close to an old man in a hospital bed | Source: Midjourney
“Why did you do it, Dad? Why did you take Grandpa’s money and leave us?”
He sighed, a deep, rattling sound. “I thought it was the best way to secure a future for you and your mother. I was a mess, Alice. Addicted, broke. Your grandfather offered me a way out, a chance to give you a better life, even if it meant I couldn’t be part of it.”
“Do you know how much that hurt us? How much it hurt me?” Tears welled up in my eyes. “You missed everything, Dad. My graduation, my volleyball games, my entire life.”
A woman with tears in her eyes | Source: Midjourney
“I was there, Alice. Watching from afar. It broke my heart not to be with you, but I thought I was doing the right thing.” He paused, struggling for breath. “I tried to make it right. I invested the money, built something that I hoped would help you.”
“Why didn’t you come back when you were better?”
“I couldn’t. Part of the deal was that I had to stay away. But I wrote to you, Alice. Letters, every year. They’re in a safety deposit box. Here.” He handed me a small key. “After I’m gone, open it. You’ll find proof of everything, and the letters.”
A small key in the palm of a hand | Source: Pexels
I took the key, my fingers trembling. “Why now, Dad? Why tell me all this now?”
“Because I’m dying, and I can’t leave this world without you knowing the truth. I love you, Alice. I’ve always loved you.”
Tears streamed down my face as I gripped his hand. “I needed you, Dad. I needed my father.”
“I know, and I’m so sorry I wasn’t there. But I hope you’ll understand why I did what I did when you read those letters.”
An apparently comatose figure in a hospital bed | Source: Pexels
We sat in silence, holding hands, the machines’ beeping the only sound in the room. After a while, his breathing became more labored. He squeezed my hand one last time, and then he was gone.
I left the hospital feeling a mix of emotions. Relief, anger, sadness, and a strange sense of closure. The next day, I went to the bank and used the key to open the safety deposit box. Inside, I found stacks of financial documents and a bundle of letters, each one addressed to me, dated over the years.
A corridor of safety deposit boxes | Source: Midjourney
I took the letters home and spent hours reading them. Each one was filled with his regrets, his love, his hopes for my future. He wrote about the business he built, how he watched over me, how proud he was of my achievements.
By the time I finished the last letter, my anger had softened into a deep, aching sadness.
With the financial documents, it was clear that my father had indeed worked hard to secure my future. The money he left behind was substantial, enough to change my life. But it wasn’t just about the money. It was about understanding his choices, his sacrifices, and his love.
A woman takes up a hand-written letter | Source: Pexels
I knew I had to talk to my mom. I needed to know her side of the story. When I confronted her, she looked at me with sad eyes.
“I knew about the offer,” she admitted. “I didn’t stop it because I thought it was best for you too. I thought you deserved a better life than what your father could give you at that time.”
“Why didn’t you ever tell me?”
“I wanted to protect you from the truth, to let you remember him without bitterness. Maybe I was wrong, but I did what I thought was best.”
An elderly woman looking down thoughtfully | Source: Pexels
Her confession was another piece of the puzzle, helping me to understand the complex web of decisions that shaped my life.
In the end, I decided to use the money to start a scholarship fund in my father’s name. It felt like the right way to honor his memory and his efforts. It was a way to help others, just as he had tried to help me.
As I launched the scholarship, I felt a sense of peace. The past was complicated and painful, but it had brought me to where I was. And now, with the truth out in the open, I could move forward, honoring both my father’s love and my mother’s sacrifices.
A woman making calculations with a pen in hand | Source: Pexels
What would you have done in these circumstances? If you enjoyed this story, here’s another one for you about an older woman who is embarrassed to tell her son about the new man in her life, but the truth is exposed when she is rushed to the hospital.
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.
My Family Turned Against Me When I Became a Private Detective, but a Teen Girl’s Case Changed Everything — Story of the Day
My family turned their backs on me when I left journalism to become a private detective. They saw it as a disgrace, and I started to wonder if they were right. No clients, no money, just regrets. But then a teenage girl walked into my office, searching for her mother—and her case changed everything.
I was sitting in my small, dimly lit office, sorting through the week’s mail. Bills, bills, bills, advertisements, more bills. The usual.
For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney
I let out a heavy sigh and set the letters aside, covering my face with my hands.
I used to be a journalist—a successful one, I must say—but I always felt like it wasn’t enough.
Stories were always unfinished, truths half-exposed, and justice left waiting. So, at 42, I quit my job and decided to become a private detective.
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It was something that truly interested me, something I had always wanted to do.
My family didn’t support me. They tried to talk me out of it, but when they realized my mind was made up, they turned their backs on me.
My husband finally had a reason to leave me for a younger woman—one with shinier hair, fewer wrinkles, and, I assumed, fewer opinions.
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And my daughter? She cut me out of her life completely. She saw being a private detective as disgraceful—especially when compared to the prestige of journalism.
Of course, it hurt. But the longer I worked as a private detective, the more I started to wonder if they had been right.
I hadn’t had a new client in nearly three months, and I had plenty of debt. People didn’t believe in a female private investigator.
For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney
Men were assumed to be better at solving cases—stronger, sharper, tougher. As if intuition, patience, and persistence didn’t count.
Suddenly, even surprisingly, I heard a hesitant knock at the door. I straightened up, quickly smoothing my hair and shoving the pile of bills into a drawer.
“Come in!” I called out.
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The doorknob turned slowly, and the door creaked open. A girl, about fifteen, stepped inside.
She hesitated, shifting her weight from foot to foot. Her clothes were too small—cheap, second-hand, sleeves of her sweater jagged as if they’d been cut off.
“How can I help you?” I asked, motioning to the chair across from my desk.
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She sat down carefully, pulling her sleeves over her hands, her long, unkempt hair kept falling into her face. She brushed it away absently, over and over.
One thing was clear—she didn’t have a mother. I had taught my daughter how to braid her hair when she was six. This girl had no idea what to do with hers.
“My name is Emily,” she said, her voice quiet but firm. “I’m an orphan. I need your help to find my mother.”
For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney
I studied her face. She looked nervous, but her eyes held something else—determination.
“She gave you up?” I asked.
Emily nodded. “Yes. I don’t know anything about her. Not her name, not what she looks like. Nothing.”
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She swallowed hard. “I’m fifteen now. No one is going to adopt me at this point. But I want to find her. I just want to see her. I need to understand why she left me.”
Her words stung. No child should feel unwanted. No child should wonder why they weren’t enough.
“I’ll need something to go on,” I said, reaching for my notebook.
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Emily sat up straighter. “I was born in this town. I’ve never moved, never been sent anywhere else.” She took a breath. “My birthday is February 15, 2009.”
I jotted it down.
“Is that enough?” she asked, her fingers gripping the edge of her sweater.
“I’ll do everything I can,” I promised.
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She hesitated, then pulled a few crumpled bills from her pocket. “I have some money, but not much.”
It wasn’t even close to what I needed, but that didn’t matter.
“If I find her, then you can pay me,” I said.
Her lips trembled. “Thank you.”
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She stood to leave.
“Wait. How can I find you?” I asked.
She scribbled an address and handed it to me. “My foster home. I’ll be there.”
I nodded, and she walked out.
For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney
The next morning, I wasted no time. It had been a long time since I had worked on a real case.
Even though I knew I wouldn’t make any money from this one—I couldn’t, in good conscience, take money from an orphan—it still felt good to have a purpose.
The first place I went was the hospital. Our town had only one, which made things easier.
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If Emily’s mother had given birth there, the records would be somewhere inside.
One advantage of my former job was that I had connections everywhere. The hospital was no exception.
I knew exactly who to talk to—Camilla. She had been a nurse for years, and we had met back when I was covering a story about harassment in hospitals.
For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney
She had been a source then. Since that day, she’d been a friend. As soon as she spotted me, she put down her clipboard and grinned.
“Sara!” she said, pulling me into a quick hug. “What brings you here? Please don’t say trouble.”
“I need your help,” I said, leaning in slightly.
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Camilla raised an eyebrow. “Of course you do. You never just stop by to visit an old friend, do you?”
I crossed my arms. “You were literally at my house for dinner last week.”
She smirked. “Fine. What do you need?”
“Birth records. February 15, 2009.”
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She blinked. “That’s specific. Should I be worried?”
“Nothing illegal. I just need to find a name.”
Camilla folded her arms. “That’s doable, but make it fast.”
I hesitated. “The baby was given up, probably in secret.”
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Her expression changed. “Sara, you know I can’t just hand you confidential records.”
“Please,” I said. “Just a quick look. No one will even notice.”
She studied me, then sighed. “You have ten minutes.”
I smiled. “Thank you. I owe you.”
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She rolled her eyes. “You owe me for life.”
She led me through a narrow hallway to the hospital archives. The air smelled of dust and old paper.
Camilla pulled out a thick folder labeled 2009 – Abandoned Newborns and handed it to me.
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“Be quick,” she whispered.
I flipped through the pages, my fingers trembling. February 15. My eyes locked on the mother’s name. My breath caught.
No. This couldn’t be real.
I shoved the file back and hurried out.
For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney
Camilla stood by the door. “Sara, you’re as pale as a ghost. What happened?”
“I’ll explain later,” I muttered, pushing past her. I needed air.
I stood outside a house I had never seen before. The air felt heavy, pressing down on me.
Emily’s case had become the hardest of my career. Too personal. Too close.
For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney
I stared at the door. My hands felt numb. I couldn’t bring myself to ring the bell.
I took a breath and reached for the doorbell. My hand hovered over it. I could still turn around, pretend I never came. But that wasn’t an option. Not for Emily.
I pressed the button. The chime echoed inside. Footsteps approached.
For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney
The door opened, and I saw her.
Her face paled. Her lips parted in shock. “Mom?”
I swallowed hard. My throat felt tight. “Hi.”
Meredith blinked. Her fingers tightened around the edge of the door. “What are you doing here? I thought I made it clear—I don’t want to see you.”
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I met her gaze. “I wouldn’t have come if this were about me.”
Her eyes darkened. “Then why are you here?”
I took a deep breath. “For your daughter.”
The color drained from her face. Her whole body tensed. “How… how did you—” She couldn’t finish.
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Her breath hitched. Tears filled her eyes. Then, without a word, she stepped aside and let me in.
The kitchen was small but neat. She moved stiffly, as if her body wasn’t sure what to do. She pulled out a chair and sat down.
I stayed standing for a moment, then sat across from her. Silence filled the space between us.
For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney
“Her name is Emily, if you’re wondering,” I said. “No one ever adopted her. She’s been living with foster families. She came to me to find her mother, but I never imagined—”
Meredith squeezed her hands together. “Please stop,” she whispered.
I waited.
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“I have regretted it my whole life,” she said, her voice breaking. “I tried to forget. I told myself it was the best thing. That she’d have a better life without me. And now you show up out of nowhere to remind me what a terrible person I am.”
“You’re not terrible. You were a child yourself when she was born. I just don’t understand how you hid it. How did your father and I not know?”
For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney
“I wore loose clothes. My belly wasn’t that big. And I planned to give birth in another town, but you and Dad went abroad for your work right before it happened. So it all worked out,” she said.
“Tell her I couldn’t be found,” Meredith said suddenly.
“Why?” I asked. “Meredith, I’m a mother too. I know what it’s like to lose a child. Nothing is more painful than that.”
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She lowered her gaze. Her voice trembled. “How can I face her? She’ll hate me.”
I let her words hang in the air. “Maybe,” I admitted. “But even so, she wanted to find you. That means something.”
Meredith wiped at her eyes. “What if she doesn’t want me?”
“She wants answers. She wants to know where she came from. You owe her that.”
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She looked away. I knew she resented me. But I reminded myself—this wasn’t about us. It was about Emily.
“I have her address,” I said. “Do you want to see her?”
Meredith hesitated. Then, slowly, she nodded.
We drove in silence. The streetlights flickered as we passed. When we reached the house, Meredith didn’t move. Her fingers dug into her lap.
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“Aren’t you coming?” she asked.
I shook my head. “This is between you two.”
She looked down. Her voice broke. “Mom… I regret cutting you out. I was ashamed.”
I turned to her. “You are my daughter. No matter what, I will always love you.”
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Her face crumpled, and she reached for me. I wrapped my arms around her, holding her the way I had when she was little.
“What you’re doing is important,” she whispered. “People like Emily need you.”
I smiled, brushing a strand of hair from her face.
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Then she stepped out, walked to the door, and knocked.
A moment later, Emily appeared. They stared at each other. Then Meredith took a breath. Emily took a step forward.
They talked. They cried. And then Emily wrapped her arms around her mother.
For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney
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If you enjoyed this story, read this one: My future brother-in-law was always a problem—rude, arrogant, and always pushing boundaries. But on my wedding day, he crossed a line we could never forgive. He humiliated me in front of everyone, turning my perfect day into a nightmare. That was the last straw, and my fiancé finally had enough.
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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