“And he has given me two days to move out,” she continued.
I was fuming. My daughter had transformed that backyard from a barren plot into a blooming oasis. She poured her heart into every plant, every flower, and every single vegetable.
She had always been like this. Lily wasn’t the type of child to sit inside and play with her toys. She preferred to stay outside and get her hands dirty, trying to discover how things grew.
“This is so much fun, Dad,” she told me one day when I was mowing the lawn and little Lily was planting flowers.
“There’s a few worms there,” she said, pointing. “But I still planted the seedlings anyway.”
Her mother hated it. She wanted Lily to have freshly pressed clothing, clean nails, and hair that stayed in place.
“You need to stop enabling this behavior, Jason,” my wife, Jenna, would say. “Encourage her to be a little lady.”
“Not a chance, Jenna,” I would always say. “Let this sweet girl just be herself.”
Now, after everything Lily had done to make her garden her own space, all I wanted to do was try and save her hard work.
“Don’t worry, honey,” I said, a plan already forming in my mind.
“How, Dad?” she asked.
“Because we’ll sort this out. And we’ll do it together.”
The next evening, I showed up at Lily’s place with my truck and a few friends. We were armed with flashlights and a healthy dose of righteous anger.
“Right, guys,” I said. “We’re going to do this for my daughter. We’re going to teach Jack a lesson. That as a landlord, you cannot go around and take advantage of young women.”
We meticulously dismantled the entire backyard haven that Lily put together.
“Dad?” Lily asked when she realized that we were there. “What’s going on?”
“Hi, darling,” I said. “We’re going to teach your landlord a lesson. He cannot do this. So, we’re going to take everything apart. I’ll take your plants home, too.”
Lily yawned and stretched.
“I’ll leave you to it, Dad,” she said. “I’m going to rest for a little bit and then get back to packing up the place when the sun comes up. I’m going to stay with Nolan until I find a place. He’ll be here with more boxes soon.”
“Go on,” I said. “We’ll be quiet, I promise.”
As we worked, every lovingly tended plant, every painstakingly built bed, vanished. By the time we were done, the once-flourishing garden was reduced to a desolate patch of dirt, a stark contrast to the lush photos Jack, the landlord, had already posted for the new listing.
“Thanks, guys,” I said. “You can leave. I’ll just help Lily pack. I’ll pick up my truck later, Malcolm.”
I wasn’t done. There was still more work to be done.
Inside the house, we rearranged the furniture to highlight all the faults.
The cracks in the walls were not hidden by Lily’s art pieces. The missing tiles were left out in the open without any kitchen appliances to cover them up.
“Nothing can be done about the ceiling mold in the bathroom,” Lily told me. “But I have been telling the landlord that we needed to sort it out.”
We replaced all the light bulbs with very bright blue-white ones, making the entire place look stark and uninviting.
As we worked, Lily and I talked about her time in the house.
“I remember when I first moved in,” she said, a hint of nostalgia in her voice. “The backyard was just dirt and concrete. And I didn’t think that anything could grow here. But eventually it did. And every time I felt homesick, I would come out here and plant something new or tend to whatever was growing.”
“And you made it happen,” I replied, smiling. “You turned it into a paradise.”
She sighed.
“It just feels so unfair. I did everything right, and he still found a way to ruin it all.”
“We’re not going to let him win,” I assured her. “This is just a setback. You’ve got a new adventure waiting for you. Nolan’s place is a good stop for now, but I know that he’s serious about you. Maybe a new house together is going to be the next step.”
I left my daughter’s place feeling confident that her landlord would get a really good wake-up call the next day.
“Dad, can you come over?” Lily asked me on the phone early that morning. “Please be here when I have to hand over the keys to Jack.”
“I’ll be there soon,” I said, buttering my slice of toast.
Lily had me packing her shoes into a box when Jack stormed in, livid.
“What the hell, Lily?” he demanded. “Where are the plants? The flowers? The pictures online clearly show what this place is supposed to look like!”
He sighed deeply, his face turning the color of a particularly overripe tomato.
Lily, the picture of innocence, blinked at him.
“What plants, Jack?” she asked. “The backyard has always looked like this, haven’t you noticed?”
She gestured toward the desolate patch, a sly smile playing on her lips.
Jack, caught red-handed with his deceitful plan, spluttered some incoherent threats about property damage. I stepped in, pointing at the exposed faults.
“You want to talk about damage?” I said, my voice cold.
“Let’s discuss the cracks in the walls, the missing tiles, and the mold in the bathroom. You can see everything clearly now, can’t you?”
Jack’s eyes widened as he looked into the bathroom.
“This is clearly sabotage!” he yelled.
“No,” I replied, pulling out the photos I’d taken when Lily moved in.
“This is exactly how the place was when she moved in. If anything, it’s tidier now. Nothing is missing, Jack.”
Jack tried to regain his composure, but the three couples who came for the viewing that afternoon saw the house in its raw, unappealing state. They all left without putting in an application.
Meanwhile, after a few months, Lily found a new place with a landlord who appreciated her green thumb, not just the potential for profit. As my daughter settled into her new home, I couldn’t help but feel proud.
Lily and I sat on her new porch, looking out at the spacious yard that would soon become her next gardening project.
“Dad, I can’t thank you enough,” she said, her eyes bright with relief and excitement. “I was so scared, but you knew exactly what to do.”
I smiled, squeezing her hand as we swung on the porch swing. “You did the hard part, kiddo. You stood up to him. And now, you’ve got a fresh start.”
What would you have done?
3 Stories of People Who Became Homeless During Hard Times
“That’s the problem, Amber!” he retorted. “I’m tired of all the responsibilities. I need time for myself. I’ve found someone who gets what I’m going through!”
That night, as he walked out, I just fell apart. Once Louis was gone, reality hit me hard. I struggled to find a job while taking care of Allen alone.
Two weeks later, our landlady evicted us as I couldn’t pay the rent, and Social Services took Allen.
That night, I was homeless and heartbroken. My baby, my child, was taken away from me.
I sold everything I had, including my phone, and that kept me going for a while. Then, the money ran out.
One evening, out in the cold, I remembered my dad’s warnings about Louis. “He’s not right for you,” Dad had said. I wish I’d listened. Desperate to reconnect with him, I decided to buy a phone to call him.I knew that if I borrowed a phone to call him, maybe he wouldn’t pick up the first time or even the second. But I’d have to keep trying….
I starved myself for a week to save enough to buy a second-hand phone. My tears didn’t stop when I dialed Dad’s number.
“Hello?” he asked.
“It’s… Amber, Dad,” I sobbed into the phone.
“Amber, sweetheart! Is that you? Oh God! How are things going?”
“I need your help, dad!”
“Is-Is everything okay?”
“Just come as soon as possible, Dad!” I said.
He arrived quickly. In a hotel room, I poured out my heart about the betrayal and my days on the streets. Dad comforted me.
The next day, Dad and I went to the orphanage to start the paperwork to bring Allen home. Once everything was finalized, Dad took Allen and me to New York.
He also hired a private detective to find out where Louis was. It turned out Louis had been cheating on me with his boss’s daughter.
When his boss found out the truth — that Louis was married and had abandoned his family — he fired him. Louis ended up living on the streets. It felt like justice was done.
Back home, with my dad and Allen, I felt stronger. Life had knocked me down but taught me resilience. And with Dad’s support, I knew we could face anything ahead.
Coming up next is Brandon’s story, a homeless man and father of 3 living in a tent. One day, he decided to help a stranger, ignoring his own needs, and his life was never the same again.
2. Brandon: I Gave My Last $2 to a Stranger at a Gas Station, the Next Day I Inherited His Company
Four months on the streets with my three kids taught me a lot about life’s harshness and the small acts of kindness that can keep hope alive.
We lived in a tent near a gas station, a makeshift home barely shielding us from the cold. It was tough, but we managed to find moments of joy, making the best of it.
One chilly morning, as I counted the few coins I had left, I decided to head into the gas station to buy a can of beans — our planned dinner for the evening.
Inside, I stumbled upon a scene that jolted my heart. An elderly man stood at the counter, confusion written all over his face.
“I’m sorry, young lady, what did you say about the water being funny?” he asked.
“I said you don’t have enough money, sir!” the cashier snapped.
“Yes, it is a sunny day!” he replied.
Suddenly, some young man in line grabbed the elderly man, yelling, “You need more cash!”
Watching this, my heart sank. The elderly man just wanted a bottle of water to take his pills, but his request for an affordable bottle was met with hostility. “If you can’t afford to pay, you’ll have to go!” the cashier shouted.
I couldn’t stand idly by. Stepping forward, I emptied my cup of change onto the counter. “Have a heart, lady,” I said, deciding to pay for the man’s water.
The cashier counted the money with distaste. “That’ll cover it,” she muttered. I left the can of beans and handed the water to the elderly man.
“Here you go, sir,” I spoke clearly, making sure he could read my lips.
“Why did you help me when you needed the money?” he asked me as we left the store, noticing my tent with kids nearby.
“If there’s one thing I’ve learned from being homeless, it’s that the world works when people are kind to each other,” I explained.
“But what are your kids going to eat?” he questioned.
“There’s a chance I’ll find some scraps at the fast food joint across the street,” I assured him.
The next morning, two jeeps parked near our tent, and a man in a fancy suit stepped out.
“Mr. Grives’ last wish was for me to deliver this to you,” he said. There was a letter offering me the inheritance of his business.
“Is it a joke?” I asked in shock.
The man handed me legal documents. With a mix of apprehension and hope, I signed the papers. This could be the break my children and I needed, a chance to escape the streets.
We were driven to a huge mansion. “Can we put up a tent under that tree with pink flowers?” my youngest, Derrick, asked innocently.
“We’re going to live inside that house, silly! Right, Dad?” my daughter Kelly chimed in.
As I nodded, the reality of our new life began to sink in. Yet, the moment I opened the doors, something was wrong. The house was in disarray — someone had been there.
“We’ve examined the entire perimeter of the house and found no sign of forced entry, sir,” the officer reported after I called 911.
That evening, I got an anonymous call. In a robotic yet menacing tone, the voice told me I had 24 hours to decline all that Mr. Grives’ left me, leave the house, or else I would lose everything I love.
The mansion came with Mr. Grives’ loyal staff, and one of them warned me that this could be the doing of Mr. Grives’ eldest son, Christopher. I resolved to go to the cops in the morning.
But in the morning, my kids were vanished! Although the clever perpetrator had managed to hide his face from most of the CCTVs in and around the house, there was one he didn’t know about.
Mr. Grives’ staff watched in horror as they recognized the leader of three thugs drugging my children. It was Christopher.
From there on, the cops put everyone on the task of tracking Christopher, and didn’t rest until later that afternoon, when Christopher were spotted on the border of the state with my kids in the back of an old van.
Christopher was arrested, and my children were safe. But their fear had set in deep, and I had a choice to make: to heal and embrace the gift that kind soul left us, or to walk away, rebuilding from the start.
“Daddy, are we going to leave our home again?” Kelly’s question broke my heart.
I wrapped my arms around them. “We’re going to be okay. You want to know why?”
“IBecause the most valuable thing we have is right here, in my arms. So long as we stick together, we’ll always be rich in the most important way: love.”
While Brandon was blessed with children who understand the value of kindness and love, Mr. Greg wasn’t. Coming up next is his story.
3. Mr. Greg: My Teen Daughter Humiliated the Homeless, I Had to Teach Her a Lesson
I always thought I was doing right things for my daughter, Jane. I made sure she had everything she needed, but I missed teaching her something crucial — compassion for others. This hit me hard a few days ago when I lost my wallet.
After a fruitless search, I returned home to find Jane mocking a homeless man and his daughter at our doorstep. The shock set in when the man handed me my wallet, untouched. I was moved by that man’s gesture.
But Jane dismissively called them “trash,” and spoke to them with so much disgust…it broke my heart. I knew I had to fix this.
That evening, I invited the man, Mark, and his daughter for dinner. It was my chance to teach Jane about generosity.
“Dad, check the money! He probably stole it!” Jane said as I checked my wallet. Everything was there.
“All the money is here, sweetie. You’re mistaken,” I told her.
Seeing Mark’s and Lolita’s discomfort, I invited them to stay for dinner.
“Why don’t you guys join us?” I said. “It’s the least I can do to thank you.”
During dinner, Jane gave them paper plates instead of proper dishes.
“Why not use the nice dishes I got you for your birthday?” I suggested.
As we ate, I encouraged Mark to share his story, but Jane kept interrupting with rude comments. Eventually, I lost my patience.
“Shut your mouth, Jane!” I snapped. “You don’t know nothing. Misfortune could strike anyone.”
I then revealed a painful truth to Jane. “It’s my fault. I worked too much, especially after your mother passed. We were the same once,” I confessed. “Do you remember our ‘camping trips’? We were actually homeless.”
Jane was stunned. “How did we get back on our feet?”
“A kind man gave me a job. That changed our lives,” I said with a sigh.
Then, I looked at Mark. “And now, it’s my turn to pay it forward,” I told him.
Mark nodded. “All I did was what a decent human should do,” he said.
“I had no idea, Dad. I’m sorry,” Jane said after a pause.
“It’s okay, honey. It’s not too late to learn from this,” I told her.
When it was time for Mark and Lolita to go, I suggested, “Why don’t you both stay the night? We have plenty of room, and it’s getting late.”
Mark hesitated, then gratefully accepted. “Thank you, Greg. This means a lot.”
But I knew I wasn’t done helping them. Offering them a night’s shelter would not alleviate their problems. So I made a decision.
A little kindness costs nothing, guys, and I was ready to make sure that little Lolita and her dad had a good life.
The next day, I offered Mark a job as a driver and arranged a temporary home for them. “And I’ll help you until you’re back on your feet,” I promised.
“Oh, Really?” Mark gasped. “Nobody is this kind nowadays! I won’t let you down, sir,” Mark told me in tears. “Thank you so much!”
The smile on Lolita’s face that day made me realize I’d done the right thing. As for Jane…my Janie changed. She became a better person, and I’m so glad for that.
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