When my stepmother stole my late Mom’s necklace and wore it at her wedding without my consent, I was shattered. Furious, I did something that left everyone gasping.
I’m Olive, 23. This isn’t a sob story, but it’s about a necklace. My late Mom’s necklace, the only thing left of her. I lost her to cancer when I was 19. She was my rock, my confidante, my everything.
Dad introduced his new fiancée, Magdalene, who immediately coveted Mom’s necklace. “Olive, honey,” Dad started, “Magdalene really admires your mother’s necklace. She says it would look perfect with her wedding dress.” I was furious. “Dad, that necklace is everything to me. It’s Mom’s.” But he insisted, and I had to hide it.
On their wedding day, I stayed home and checked on the necklace, only to find it gone. I knew who had taken it. I called Magdalene. “You took it,” I accused her. “How dare you take my Mom’s necklace without my permission?” She brushed me off, saying she’d return it after the honeymoon.
I called the cops. At the wedding, they retrieved the necklace from Magdalene, causing chaos. Dad and Magdalene were furious. “You ruined our wedding!” she screamed. Dad added, “That was petty and crazy, Olive. You humiliated us!”
Heartbroken but resolute, I moved out, taking Mom’s memories and her necklace with me. Though the pain lingered, I emerged stronger, holding on to the love and memories of my Mom.
Single Father of Two Daughters Wakes Up to Make Breakfast, Discovers It’s Already Prepared
As a single dad juggling work and two young daughters, Jack never expected to find a stranger’s homemade pancakes on his kitchen table one morning. When he discovers the mysterious benefactor, her shocking story of hardship and gratitude changes his life forever, forging an unexpected bond between them.
Being a single dad to two little girls, Emma, who was 4, and Lily, who was 5, was the hardest job I ever had. My wife left us to travel the world, and now it was just me and the girls. I loved them more than anything, but balancing work, cooking, and taking care of everything at home left me exhausted.
Every morning, I woke up early. First, I went to wake the girls.
“Emma, Lily, time to get up!” I called softly, opening their bedroom door.
Lily rubbed her eyes and sat up. “Good morning, Daddy,” she said, yawning.
Emma, still half asleep, mumbled, “I don’t want to get up.”
I smiled. “Come on, sweetie. We have to get ready for daycare.”
I helped them get dressed. Lily picked her favorite dress, the one with the flowers, while Emma chose her pink shirt and jeans. Once they were dressed, we all headed downstairs.
I went to the kitchen to make breakfast. The plan was simple: oatmeal with milk. But when I entered the kitchen, I stopped in my tracks. There, on the table, were three plates of freshly made pancakes with jam and fruit.
“Girls, did you see this?” I asked, puzzled.
Lily’s eyes widened. “Wow, pancakes! Did you make them, Daddy?”
I shook my head. “No, I didn’t. Maybe Aunt Sarah stopped by early.”
I picked up my phone and called my sister, Sarah.
“Hey, Sarah, did you come by this morning?” I asked as soon as she picked up.
“No, why?” Sarah sounded confused.
“Never mind, it’s nothing,” I said, hanging up. I checked the doors and windows, but everything was locked. There was no sign of anyone breaking in.
“Is it safe to eat, Daddy?” Emma asked, looking at the pancakes with big eyes.
I decided to taste them first. They were delicious and seemed perfectly fine. “I think it’s okay. Let’s eat,” I said.
The girls cheered and dug into their breakfast. I couldn’t stop thinking about who could have made the pancakes. It was strange, but I decided to let it go for now. I had to get to work.
After breakfast, I dropped Emma and Lily off at daycare. “Have a good day, my loves,” I said, kissing them goodbye.
At work, I couldn’t focus. My mind kept going back to the mysterious pancakes. Who could have done it? Why? When I returned home that evening, I got another surprise. The lawn, which I hadn’t had time to mow, was neatly cut.
I stood in my yard, scratching my head. “This is getting weird,” I muttered to myself. I checked the house again, but everything was in order.
The next morning, I decided to find out who was helping me. I got up earlier than usual and hid in the kitchen, peeking through a small gap in the door. At 6 a.m., I saw a woman climb in through the window.
She was wearing old postal worker clothes. I watched as she started washing the dishes from the night before. She then pulled out some cottage cheese from her bag and began making pancakes.
My stomach growled loudly. The woman turned around, startled. She quickly turned off the gas and ran towards the window.
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