Living with my son and his unbearable wife was far from the peaceful arrangement I had imagined. But when the grumpy neighbor next door unexpectedly asked me to dinner, everything began to change. Little did I know, a secret plan was unfolding — one that would turn my life upside down.
I had been living with my son Andrew and his ever-resentful wife, Kate, for two weeks. It wasn’t an arrangement either of them had ever wanted, but my accidental, slightly exaggerated leg injury had finally forced Kate’s reluctant consent.
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She opposed it, of course—she had for years—but this time, she had no choice.
Stepping out onto the porch that morning, I spotted her in the yard, raking leaves. Watching her from a distance, I sighed. The poor girl hadn’t the faintest idea what she was doing.
“Kate, you’re doing it all wrong!” I called, raising my voice. She didn’t even look up.
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I assumed she hadn’t heard, so I moved closer, wincing for effect. “I’m telling you, you’re raking them the wrong way. Start with small piles, then combine them into one big heap. Dragging them across the yard is a waste of time.”
She stopped abruptly, leaning on the rake, and turned to face me. Her face betrayed the exhaustion of carrying a child and hosting an unwanted guest.
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“I thought your leg hurt,” she said flatly, her gaze drifting to my suspiciously steady walk. “Maybe it’s time for you to go home?”
The nerve of her! Clutching my leg for emphasis, I replied indignantly, “I was trying to help you, despite the pain, and this is how you thank me?”
Kate rested a hand on her belly, the protective gesture unmistakable. “I’m seven months pregnant. Helping would mean actually doing something useful,” she said, her voice sharper than the autumn air.
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Rude, I thought, but I forced a tight smile. She wasn’t worth the argument.
Across the fence, Mr. Davis, their grouchy neighbor, shuffled into view, his perpetual scowl in place.
“Good afternoon, Mr. Davis!” I chirped, trying to soften his hard expression. He grumbled something under his breath and disappeared into his house without so much as a nod. Just like Kate—miserable and unsociable.
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Back inside, I noticed dust on the furniture again. Kate was on maternity leave—surely, she could spare time to clean. Andrew deserved a better-kept home after all his hard work.
Later, Kate returned to the house and started preparing dinner. Naturally, I offered her a few helpful tips, but my advice seemed to fall on deaf ears. Eventually, she turned and said coldly, “Please, just leave the kitchen.”
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That evening, as Andrew came through the door, I heard her complaining to him. Leaning close to the wall, I caught snippets of their conversation.
“We discussed this,” Andrew said, his tone measured. “It’ll benefit everyone.”
“I know,” Kate replied with a weary sigh. “I’m already trying, but it’s harder than you think.”
When I peeked around the corner, I saw Andrew embracing her, his arms wrapped protectively around her growing belly. He comforted her as if she were the victim here!
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At dinner, I couldn’t resist pointing out that her pie was undercooked.
“I have an idea,” Kate said suddenly, her tone too cheerful to be genuine. “Why don’t you bake a pie yourself and bring it to Mr. Davis?”
I frowned. “That grump? He doesn’t even greet me,” I scoffed, narrowing my eyes at her.
“I think you’re mistaken. He’s not so bad—just shy,” she said, a knowing smile tugging at her lips. “Besides, I’ve seen the way he looks at you.”
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I laughed, the sound hollow. “If that’s true, he’s the one who should make the first move. A man should court a lady.”
Kate sighed, her gaze shifting to Andrew, who squeezed her hand as if sharing a secret.
The next morning, the last thing I expected was to see Mr. Davis approaching the yard.
“Margaret,” he began stiffly, his posture as awkward as his tone. “Would you… well… have dinner with me?”
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“For you, it’s Miss Miller,” I replied, raising an eyebrow.
His lips twitched in frustration. “Alright, Miss Miller,” he corrected himself. “Would you allow me to invite you to dinner?”
“I allow it,” I said, crossing my arms. He nodded curtly and turned to leave.
“Is that how you invite someone?” I called after him, watching him freeze mid-step. “When? Where?”
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“Tonight at seven. My house,” he said without turning back.
The rest of the day was a flurry of preparation. By seven sharp, I stood at his door, my heart unexpectedly fluttering. When he opened the door, his expression was as grim as ever.
Inside, he gestured for me to sit at the table. Not even a pulled-out chair—some gentleman.
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During dinner, the conversation was stilted until I mentioned my love for jazz. His face transformed, his usual gloom replaced by a boyish enthusiasm.
“I’d play my favorite record for you,” he said, his voice softer now. “And I’d even invite you to dance, but my record player’s broken.”
“You don’t need music to dance,” I said, surprising myself.
To my astonishment, he rose and extended his hand. As we swayed in the dim light, he hummed a familiar tune, one I hadn’t heard in years. Something inside me softened, and for the first time in ages, I didn’t feel alone.
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Afterward, I turned to him. “Mr. Davis, it’s getting late. I should go home.”
He nodded silently, his usual reserved demeanor returning, and walked me to the door.
Before I stepped outside, he hesitated. “You can call me Peter,” he said, his voice softer than I’d ever heard it.
“And you can call me Margaret,” I replied, smiling.
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Then, to my astonishment, he leaned in. For a moment, I froze, uncertain, but when his lips brushed mine, I realized I didn’t want to pull away.
The kiss was gentle and hesitant, but it stirred something I hadn’t felt in years.
As he pulled back, he searched my face for a reaction. I simply smiled, my heart lighter than it had been in ages.
“Good night, Peter,” I said softly, stepping outside. The cool night air met my flushed cheeks, but the smile stayed on my face all the way home—and long after.
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Peter became an irreplaceable part of my days. We spent hours together, laughing over neighborhood gossip, reading books from his vast collection, and trying our hands at new recipes.
While I cooked, he’d hum my favorite songs, filling the house with warmth.
I found a joy I hadn’t known in years, a quiet contentment that made everything else fade.
Kate’s sharp remarks no longer bothered me; my world revolved around Peter.
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On Thanksgiving, I invited him to dinner so he wouldn’t spend the day alone. I noticed him slipping into the kitchen to speak with Kate. Curious, I followed.
“Kate, I wanted to talk to you about the record player,” Peter said, his voice hesitant but firm.
“Mr. Davis, I’ve already ordered it. It’ll arrive soon. You have no idea how grateful I am,” Kate replied with a hint of relief. “You’ve made my life so much easier. I don’t know how you put up with her, but soon the record player will be yours. Thank you for agreeing to this whole charade.”
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The words hit me like a slap. A record player? Putting up with me? A charade? The realization burned through me as anger surged.
“So, this was all a game?!” I burst into the kitchen, my voice trembling with fury.
Kate froze, her face pale. “Oh…” was all she managed.
“Care to explain?!” I shouted, my gaze darting between her and Peter.
Andrew rushed in, his brow furrowed in concern. “What’s going on?”
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“Your wife concocted some scheme against me!” I exclaimed, pointing an accusing finger at Kate.
Andrew sighed deeply. It was as if he was bracing himself for a storm. “Mom, it wasn’t just her. It was my idea too. We thought you and Mr. Davis might make each other happy. Neither of you would have made the first move, so we gave him a little… encouragement.”
“Encouragement?” I repeated, my voice rising.
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“We offered him a record player,” Andrew admitted, his tone measured but guilty. “In exchange for going on dates with you.”
“Andrew, why?” Kate whispered.
“At least my son is honest with me!” I snapped, crossing my arms.
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“Your son was also at his wit’s end with you!” Kate shot back, her voice tinged with frustration. “You were constantly interfering in our lives, nitpicking every little thing I did. And I’m pregnant with your grandchild—I couldn’t handle the stress! So yes, we came up with this plan, and it worked perfectly. You finally had something to do, and I got a break!”
Her words hung in the air, stinging more than I cared to admit. I shook my head, disbelief coursing through me. “You know what, Peter? I could have expected this from her. But not from you.”
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“Margaret, I can explain…” Peter began, stepping toward me.
But I was too angry to listen. I stormed out of the house, my old leg injury reminding me of its presence with every step.
“Margaret!” Peter called after me. “Margaret, wait!”
Spinning around, I glared at him. “What?! What could you possibly say? I’m too old for these games!”
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He stopped, his face clouded with regret. “I told Kate I didn’t need her record player! That I just wanted to be with you!” he shouted, his voice raw with emotion.
“That doesn’t change the fact that you agreed to it at first,” I retorted, my voice trembling.
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“Because you were awful!” Peter snapped, then softened. “Or at least, that’s what I thought. I heard how you constantly picked on Kate, always telling her what to do. But the truth is, I wasn’t any better—grumpy, closed off, and bitter. You changed me, Margaret. You made me feel alive again. You reminded me how to find joy in the little things.”
I hesitated, his words piercing through my anger. “Why should I believe you?” I asked, my voice quieter now.
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Peter stepped closer, his gaze steady. “Because I’ve fallen for you, Margaret. For the meticulous, bossy, always-right woman who also cares so deeply, who cooks meals that feel like home, and who knows all my favorite songs by heart. I love you—all of you.”
Tears welled in my eyes, his confession shaking me to my core. The truth was undeniable—I had fallen for him too. No matter how furious I was, my feelings wouldn’t let me walk away.
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He reached out, gently brushing a tear from my cheek. “I’m sorry for hurting you. Please, give me a second chance.”
I nodded slowly, letting the tension ease. “Alright,” I said, my voice softening. “But you’re keeping that record player from Kate. We’ll need it for our music.” Peter laughed, relief and joy washing over his face.
From that Thanksgiving on, Peter and I were inseparable. Each year, we celebrated the holiday with music playing on that record player, our love growing stronger with every tune.
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Passageiros da Classe Executiva zombam da pobre senhora idosa, no final do voo o piloto se dirige a ela – História do dia
Stella finalmente conseguiu chegar ao seu assento na classe executiva do avião. Mas um homem não quis sentar ao lado dela e disse à aeromoça que a mulher mais velha deveria ficar na classe econômica. A aeromoça recusou o pedido, e Stella conseguiu sentar-se. Depois, Stella contou a história mais agridoce de sua vida.
“Eu não quero sentar ao lado daquela… mulher!” Franklin Delaney quase gritou com a aeromoça que acompanhava uma mulher mais velha e disse que ela estava sentada ao lado dele.
“Senhor, este é o assento dela. Não podemos fazer nada sobre isso,” a aeromoça disse gentilmente, tentando persuadir o empresário que tinha uma carranca no rosto.
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“Isso não pode ser verdade. Esses assentos são muito caros, e ela não poderia pagar por um! Olhe para as roupas dela!” Franklin quase gritou, apontando para as roupas da mulher mais velha. Stella estava envergonhada. Ela estava usando suas melhores roupas e odiava que os outros soubessem que sua roupa era barata.
Outros passageiros da classe executiva se viraram para olhá-los, e a mulher mais velha, Stella Taylor, olhou para os próprios pés. A altercação continuou, e estava atrasando o enchimento do avião. Vários outros comissários de bordo apareceram, tentando acalmar Franklin.
Surpreendentemente, outros passageiros concordaram com o empresário. Eles concordaram que a mulher não poderia ter pago pelo assento e disseram para ela sair. Foi a experiência mais humilhante da vida de Stella e, finalmente, ela cedeu.
“Senhorita, está tudo bem. Se você tiver outro assento na classe econômica, eu fico lá. Gastei todas as minhas economias neste assento, mas é melhor não incomodar os outros”, ela disse, colocando a mão no braço da aeromoça gentilmente.
A mulher já tinha sido tão gentil com ela porque Stella se perdeu no aeroporto. Ela tinha 85 anos e nunca tinha viajado na vida. Portanto, o Aeroporto Internacional de Seattle-Tacoma tinha sido bem confuso. Mas a companhia aérea finalmente designou um atendente para ela, que a acompanhou durante todo o processo, e elas finalmente chegaram ao voo dela, que estava partindo para Nova York.
A aeromoça não queria brigar com o empresário que não acreditava que Stella estava sentada ao lado dele, embora eles até mostrassem o cartão de embarque dela. A mulher se virou para Stella com uma carranca severa, embora a raiva não fosse direcionada a Stella.
“Não, senhora. Você pagou por este assento, e merece sentar aqui, não importa o que digam,” a comissária de bordo insistiu.
Ela se virou para o homem novamente e ameaçou chamar a segurança do aeroporto para escoltá-lo para fora. Foi quando o homem suspirou em derrota e deixou Stella sentar ao lado dele. O avião decolou, e Stella ficou tão assustada que deixou sua bolsa cair.
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Felizmente, o homem não era completamente irracional e a ajudou a recuperar suas coisas. Mas seu medalhão de rubi caiu, e o homem assobiou para o item. “Uau, isso é algo a mais”, ele comentou.
“O que você quer dizer?” Stella perguntou.
“Sou um joalheiro de antiguidades, e este medalhão é insanamente valioso. Essas são definitivamente rubis de verdade. Estou errado?”, disse o homem, devolvendo o medalhão a ela. Stella o agarrou de volta e olhou para ele.
“Sinceramente, não tenho ideia. Meu pai deu para minha mãe há muitos anos, e ela me deu quando meu pai não voltou para casa”, disse Stella.
“O que aconteceu?”, perguntou o homem. “Sinto muito. Meu nome é Franklin Delaney. Quero me desculpar pelo meu comportamento anterior. Algumas coisas complicadas estão acontecendo na minha vida, e eu não deveria ter agido daquela forma. Posso perguntar o que aconteceu com seu pai?”
“Meu pai era um piloto de caça durante a Segunda Guerra Mundial. Quando a América entrou na guerra, ele saiu de casa, mas deu este medalhão para minha mãe como uma promessa de que ele voltaria. Eles se amavam muito. Eu tinha apenas quatro anos na época, mas me lembro daquele dia claramente. Ele nunca voltou”, explicou Stella.
“Isso é terrível.”
“É. A guerra não tem sentido. Nada sai dela. E minha mãe nunca se recuperou da perda. Ela era uma casca de si mesma, e nós mal sobrevivíamos. Mas mesmo quando as coisas estavam terríveis em casa, ela nunca pensou em vendê-lo. Ela me deu quando eu tinha dez anos e me disse para ficar com ele. Mas eu também nunca pensei em vendê-lo, embora eu também tenha passado por dificuldades financeiras. Honestamente, seu valor real está lá dentro”, Stella revelou e sorriu para Franklin enquanto o abria.
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Havia duas fotos dentro do medalhão. Uma era em tom sépia e mostrava um casal, e a outra mostrava um bebê. “Esses são meus pais. Olha como eles estavam apaixonados”, Stella disse nostalgicamente.
Franklin assentiu, sem dizer nada, mas olhou para a outra foto. “É seu neto?”, ele se perguntou de repente.
“Não, esse é meu filho e, na verdade, ele é o motivo de eu estar neste voo”, respondeu a mulher mais velha.
“Você vai vê-lo?”
“Não, é isso. Você se lembra de como eu disse que tinha problemas financeiros? Bem, eu engravidei há muitos anos. Eu estava na casa dos 30, e meu namorado desapareceu. Eu tive meu filho por vários meses, mas estava claro que eu não seria capaz de dar a ele uma vida boa. Eu não tinha um sistema de apoio. Minha mãe já havia falecido anos antes após sofrer de demência, então eu o dei para adoção”, revelou Stella.
“Vocês dois se reconectaram depois?”
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“Eu tentei. Eu o encontrei graças a essas coisas de teste de DNA. Pedi a um garoto vizinho para me ajudar a enviar um e-mail para ele. Mas Josh — esse é o nome dele — respondeu que estava bem e que não precisava de mim. Tentei várias vezes contatá-lo e pedi perdão, mas ele nunca mais respondeu meus e-mails.”
Franklin coçou a cabeça em confusão. “Não entendo o que você está fazendo neste voo então. Você disse que estava aqui por ele.”
“Ele é o piloto deste voo. Estou aqui porque hoje é o aniversário dele. Ele nasceu em 22 de janeiro de 1973, e eu posso não ter muito tempo nesta terra, então eu queria passar pelo menos um dos aniversários dele com ele. Este é o único jeito,” Stella explicou e sorriu para Franklin antes de voltar os olhos para o medalhão novamente.
Ela não percebeu Franklin limpando uma lágrima errante do rosto ou o fato de que alguns comissários de bordo e vários passageiros ouviram a história. Depois de alguns minutos, uma aeromoça entrou na cabine.
“De qualquer forma, esta é uma das rotas mais longas dele, então posso passar cinco horas perto do meu filho”, disse Stella, finalmente fechando o medalhão e colocando-o na bolsa.
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Na opinião dela, aquelas cinco horas passaram rápido, e quando o intercomunicador do piloto ligou, ele anunciou que chegariam ao JFK em breve. Mas em vez de desligar a comunicação, ele continuou sua mensagem.
“Além disso, quero que todos deem as boas-vindas à minha mãe biológica, que está voando na minha rota pela primeira vez. Ei, mãe. Espere por mim quando o avião pousar”, disse John pelo interfone. Os olhos de Stella lacrimejaram, e Franklin sorriu, envergonhado por ter se comportado de forma tão rude antes. Mas, pelo menos, ele já se desculpou.
Quando John pousou o avião, ele saiu da cabine, quebrando o protocolo, e foi direto para Stella com os braços abertos, abraçando-a ferozmente. Todos os passageiros e comissários de bordo aplaudiram e comemoraram.
Ninguém ouviu, mas John sussurrou nos ouvidos de Stella, agradecendo-a por fazer o que era melhor para ele todos aqueles anos atrás. Depois de responder ao primeiro e-mail dela, John percebeu que não estava realmente bravo com sua mãe por desistir dele, mas não sabia o que dizer a ela. Então ele se desculpou por não responder aos outros e-mails dela e não ouvi-la antes. Ela disse a ele que não havia nada pelo que se desculpar, pois ela entendia o porquê.
O que podemos aprender com essa história?
- Nunca seja rude com estranhos, não importa o que aconteça. Franklin foi rude com a mulher sem nenhuma razão válida e ficou envergonhado de suas ações mais tarde.
- O perdão é divino. Stella foi rápida em perdoar Franklin por suas ações e não guardou rancor do homem sentado ao lado dela.
Compartilhe esta história com seus amigos. Pode alegrar o dia deles e inspirá-los.
Se você gostou desta história, talvez goste desta sobre um homem que adotou uma menina, e a mãe biológica apareceu anos depois.
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