A rich man and an older woman are linked by a strange twist of fate, which they discover after four years of living under the same roof.
The heavy pattering rain on the window and the thunderous boom playing in the sky distracted Dylan, who was busy on his laptop. In a rage, he marched to the living room window to close the curtains when he noticed something odd.
A woman stood drenched and shivering in the pouring rain, staring at his house. Even in the darkness of the evening, he could make out her frail figure, trembling from the cold outside.
For illustration purposes only. | Source: Unsplash
“Lyra, honey!” he called out to his wife. “Did you call someone home?”
“No, I didn’t, Dylan,” she replied, joining him at the window. “Who’s there?”
“Do we know her?” he asked. “That woman out there… she’s just standing in the rain.”
Lyra looked out the window and shook her head. “I don’t know… she seems old. Let’s ask her if she needs any help.”
So Dylan and Lyra went downstairs and outside, carrying an extra umbrella and blanket for the older woman.
As soon as the older woman saw them, Dylan noticed a panic in her eyes.
A mother loves her child no matter what.
“Ma’am, are you alright?” asked Dylan, sheltering her under the spare umbrella. “Can we help you with something?”
“Oh well, I don’t know…” she said. “I—I don’t have a place to live here. I’m new in town and have no idea where to go…”
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The woman didn’t have any luggage, which confused Dylan and Lyra. She could be faking it all, they thought. And they had two kids at home. They didn’t want to risk their safety by letting a stranger in, but something about the woman told Dylan she wasn’t a threat.
“Do you have any family we could contact, ma’am?” asked Lyra. “We could call the police.”
“Oh no, no,” she cried out. “I don’t have a family… I came here looking for a job, children… I don’t know why I—I just stopped here. I should leave…”
“It’s alright!” Dylan stopped her. “Come on in. You’ll get sick out in the cold. Have some tea with us.”
So Dylan and Lyra brought her inside. Lyra gave her some of her mother’s old clothes, and after the older woman had dried up and changed, they all had tea together.
“I’m Marlene,” the old woman told Lyra and Dylan, who had discussed hiring her as a maid back in the kitchen. She seemed fine, and Lyra needed help with the house chores.
“Thank you for the tea,” said Marlene. “I really needed it.”
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“So you said you came here looking for work?” asked Lyra. “Would you like to work for us? We have two kids who are asleep right now. You could meet them in the morning, and I need help with the house.”
“Really?” asked Marlene. “Would you really hire me?”
“Well, why not?” Dylan said. “So long as you’re fine with it. We’ll also need your information… any ID… We can’t just keep anyone home.”
“Oh, OK,” Marlene said. “But I would need help with that. I was robbed right after leaving the station, so I’d need a laptop or something… I was wise enough to save digital copies.”
“Perfect!” smiled Dylan. “You can rest in the guest bedroom tonight, Marlene…”
That was four years ago. Marlene started working as a maid at Dylan and Lyra’s house four years ago after Dylan sheltered her from the rain, but she quickly became like family to them. Their children, Aaron and Lisa, affectionately called her “Ganma Marlene,” and the entire family adored her.
But on her birthday that year, everything changed. Dylan and Lyra planned a lavish celebration for Marlene and invited everyone they knew.
For illustration purposes only. | Source: Pexels
Marlene blew out the candles, had the most lovely dinner with her family, and received tons of precious gifts.
After everyone left, she was busy unwrapping the gifts with Aaron and Lisa. Meanwhile, Dylan went to her room to retrieve something and noticed her laptop was left on.
He was about to close it when a message on her social profile on Facebook caught his attention.
“Happy birthday, dearest Marlene! I hope you’re having the best days of your life now that you’ve found your son. Your little boy, he must love you so much!”
Dylan felt like his heart had dropped to the floor. 28 years ago, he was heartlessly abandoned by his mother on the doorstep of a shelter when he was just a little boy of three. She never came looking for her, and he could never find her. He knew nothing about her.
Shocked, Dylan walked into the living room and saw Marlene smiling and playing with her children. He was disgusted and enraged.
For illustration purposes only. | Source: Pexels
“Marlene!” he cried. “Why did you do that? Just why?”
Marlene turned around and saw Dylan crying.
“Honey,” said Lyra, concerned. “What’s the matter? Why are you crying?”
“I’d like to know the truth, Marlene. Or should I call you ‘mom?'”
“What?” gasped Lyra. “Mom?”
Marlene’s eyes welled up. “I’m sorry, Dylan,” she said. “I didn’t want to deceive you all these years. I am sorry.”
“What else have you lied about, huh?” he yelled. “Tell me, goddammit! Why did you do it? Why did you come here and hurt me again?”
For illustration purposes only. | Source: Pexels
“Dylan…” whispered Marlene. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I didn’t have a choice. You were a three-year-old boy… you needed a loving home, and I would never have been able to give you that. I was diagnosed with cancer, and I never thought I’d live through it, Dylan. So I had to let you go. I came to take you when my cancer went into remission, but it was too late.
“A wealthy family had taken you in, and they said you were happy. I was happy for you, Dylan, so I stayed away and watched you from afar all these years. Look at you; you are rich and successful today. It’s due to their upbringing. I’m so thankful to them…and I’m sorry. I don’t know why I couldn’t hold myself back when you took me in four years ago… I just couldn’t… I was scared to tell you the truth… I’m sorry…”
“OUT!” yelled Dylan. “Don’t you think you’re too mean to deserve such kindness? You can’t just walk into my life and then walk out. Just leave!”
“Dylan, honey,” said Lyra. “Let’s talk about it—”
“It’s OK, Lyra,” Marlene said in tears. “I deserve this. I shouldn’t have kept you all in the dark. I am sorry.”
And Marlene left Dylan’s house that evening. The kids asked Lyra and Dylan why Ganma Darlene left, and all Dylan told them was, “Because she wasn’t your grandmother! She was a liar!”
For illustration purposes only. | Source: Pexels
A week later, Dylan regretted saying that. He found out that Marlene was not the biological mother who had abandoned him.
Dylan chanced upon Marlene’s Facebook profile on the laptop because she hadn’t logged out, and he read another message her friend Linda had left her.
“You should tell him the truth, Marlene. How devastated will he be to learn that he has lost his mother twice? He deserves to know that his mother abandoned him in a park and that you took him in. He will love you, Marlene. He really will…”
Dylan couldn’t believe what he had read. He went through her entire profile in tears, reading Linda’s messages, and guess what? He found out Marlene had been living only a few blocks away from him.
Dylan rushed to her home, and as soon as she answered the door, he cried his heart out and hugged her.
“Mom,” he sobbed. “I love you! I’m so sorry, Mom… I am just so sorry. Why didn’t you tell me you’re not my biological mother? You… you saved me!”
For illustration purposes only. | Source: Pexels
“How would it matter, Dylan?” she asked, hugging him back. “I loved you like my son, and it pained me when I left you. I did abandon you… I was no different from your mother, except I left you because I loved you.”
“You’re coming home,” he said. “That’s all I want. I love you.”
What can we learn from this story?
- A mother loves her child no matter what. The fact that Dylan wasn’t Marlene’s blood didn’t matter to her because, at her heart, she was a mother who just wanted to give her son all the love she could.
- Making a sacrifice is never easy, but it is sometimes the only way out. Marlene had let Dylan go because she loved him enough to put his interests above hers.
Share this story with your friends. It might brighten their day and inspire them.
After I restored the motorcycle my father had gifted me, he took it back — so I found a way to get my revenge
I caught them effortlessly, but I was confused.
“What’s this for?” I asked. They didn’t look like car keys, and I already had my mom’s old car anyway.
My dad nodded toward a dusty tarp in the corner of the garage. It had been there for as long as I could remember, covering up something that I was told not to touch.
When I pulled the tarp off, I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. It was my dad’s old Harley, a ’73 Shovelhead. It was the stuff of my childhood dreams, the bike that had always seemed just out of reach.
All I had wanted to do when I was younger was steal my dad’s leather jacket and sit on the motorcycle. But he always shouted at me whenever I tried to touch it.
“If there’s one scratch on it, Seth,” he would say, “I’ll take all your spending money away.”
That was enough to keep me away from the dream bike.
“You’re giving me the Harley?” I asked, my voice a mix of disbelief and excitement.
My father shrugged it off like it was nothing.
“Yeah, why not, son?” he declared. “It hasn’t run in years, to be honest, so good luck with that. Consider it a late birthday gift, Seth.”
I could barely believe it.
I was finally going to ride that bike, and feel the engine roaring beneath me, the wind in my hair. It was going to be everything I had dreamt of and more. I was finally going to be like my dad.
I ran my hand over the cracked leather seat, taking in the gift.
“Thanks, Dad,” I said. “I promise I’ll take good care of her.”
The moment those keys were in my hand, that motorcycle became my new obsession.
“Jeez, son,” the mechanic said when I took the Harley over in a friend’s old pickup truck. “There’s a lot to be done here. But I can do the big things for you, and you’ll be able to sort out the smaller things if you’re confident enough.”
I saved every penny from my barista role at the café. I was extra polite to all my customers, hoping for large tips, ready to go straight into the motorcycle restoration fund.
Soon, my nights, weekends, and any and all free time I had were spent outside with the motorcycle. I tore it down and put it back together, better than ever, restoring old parts. I watched countless YouTube tutorials and read every manual I could find.
“What are you doing now?” my roommate, Brett, asked when I was hunched over my laptop on the couch.
“I’m looking at forums online for tips about the motorcycle,” I said.
“That’s all you do these days, buddy,” he said, chuckling.
Fourteen months later, the day finally came. I polished the last piece of chrome, stood back, and admired my work. The Harley gleamed under the garage lights, looking like it had just rolled off the assembly line.
“Good job, Seth,” I muttered to myself.
I could hardly contain my excitement as I thought about showing it to my parents, especially my dad. I imagined the pride on his face, the way his eyes would light up when he saw what I’d done.
I hoped that he would finally be proud of something I had done. But nothing prepared me for what was to come next.
I rode it over to my parents’ house, the engine purring beneath my legs like a big cat. As I parked in the driveway, I felt a rush of nerves. I hadn’t felt this anxious since I was waiting for my acceptance letter for college.
“Mom? Dad?” I called, walking into the hallway.
“We’re in the kitchen,” my mom called.
I walked into the kitchen, and there they were. My dad was drinking a cup of tea, and Mom was busy putting together a lasagna.
“I’ve got something to show you!” I said. “It’s outside.”
They followed me outside, their eyes going wide when they saw the motorcycle.
“Oh my gosh, Seth,” my dad exclaimed. “Is that the Harley? My old Harley? She looks beautiful!”
“Yes,” I said, grinning. “I’ve spent the last year working on it. What do you think?”
Before they could answer, my dad moved closer to the motorcycle. His eyes narrowed as he took it in. He ran his hands along the chrome as though he couldn’t believe his own eyes.
“You did all this?” he asked, his voice tight.
“I did!” I said, beaming proudly. “Every spare moment and extra cash went into this project. And now she’s perfect.”
For a second, I thought I saw pride flicker in his eyes, but then his expression changed. His face darkened, and I felt something change in me.
“You know, Seth,” he said slowly, “this bike is worth a hell of a lot more now. I think I was too generous when I gave it to you.”
I blinked, not understanding.
“What do you mean, Dad?”
My father cleared his throat, not meeting my eyes.
“I’m going to take it back,” he said, his tone final. “And I’ll give you $1,000 for your trouble.”
“Are you serious?” I asked, barely containing my anger.
He nodded.
“It’s only fair, Seth.”
I wanted to yell, to tell him how unfair he was being, how much time and money I’d poured into that bike. But I knew that arguing wouldn’t get me anywhere. My father was too stubborn.
“Sure,” I said. “Whatever you think is fair.”
He looked surprised that I didn’t fight him on it, but I wasn’t done with my revenge. If he wanted to play dirty, then fine. I could play that game too. I just needed to be smarter about it.
A few days later, I saw my father posting on social media about his “newly restored” motorcycle and that he was taking the Harley to an upcoming bike meet with his old biking buddies.
“Now it’s on,” I said to myself.
When the day of the meet arrived, I watched from a distance as my father rolled up on the Harley, looking every bit the proud owner of a beautiful bike. He revved the engine, drawing the attention of everyone in the parking lot.
But what he didn’t know was that I’d made a little modification of my own.
Under the seat, I’d installed a small switch—it was nothing fancy. But it was a precaution in case the Harley was ever stolen. The switch, when accessed, would cut off the fuel line with a quick flick of the remote, which was firmly planted in my hand.
I waited until he was right in the middle of the crowd, basking in the admiration, and then, from a distance, I pressed the button.
The Harley sputtered, the engine dying with a weak cough. Soon, my father’s smug grin disappeared as he tried to restart it, but the engine wouldn’t give.
The murmurs began, making their way through the crowd, and a few of his buddies laughed under their breath.
“Need a hand, Dad?” I asked when I made my way over to him.
He glared at me, but I could see the desperation in his eyes. He nodded, too embarrassed to say anything. I knelt down, pretending to fiddle with the bike for a moment before “fixing” the problem by turning off the switch.
The engine roared back to life, but by then, the damage was done.
The look of embarrassment on my dad’s face was worth every second of the work I had put into the Harley.
He handed me the keys, his jaw clenched tightly.
“It’s yours,” he said, walking away.
I smiled, knowing the Harley was mine, and so was my father’s respect, even if he couldn’t say it.
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