When Christopher’s parents learned about his dreams of joining a fashion internship, they were dead set against his decision. They tried to persuade him otherwise and eventually kicked him out, not knowing the tables would be turned years later.
Christopher’s mother, beamed as she checked the college acceptance letters that had arrived for her son. Besides Dartmouth and Georgetown, Christopher had also made it to Stanford.
She couldn’t help but call out to her husband excitedly, and the parents rushed upstairs to their son’s room to make the big announcement. “Son! You got into Stanford! You did it!” his mother exclaimed.
“My boy! A Stanford man! I’m so proud of you!” his stoic father smiled as he hugged him tightly.
“Wait, guys!” Christopher tried to interject, but they weren’t listening. He should’ve guessed something was wrong when his parents, who weren’t the most affectionate or emotional people in the world, just barged into his room with smiles.
“Let’s call your grandparents! They’ll be so happy! Oh! And let’s plan a party!” Christopher’s mother went on as she joined her husband and son.
For illustration purposes only. | Source: Pexels
“Stop, Mom!” Christopher snapped. “Please stop!”
“What’s wrong, son?” his mother frowned, pulling away.
“You’re wrong!” Christopher screamed, pulling away from his father. “I’M NOT GOING TO STANFORD!”
“But son, Stanford is our family legacy. All men have to go there,” his father added while his mother nodded in agreement.
“Guys, stop! Stop acting like I’m not here! I’m not going to Stanford or any of those stupid schools! Alright?”
“Chris!” his mother warned.
“No, Mom, let me speak. I tried to tell you, but you shut me down,” Christopher continued, reaching for the papers on his bed. “This…I’m going to New York. I got a fashion internship.”
For illustration purposes only. | Source: Pexels
Richard face drained of blood, and his wife’s eyes bulged out in horror. “Fashion?! You must be out of your mind, boy!” h
“Dad, c’mon, you sell clothes! You should understand me!” Christopher tried explaining his dreams to them, but his parents turned a deaf ear to him.
“Well, I don’t make clothes, son! Or worse, design them! I own the business. I’m not going to spend my money on your stupid dream! You just proved we were failures as parents! You gotta leave! You’re worthless to me!” he said and walked away.
Christopher looked at his mother and held her hands. “Mom, it’s my dream. I need your help to convince Dad!” he pleaded with her.
For illustration purposes only. | Source: Pexels
But his mother pulled her hand away and shook her head. “Our dream for you was Stanford, son. Sorry, but you need to leave this house.”
Those words stung Christopher, and he could hear his mother’s cry from his bedroom. But he was not going to give up on his dreams. So he packed his bags, called his friend Johnny, and left.
Christopher had decided that he would fly to New York with Johnny once he graduated high school. And that’s what he did.
Johnny’s parents took him in after he was kicked out of his home. And a couple of months later, after the boys graduated high school, they flew to New York.
Johnny was attending NYU while working at his uncle’s brokerage firm, and Christopher received a small stipend for his fashion internship but worked nights at a 24-hour market to pay the rest of his bills.
Christopher hadn’t heard from his parents since the day they kicked him out. In fact, they didn’t even come to his graduation or to see him off at the airport.
For illustration purposes only. | Source: Pexels
Things got tough for him ever since he had left home, and it was only after arriving in New York that he realized the path to his dreams was not going to be all roses.
There was a final project for his internship, a chance to show a small line to big design houses, but the materials and fabrics were costly, and Christopher realized he couldn’t afford his vision. So he called his father to ask for help.
“What do you want?” Richard angrily asked, answering the phone. The man didn’t even bother asking his son how he was doing.
“Hey, Dad,” Christopher said timidly. “I need your help. Actually, there’s a big opportunity coming up for me.”
“On what? To choose different kinds of pink?” his father said sarcastically.
“No, it’s not that,” Christopher explained that he would get a job instantly if they liked his project at the internship, and they would also fund his future education.
But Richard’s tone remained stiff. “So why are you telling me this?” he sneered, and Christopher could imagine his father rolling his eyes.
For illustration purposes only. | Source: Pexels
“I need some money,” Christopher said, getting to the point. He was embarrassed but didn’t have a choice. “And it won’t be a handout. I’ll pay you back. The thing is, I can’t miss this chance. It might set me up for life.”
“Well, you’re an adult now, and you make your own choices. Deal with it. You should have gone to Stanford,” his father said heartlessly and hung up.
Christopher hadn’t cried months ago when his parents kicked him out, but he couldn’t contain his emotions any longer. He buried his face in the table before him and sobbed so heavily that Johnny came in.
“Hey, man, it’s OK,” he consoled Christopher and grabbed a chair. It took a few minutes for Christopher to calm down and narrate what had just happened.
“Why don’t you borrow some money from me?” Johnny suggested, but Christopher refused. He already owed their flat’s deposit to him.
For illustration purposes only. | Source: Pexels
“Is there any chance you could take a break? Like when you defer a class?” Johnny suggested. He noticed Christopher looked unsure. “Look, you could ask them, and hey, I have a spot at my uncle’s firm. You could take that job, make enough money, and finish your internship.”
Christopher never wanted to work in an office. He had aspired to become a fashion designer. But then Johnny explained to him that if he performed well at the job, his uncle’s firm would pay for his school.
Christopher was always good with numbers, and the money was tight, so he accepted the offer. “I think that’ll work,” he nodded nervously.
“Cheer up, dude! You’ll be back in fashion in no time,” Johnny encouraged him, and Christopher nodded, telling himself that he would make his own money. He didn’t need his dad’s help.
Ten years later, things changed. Richard couldn’t bring himself to look at the papers piled on his desk. He had to make a decision on whether to file for Chapter 13 or sell his company.
For illustration purposes only. | Source: Pexels
Richard could try to start over, but he didn’t want another defeat. He failed miserably as a father when Christopher refused to join Stanford to pursue fashion.
“I’m going to toss a coin! Let destiny pick,” the older man thought and nodded, hurling away the papers on his desk in frustration. Right then, his secretary barged into his office.
“Richard, I found something!” she said and placed a document on his desk, pointing her finger at a name in the papers.
Richard’s eyes widened in shock. “Is this…But that’s impossible,” he muttered, reading more. Richard couldn’t believe his son’s name was included in the buyer profiles.
“I made some calls and confirmed it, sir. It might be a sign from the universe,” she said. “He has a stellar reputation. He worked for a brokerage firm and climbed the ladder quicker than most people. He also bought other struggling businesses and expanded in clothes, accessories, and much more. I think it’s worth trying.”
For illustration purposes only. | Source: Pexels
Richard smiled and even let out a chuckle. His son was a real businessman, not a failed designer surviving on ramen in a dirty studio apartment. He decided he would sell the company to his son.
A few days later, Richard walked into his company’s conference room wearing a wide grin on his face. He confidently shook hands with everyone and smiled at his son.
Christopher sat surrounded by his lawyers. The negotiations had already taken place, and all that was left was signing papers. After that, the company would officially be his.
“Don’t be so serious, son. Your mother is outside. Let’s celebrate after we wrap this up,” Richard told his son, but Christopher didn’t accept the invitation.
His parents had refused to help when he needed it the most. It was Johnny who helped him get the job at the brokerage firm, and Christopher was so good that he quickly climbed to the top. But Christopher couldn’t return to fashion or the internship.
After Johnny moved out, Christopher had to keep working hard to afford living expenses, and his dreams of becoming a fashion designer disappeared. But when a deal with a clothes company came up, he saw a chance and took it.
For illustration purposes only. | Source: Pexels
The company grew so much that Christopher expanded it. And he also offered scholarships and internship programs to fashion students, healing his past wounds and somewhat fulfilling his dreams.
“Mrs. Pattison,” Christopher called his father’s secretary after signing the papers, ignoring his father. “Richard should leave the building. And yes, this applies to his wife too.”
“What the hell are you doing?” Richard jumped to his feet in anger.
“Please be quick, or I’ll be forced to call security,” he told Mrs. Pattison, looking his father in the eyes. “I have no interest in going to dinner with you two! But yes, I do want to know one thing…Am I worthy enough now?”
Richard’s eyes were red in anger, but he nodded and walked away, escorted by security guards.
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My Brother Left His Newborn Son in My Yard 27 Years Ago – Two Days Ago, He Returned and Blamed Me for It
Twenty-seven years ago, my brother left his newborn son on my doorstep, disappearing without a trace. Now, just as my nephew has become the successful man I always hoped he’d be, my brother has returned, and he’s blaming me for everything.
I’ll never forget that morning 27 years ago. I opened the door, and there he was — a tiny baby bundled in a blanket so thin it barely covered his little body. The fabric was worn and frayed, not nearly enough to keep him warm on that chilly morning. He was lying in a basket, his face red from crying, his fists clenched tight.
A baby in a basket | Source: Midjourney
The street was quiet — too quiet. Just the eerie silence of the neighborhood waking up. The only sound left was the baby’s soft whimpers, weak now from crying so much. This helpless child abandoned on my porch — my nephew. I knew it instantly. There was no doubt. My brother had done this.
I knew it, just like I knew he wouldn’t be coming back. Tommy. Always running from his problems, always disappearing when things got hard. He hadn’t been seen for weeks, and now, in the dead of night, he had left his son on my doorstep like an unwanted package.
A woman holding a baby in a basket | Source: Midjourney
Carl was in the kitchen, making coffee when I stumbled back inside, still cradling the baby in my arms. I must have looked like a wreck because his face instantly changed when he saw me.
I could barely get the words out. “Tommy… he left him,” I said, my voice breaking. “He left his baby on our doorstep.”
Carl stared at me for a moment, processing what I had said. Then his gaze shifted to the baby, who had finally stopped crying but was still shivering in my arms. “Are you sure it’s his?” Carl asked though we both knew the answer.
A bewildered man with his coffee | Source: Midjourney
I nodded, tears starting to well up in my eyes. “He’s Tommy’s. I know it.”
Carl exhaled deeply, rubbing his temples. “We can’t keep him, Sarah. This isn’t our responsibility,” he said, his voice calm but firm, like he was trying to reason with me before I got too attached.
A man having a serious talk with his wife | Source: Midjourney
“But look at him,” I pleaded, holding the baby up just a little higher as if Carl could somehow see the desperation in my nephew’s eyes the way I could. “He’s so small, and he’s cold. He needs us.”
There was a long, heavy silence. Carl looked at the baby again, then at me. I could see the conflict in his eyes — he was trying to be logical, trying to protect us from making a decision that could change everything.
But I also knew he had a soft heart. He had always been that way, even when he tried to hide it.
A man looking at a baby in the basket | Source: Midjourney
We didn’t argue. We didn’t talk about it much more that day. We just did what needed to be done. We kept him. We fed him, bathed him, and found clothes that would fit him. And when the sun went down that night, we rocked him to sleep in our arms.
That was 27 years ago.
A family with a young baby boy | Source: Midjourney
Two days ago, he came over for dinner. He was in town for work and decided to stop by. As Michael and I sat down to dinner, I watched him closely, the way his posture was always straight, his manner of speaking careful and measured.
He was every bit the successful lawyer now. He’d just come from a case in Manhattan and told me about the long hours, the meetings, the deals he was closing. His eyes lit up when he talked about his work, and I couldn’t help but feel proud.
A young lawyer | Source: Pexels
But there was a space between us, always had been. Even as we sat together at the table, sharing a meal, I could feel the distance. I had raised him and sacrificed so much, but there was a line he never crossed.
He respected me and was polite, but the love — the real love a child has for their mother — was never there. I felt it in the way he never called me “Mom,” and how he was quick to offer thanks but never affection.
A man eating | Source: Pexels
“So, how long are you staying in town?” I asked, trying to keep the conversation light.
“Just a few days,” he said, cutting into his steak. “Got a lot on my plate right now. Big case coming up next month.”
I nodded, forcing a smile. “Well, we’re glad to have you here. Your dad and I—”
An elderly woman talking to her son | Source: Midjourney
Suddenly, there was a knock at the door. It was loud, almost urgent, pulling me out of my thoughts. Carl looked up from his seat, and Michael raised an eyebrow, confused. “Are you expecting someone?”
I shook my head, feeling a strange pit form in my stomach. “No, I’m not.”
I stood up, wiped my hands on the kitchen towel, and walked to the door. When I opened it, my heart nearly stopped.
A shocked elderly woman opening her door | Source: Midjourney
It was Tommy. After 27 years, my brother stood there, looking older, thinner, and worn down by life. His hair was gray, his face gaunt. He smelled like he hadn’t bathed in days, and his clothes were dirty and tattered.
“Sis,” he said, his voice rough. “It’s been a long time.”
I couldn’t speak. I just stared at him, the memories rushing back. The morning I found his baby on my doorstep, the years of wondering if he would ever come back. And now here he was, like a ghost from the past.
An elderly man | Source: Pexels
Michael stepped closer, his face puzzled. “Who is this?” he asked.
My throat tightened. “This… this is your father,” I finally said.
Michael’s eyes widened, and he turned to Tommy. “You’re my father?”
Tommy stepped forward, his voice growing louder. “Yeah, I’m your dad. I had no choice, son! I had to leave you, or you would’ve died. It’s all her fault!” He jabbed his finger in my direction.
An angry elderly man on the porch | Source: Midjourney
I felt my knees weaken. “Tommy, what are you talking about?” I stammered. “I raised him. I did what you couldn’t.”
Tommy’s face twisted with anger. “You never gave me the money I sent for his treatment! I trusted you to help, and you took everything from me. I was left with nothing!”
Michael looked between us, his expression hardening. “Is this true?” he asked, his voice low.
I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. “Michael, no, he’s lying! He never sent me money. He left you with me, and he disappeared!”
A shocked woman on her porch | Source: Midjourney
Tommy’s voice rose. “I was trying to get back on my feet! I was working, trying to send money, but she kept it all for herself. She ruined me!”
Michael’s hands balled into fists. “Is that why you left me? Because you were trying to send money?”
Tommy nodded, his eyes wild. “I had no choice, son! I had to go. But I came back for you now. I came back to fix things.”
A black and white photo of an elderly man | Source: Pexels
I felt the room spinning. My worst fear was playing out — losing Michael to the lies of a man who had abandoned him so long ago. “Michael, please,” I whispered. “You know me. You know I would never do that.”
For a moment, Michael was silent. Then he turned to Tommy, his voice calm but firm. “No,” he said. “I don’t believe you.”
Tommy blinked, stunned. “What?”
A man talking to his father | Source: Midjourney
“I don’t believe you,” Michael repeated, his voice louder now. “You didn’t send money. You didn’t try to come back. You left me on her doorstep, and she raised me. She’s the only mother I’ve ever known.”
Tommy’s face crumpled. “But I’m your father—”
“You’re not my father,” Michael interrupted, his voice steady. “You’re just a man who gave up on me. She never did.”
A serious man standing with his hands crossed | Source: Midjourney
Tommy stood there, speechless, as if the wind had been knocked out of him. He opened his mouth to speak but said nothing.
“You need to leave,” Michael said, his voice cold. “There’s no place for you here.”
Tommy’s shoulders slumped, and without another word, he turned and walked away. The door closed behind him, and the house fell silent.
An elderly man leaving the house | Source: Midjourney
I stood there, still trembling, unsure of what had just happened. Michael turned to me, his eyes softening for the first time in years.
“You’re my real mother,” he said, his voice quiet. “I’m sorry I never said it before, but you are. And I’m grateful for everything you’ve done. I wouldn’t be where I am today without you.”
Tears welled up in my eyes as I reached out and hugged him, holding on tight. It was something I never thought I’d hear.
An elderly woman with her son | Source: Midjourney
After a long moment, Michael pulled back, a small smile on his face. “I have one more thing to tell you.”
“What is it?” I asked, wiping my tears.
He took a deep breath. “I bought a house near the ocean. It’s yours and Dad’s. I want you both to live there, to have something for yourselves. I’m covering everything.”
A house near the ocean | Source: Pexels
I stared at him, my heart swelling. “You… you did that for us?”
Michael nodded. “It’s the least I could do.”
And for the first time in a long time, I felt like I had truly found my son.
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.
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