There are some stories that captivate your attention… We cordially encourage you to read one more moving story.Mary, an elderly woman, finds it challenging to ascend the bus’s steps due to her weakened physical condition.Just when she was about to give up, she felt a solid hand catch her elbow and hold her up.However, her smile swiftly changed to shame when she turned to thank him.Timothy, a tall, thin man with an untidy appearance and appearance of homelessness, was the owner of the hand.Mary instinctively withdrew her arm and gave a stiff “thank you.”Timothy merely grinned pitifully.Rejection was nothing new to him; it was just part of who he was.
Mary’s occupation of two bus seats made him think of his own mother, who would have been embarrassed to see him in such a manner.Timothy took a seat by himself near the back of the bus.Closing his eyes, Timothy leaned back and considered his daughter Daisy.He kept thinking about how she continued to cling to him even after everything in their lives had crumbled.His wife Valery had been diagnosed with stage four cancer two years prior.Timothy was devastated when Valery passed away despite having spent all of her money on medical care.
Following Valery’s passing, Timothy’s world collapsed.Due to his frequent absences to take care of her, he lost his work, and in order to pay off the obligations, they had to sell their property.He moved into a ramshackle one-bedroom flat in a crumbling building with Daisy.Daisy’s circumstances were deemed inadequate by child welfare workers, who promptly took her away.Timothy’s only comfort now that he was homeless was a bus ticket to see his daughter at her house.
The loud, teasing voice of a teenager startled Timothy out of his reverie.”Driver, have a look at this!The boy pointed at Mary and mumbled, visibly inebriated, “This lady should pay for TWO tickets.”His friend interrupted, making fun of her for occupying two seats.With trembling hands, Mary gripped her handbag while the other passengers turned away, refusing to assist her.Mary was told to get out of her seat by the first teen, who gave her a punch to the chest.Mary calmly remarked, “Young man, there are plenty of other free seats,” despite her trepidation. The second teen, though, was not content.Approaching her with an alcoholic breath, he demanded that Mary vacate her seat.
My husband threw all my paintings away. I decided to give him a real lesson now
When I discovered Tim had thrown away my paintings, it felt like a piece of my soul had been ripped away. Each stroke of paint, each color combination, each image on the canvas represented hours of joy, frustration, and fulfillment. But to him, they were nothing but “junk.”
A Moment of Realization
That evening, exhausted from work, I decided to revisit an old painting that I believed had more potential. The idea of reworking it filled me with a rare excitement. However, my anticipation turned to horror when I descended into the basement, only to find it empty. The walls were bare, the shelves clean, and my paintings—gone. I stood there in shock, a cold sense of loss washing over me. How could he do this? How could he erase a part of my life so carelessly?
Confrontation and Anger
I stormed upstairs, fury bubbling inside me. There he was, lounging on the couch, engrossed in a football game, a bag of chips in hand. “Tim! Where are my f***ing paintings?” I demanded, my voice shaking with rage.
He glanced at me nonchalantly and said, “Oh, honey, relax. You should be thanking me for taking out that junk.”
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His dismissive attitude was the final straw. I exploded in anger, yelling at him, but he remained unbothered, barely acknowledging my distress. It was clear he didn’t understand or care about the pain he’d caused.
The Plan for Revenge
As I stood there, seething, a plan began to form in my mind. If he could so casually discard something that meant so much to me, then he deserved a taste of his own medicine. I decided to retaliate in a way that would hit him where it hurt the most.
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The next day, I waited until Tim left for work. Fueled by a sense of righteous indignation, I methodically gathered all his cherished belongings—his prized football memorabilia, his vintage record collection, even his favorite recliner. I loaded everything into the back of my car and drove to the nearest charity shop. Watching the workers unload his precious items, I felt a twisted sense of satisfaction. Let’s see how he likes it, I thought.
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