Have you ever had someone try to erase you from your own story? To tell you that the love you lived wasn’t real enough? That’s what happened when my brother decided I wasn’t family enough to say goodbye to our mother.
The house feels so empty now. I walk through rooms that still smell like her lavender hand cream and expect to hear her voice calling from the kitchen. It’s been two weeks since we lost Mom to ovarian cancer, and the hollow feeling in my chest has only grown deeper with each passing day.
A bedroom | Source: Midjourney
“Emily, honey, are you eating?” My aunt Susan calls twice a day to check on me. “Your mother would want you to take care of yourself.”
I manage a weak “yes” even though the refrigerator is filled with untouched casseroles from well-meaning neighbors. Food tastes like nothing these days.
Mom was everything to me, and it’s not just because she chose me. Well, that part matters too.
I was five when she and Dad adopted me, a scared little girl with a too-big backpack and trust issues that ran bone-deep.
A little girl standing outside a house | Source: Midjourney
They already had Mark, their biological son, who was eight and blessed with Mom’s dimples and Dad’s confident smile.
“This is your sister,” Mom had told him, her hand warm on my shoulder.
“And this is your forever home,” she’d whispered to me later that night when I couldn’t sleep.
Those weren’t just words. She lived them. Every single day.
Dad was wonderful too. He was patient and kind and taught me to ride a bike.
A man helping his daughter ride a bike | Source: Pexels
But when he passed away from a heart attack eight years after I came home, it was Mom who became my entire world. She showed up to every dance recital with flowers, stayed up late helping with science projects, and held me through my first heartbreak at 16.
“Blood doesn’t make a family,” she would say whenever anyone made thoughtless comments about adoption. “Love does.”
A woman holding her mother’s hands | Source: Pexels
We were inseparable, especially after I graduated college.
I took a job at a design firm just 20 minutes from her house because I couldn’t imagine being far away. Weekend brunches, impromptu movie nights, holiday traditions… we did it all together.
Then the diagnosis came. Ovarian cancer, stage three.
“We’ll fight this,” I promised her in the sterile hospital room where the doctor had delivered the news, his eyes already carrying a resignation that terrified me.
A doctor | Source: Pexels
For two years, that’s exactly what we did.
Two years of chemo, of doctors who never made eye contact, of late-night ER visits and pain that stole her voice, piece by piece.
And through all of that? I was there. Every. Single. Day.
I moved into her house. Cooked every bland meal that wouldn’t make her sick. Helped her bathe when her body failed her. Sat beside her in the hospice while her hands trembled in mine.
A woman holding her mother’s hand | Source: Pexels
And Mark? He only visited twice.
Once for her birthday, bringing an expensive bouquet that made Mom smile despite the pain medication making her drowsy.
Once for five minutes after she was moved to the hospice. Just long enough to say, “I can’t handle seeing her like this” and leave.
He lived three hours away in Chicago. Had a successful career in finance. A beautiful wife. Two kids Mom barely knew.
But that’s not why he didn’t show up. It’s because he didn’t want to.
A close-up shot of a man’s face | Source: Midjourney
And still, I never held that against him. Mom didn’t either.
“Everyone grieves differently,” she would say on nights when disappointment made her eyes shine with unshed tears after he canceled yet another visit. “Mark just needs time.”
But time was the one thing she didn’t have.
The morning of the funeral dawned cold and clear. It was the kind of beautiful autumn day Mom would have loved.
A coffin | Source: Pexels
I stood in front of the mirror in her bathroom, smoothing down the navy blue dress she’d helped me pick out months before.
“This one,” she’d said. “You look so beautiful in this one, honey.”
The memory made my throat tighten. I tucked the folded pages of my speech into my purse, the paper worn soft from how many times I’d revised it.
It wasn’t just a eulogy. It was a goodbye. A thank-you. A love letter to the woman who chose me, who taught me what family really means.
A handwritten note | Source: Midjourney
“Emily? The cars are here.” My aunt Susan knocked gently on the bedroom door. “Are you ready, sweetheart?”
No. I would never be ready. But I nodded anyway.
The church was already filling when we arrived. Mom had been loved by so many people, including her book club friends, neighbors, former colleagues from the elementary school where she’d taught second grade for 30 years.
I greeted them in a fog, accepting hugs and condolences that blurred together.
I spotted Mark near the front, standing with his wife Jennifer and their children.
A man standing in a church | Source: Midjourney
He looked like he’d aged years in the weeks since Mom died. We hadn’t spoken much during the arrangements. He’d delegated most decisions to me with brief, perfunctory texts.
“Emily.” He nodded when I approached. “The, uh, the flowers look nice.”
“Mom loved lilies,” I said softly. “Remember how she always planted them along the front walk?”
White lilies in a garden | Source: Pexels
He looked away, uncomfortable with the shared memory. “Yeah.”
Pastor Wilson was preparing to begin the service when Mark suddenly pulled me aside near the church steps, away from the gathering mourners.
“Hey,” he said, voice tight, “You should sit this one out.”
I blinked, not understanding what he meant. “What?”
He glanced around like he didn’t want anyone to hear, and then said the words I wasn’t ready for.
“No one wants to hear from the adopted one. The speech should come from real family.”
A man looking at his sister | Source: Midjourney
Adopted.
I felt the blood drain from my face. The church, the people, everything around me seemed to fade away as his words echoed in my head.
He’d never said that word before. Not even when we were kids fighting over toys or the front seat of the car. Mom and Dad had never allowed any distinction between us.
We were both their children. Period.
I opened my mouth to respond, to remind him of all the nights I’d spent holding Mom’s hand while he was absent. All the doctors’ appointments I’d driven her to. All the medications I’d carefully organized in daily pill cases.
Pills in a pill organizer | Source: Pexels
But then I saw his clenched jaw. The way he’d already decided. The grief that was making him cruel.
So, I nodded.
“Fine,” I whispered. “Whatever you want, Mark.”
***
He gave his eulogy. It was fine. Generic. A few stories from childhood and some lines about “how much Mom meant to all of us.
People clapped politely when he finished.
A man giving a speech | Source: Midjourney
I sat in the front pew, tears streaming silently down my face. The speech I’d written burned a hole in my purse. All those words I’d carefully chosen to honor her were now silenced.
As Mark stepped down from the podium, one of the hospice volunteers, Grace, walked over and handed him an envelope.
“Your mother wanted you to have this,” she said, loud enough for the front rows to hear.
Mark looked confused but took the envelope.
A sealed envelope | Source: Pexels
He opened it at the podium, unfolding a sheet of pale blue paper that Mom always saved for important letters.
I watched his hands tremble as he read the contents. He cleared his throat once. Then twice.
Then, he began to read aloud.
“To my children, Mark and Emily. Yes, both of you. Blood makes children related. Love makes you mine.”
A sob caught in my throat.
“Mark, you were my first. My wild child. The one who never stopped running. Emily, you were my answered prayer. The soul who chose to come to me in a different way, but just as deeply.”
A woman putting a note in an envelope | Source: Pexels
The church was completely silent now.
“Emily, I hope you kept the words I helped you write. Because they’re my last ones, too.”
Mark looked up from the letter, his face transformed by shame and grief. His eyes found mine across the sanctuary.
“Please,” he said, his voice breaking. “Come up here. I’m sorry.”
I stood on shaky legs, aware of every eye in the church following me as I walked to the front.
A woman walking in a church | Source: Midjourney
My hands trembled as I unfolded my speech.
Mom had helped me draft it during those quiet hours between pain medication doses, when her mind was clear and we talked about everything and nothing.
I took a deep breath and began to read the words we wrote together.
I told them about her courage. Her kindness. The way she could make anyone feel like the most important person in the room. How she taught second graders to read for three decades and still got Christmas cards from students now in their 40s.
And how she made the best apple pie in three counties, but would never share her secret ingredient.
An older woman smiling | Source: Midjourney
And I told them what she taught me about family.
That it’s built by choice, by love, and by showing up day after day.
When I finished, the church was filled with both tears and smiles. That was exactly what Mom would have wanted.
Afterward, people lined up to hug me. To tell me how beautiful it was. How Mom would’ve been proud. Her book club friends sharing stories I hadn’t heard before. Her fellow teachers reminiscing about staff room pranks and school trips.
Mark pulled me aside before I left the reception.
A man talking to his sister | Source: Midjourney
“I was wrong,” he said, looking directly at me for perhaps the first time in years. “About everything.”
I nodded. “I know.”
We stood there, in silence. Not the kind that erases you. The kind that makes space for healing.
“You know what, Mark… She loved you so much,” I finally said. “She never stopped hoping you’d come around.”
His eyes filled with tears. “I… I should’ve been there for her. I wasted so much time.”
A man looking down | Source: Midjourney
“Then don’t waste any more,” I told him, thinking of Mom’s most frequent advice. It’s never too late to start over.
And I realized something as we walked back into the reception together. I didn’t need the podium to prove I was her daughter. She’d already said it herself. Louder than anyone else ever could.
Rich Man Accidentally Meets Little Girl Who Is His Carbon Copy, She Begs Him to Help Her Mom — Story of the Day
Alex was sitting in the park, lost in thought when he was interrupted by a voice from behind. “Please help my mother!” it begged. When Alex turned around, he saw a little girl crying bitterly. Alex was frozen in place by the mere sight of her. She looked so much like him!
Why did you do that, Charlotte? Why didn’t you just tell me you weren’t happy with me? Alex sighed as he reflected on the events of the previous night.
He’d arrived home early from work to surprise his wife on their wedding anniversary. But all of his excitement was dashed when he discovered her in their bedroom with another man. The man was holding her waist, and her arms were wrapped around him. After a brief moment, they clasped hands, kissed passionately, and didn’t stop until Alex barged into the room.
For illustration purposes only. | Source: Pexels
“Is this what you do behind my back, Charlotte?” he lashed out at his wife, still holding the bouquet and cake he’d brought for the special day. “You’re cheating on me with a man half your age?!”
Charlotte, who didn’t expect Alex to be home so soon, was taken aback by his presence. “Oh, Alex…I…”
“You have one hour to leave this place, Charlotte, with that man! Run away as far as you can! I don’t want to see you again,” he threatened her and left the room. Then he ordered the guard to go into the house and make sure that behind his back, Charlotte didn’t take anything extra from his home.
Alex got into his car and drove all night aimlessly, stopping only once to refuel. Then, as his fuel gauge reminded him that he needed to fill up, he pulled over to a park and sat on a bench, lazy to go to the station again.
A quick glance at his wristwatch revealed that it was around 6 a.m. The park was as deserted as a cemetery, and he was glad he was alone there because the sad thoughts of his wife cheating on him hadn’t left him even after the long drive. He soon covered his face with his hands, attempting to calm himself and get over the events of the previous night.
Perhaps she never wanted a relationship. Maybe she was always after my money, he pondered.
Suddenly, a sobbing sound from behind interrupted his thoughts. “Sir, can you please help me? My mother needs help!” it said.
For illustration purposes only. | Source: Pexels
Turning around, Alex noticed a small child holding a teddy bear. The sun had nearly risen, and the rays falling on the girl’s face froze Alex in place. No way! This isn’t possible! She can’t be… Wake up, Alex! You’re imagining things because you didn’t sleep last night!
“Sir,” she said again, pulling his jacket closer to her. “Please help my mom!”
What if she’s a member of one of those gangs that threaten and rob people? After all, what is she doing here alone at this hour of the morning?
“Umm…where is your mom? And what happened to her?” Alex asked, looking around for anything suspicious, but when he didn’t see anything dubious, he hurried after the girl.
As she walked to the back of the park and into the abandoned forest, Alex was constantly keeping his eye out, waiting for someone to jump out from around the corner and force him to hand in everything in his pockets. However, other than his car keys and a phone, he had nothing else to offer at the time.
As they moved deeper into the forest, the girl came to a halt in front of a massive oak tree. She then turned to Alex and motioned with her hands to the tree. “My mom… she’s there. She needs help!”
Seeing a human’s hand protruding from one corner of the tree, he quickened his pace and found a woman lying there unconscious. Squatting next to her, he touched her hand to check for a pulse. She was still alive and breathing, but her body was sweltering. He gently turned her over on her back and froze in shock once again. The woman was his first love, Camilla.
For illustration purposes only. | Source: Pexels
He immediately dialed 911 and requested that an ambulance be dispatched to the scene. Then he dashed to his car to get his water bottle.
Having splashed water on the woman’s face, he tried to bring her to her senses, but she began shaking from the cold. He took off his jacket and wrapped it around her, holding her tightly in his arms.
“How did your mom come here, sweetie?” he asked the little girl, trying to control the tears in his eyes at having doubted her. “Where’s your father?”
“I don’t have anyone other than my mother,” the girl sniffed. “Will mommy be alright?”
“Of course she will!” Alex comforted the child.
When the ambulance arrived, the doctors examined Camilla quickly and loaded her onto a stretcher. They didn’t even ask Alex if he knew Camilla. “Is the child staying with you?” asked the orderly quickly. Alex nodded in agreement.
The little girl cried and asked to join her mother, but Alex promised her that he would definitely take her to her mother when she gets better. “I know your mom. She and I were close friends once, so don’t worry, okay?” he said gently. But the girl looked at him incredulously as they both walked to his car to head home.
When they arrived, Alex ordered the housekeeper to look after the little girl then left for the hospital. When Camilla awoke, she was shocked to see Alex at her bedside. “You? What are you doing here? And where’s my daughter?”
For illustration purposes only. | Source: Shutterstock
“Please, Camilla, calm down. She’s at my house and safe. I can video call her right now if you want.”
“Yes! Do that!” Camilla cried. “I want to see her!” Camilla didn’t rest until she saw and spoke with her daughter on the phone. Once the call was over, she burst into tears. “I’m sorry for doubting you, Alex, but I really have none other than Kate in my life.”
“It’s all right, Camilla. For the time being, you should rest. The doctors said it was pneumonia, and you’re lucky your fever went down; otherwise, they’d have to keep you in the intensive care unit… By the way, how did you end up in the forest?”
“Actually, I always take that route because it’s like a shortcut to Kate’s kindergarten,” she admitted, her voice trembling with embarrassment. “I start early in the morning to save money on bus fare. It is difficult to raise a child on one’s own.”
“But where’s her father? Why doesn’t he take responsibility for his child?” Alex asked curiously.
Camilla fell silent. “Well…” Before she could say anything, doctors walked into the room and asked Alex to leave. They said Camilla would be under observation for a few days.
For illustration purposes only. | Source: Pexels
During Camilla’s stay at the hospital, Alex visited her every day and looked after her. When she was discharged, he took her home, and during that phase, they became close involuntarily.
Meanwhile, Alex was constantly bothered by the thoughts of why Kate resembled him so much. He felt a strange affection for the young girl and he wanted to ask Camilla if his suspicion was true and Kate was his daughter. So he decided that after Camilla recovered completely, he would sit with her and talk about it. But fate had different plans.
One day, as he and Camilla were about to leave the house for a check-up, they ran into Charlotte, who’d come to discuss the divorce settlement with Alex.
Imagine her shock when she spotted her husband’s ex-lover at the house. “Oh! So you’re back together now? Is she the reason you were so eager to get rid of me, Alex, without even giving me a chance to explain myself?” She sneered.
“Well–” Before Alex could say anything, little Kate came running and hugged Alex. “Let’s go! But the doctor won’t give me those tablets, right?” she asked Alex curiously.
“Woah! Look at you! Aren’t you happy after kicking me out of the house? You have your lover and your daughter with you. What else do you want?” Charlotte mocked.
For illustration purposes only. | Source: Pexels
“What?” Alex turned pale upon hearing Charlotte’s remark. “My daughter?” He looked at Camilla, who quickly averted her gaze and looked down.
“Oops! Looks like someone didn’t tell you the truth!” Charlotte added.
“Can someone tell me what’s going on?” Alex asked, dumbfounded.
“I’ll tell you everything, Alex,” Camilla said in a quiet voice. “You go inside and play, honey. Mumma will come soon,” she added, turning to Kate, who happily followed her mom’s instructions and went inside. Then Camilla revealed the whole story to Alex.
It turns out Charlotte always knew Kate was Camilla and Alex’s child. She liked Alex a lot and decided to drive a wedge between him and Camilla. Hence, she asked one of her friends to take false photographs of Camilla with another man to convince him that Camila was cheating on him.
Alex was heartbroken when he saw those photographs of Camilla hugging and kissing another man and broke up with her. Charlotte saw this as the perfect opportunity and started dating Alex. They were childhood friends, after all, and their families were also convinced that they were perfect for each other. Meanwhile, Camila had not informed Alex of her pregnancy. She decided to raise their child alone after Alex left her.
For illustration purposes only. | Source: Shutterstock
“I didn’t want to break your marriage, so even after I came here, I didn’t tell you about Kate,” Camila explained. “I had no idea you and Charlotte were divorcing.”
Alex started hating Charlotte even more after learning the whole truth. He not only divorced her but also made sure she received no money from his inheritance. Later, after the divorce case was resolved, he married Camilla and they lived happily together.
What can we learn from this story?
- You always meet people because you’re destined to and not by chance. Alex was destined to reunite with his lover and daughter, and that’s precisely what happened in the end.
- Karma is unavoidable. Charlotte thought she could get away with cheating on her husband, but in the end, karma reached her.
If you enjoyed this story, you might like this one about a store clerk who kicked out a little boy who wanted to buy a doll for his dying mother.
This account is inspired by our reader’s story and written by a professional writer. Any resemblance to actual names or locations is purely coincidental. All images are for illustration purposes only. Share your story with us; maybe it will change someone’s life.
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