When Claire agrees to clean a reclusive woman’s neglected home, she expects dirt and clutter — but not the eerie feeling of a house frozen in time. As she sorts through the piled-up mess, she finds a stack of birthday cards that leads her to a heartbreaking revelation.
My phone buzzed as I packed my cleaning caddy. Another day, another home that needed cleaning.
A cell phone in someone’s back pocket | Source: Pexels
“Clean Slate Services, this is Claire,” I answered, wedging the phone between my ear and shoulder as I checked my supply of microfiber cloths.
“Hello?” The voice was elderly and tentative. “My name is Margaret. My daughter suggested I contact you. She said you post videos online about helping people clean their homes?”
I smiled, thinking of the before-and-after videos that had become surprisingly popular.
A woman in a store room speaking on her phone | Source: Midjourney
My small cleaning business may not have been setting the world on fire, but scrubbing suburban floors and dusting small offices served a greater purpose. Those jobs allowed me to offer free cleaning services to people in need.
“That’s me,” I replied to Margaret. “How can I help?”
“It’s not for me.” Her voice dropped to a near-whisper. “It’s my neighbor, Eleanor. She needs help. She won’t ask for it, but she needs it.”
Something in her tone made me stop what I was doing.
A concerned woman speaking on her cell phone | Source: Midjourney
I’d heard this kind of concern before — the worry that comes when someone watches another person slowly disappear.
“Tell me about Eleanor,” I said, sitting down on a nearby stool.
Margaret sighed. “Her yard is completely overgrown now. There are newspapers piling up on her porch that she never brings in. I tried checking on her last week and she barely opened the door, but when she did…” Margaret paused. “There was a bad smell. And what I could see behind her… it wasn’t good.”
A woman using her cell phone | Source: Midjourney
My stomach tightened. I knew what that meant.
“It wasn’t always like this,” Margaret continued. “She used to be out in her garden all the time. Her roses won ribbons at the county fair. Then, one day… she just stopped. She’s a good person, Claire. I just… something’s terribly wrong.”
I hesitated for only a moment. These calls never came at convenient times, but that was the nature of crises.
A worried-looking woman in a supply room | Source: Midjourney
“I’ll be there in an hour,” I promised. “What’s the address?”
After hanging up, I texted Ryan, my husband and business partner: Emergency clean-up. Not sure how bad yet. May need backup.
His response came immediately: On standby. Let me know.
I grabbed my “first assessment” kit — gloves, mask, basic cleaning supplies, and a change of clothes. Experience had taught me to always be prepared for the worst.
A variety of cleaning supplies | Source: Pexels
Eleanor’s house was a modest one-story with faded blue siding. The lawn had transformed into a meadow and dead flowers hung in forgotten window boxes. The mailbox listed to one side, stuffed with envelopes.
I knocked and waited. Nothing. I knocked again, louder.
Finally, I heard shuffling footsteps. The door opened just an inch, revealing a sliver of a woman’s face.
A woman peeking through a slightly open door | Source: Midjourney
She was pale, with unkempt hair and tired eyes that widened at the sight of my company polo shirt.
“I don’t need a cleaning service,” she muttered, already starting to close the door.
“I’m not here to sell anything,” I said quickly, keeping my tone gentle. “Margaret asked me to come. She’s worried about you. She thought you might need help.”
Eleanor’s jaw set in a hard line. “I can handle it myself.”
A woman speaking harshly | Source: Midjourney
I took a slow breath. I recognized this tone. This kind of resistance was not pride, but shame. It was the same way my mother used to react when concerned neighbors or teachers would ask about the piles of boxes filling our house.
“My mom used to say the same thing. ‘I can handle it.’ But sometimes, handling it means letting someone help,” I said softly. “I know what it’s like, Eleanor, how it all builds up. That’s why I started my cleaning business, so I could clean homes for free for people who need a fresh start.”
A woman on a porch speaking to someone | Source: Midjourney
“A fresh start…” Eleanor sighed the words as though she barely dared to believe them.
For the first time, her eyes flicked up to meet mine. Something flickered there — hope, maybe. Or simply exhaustion. There was a long pause where I could almost see her weighing her options. Then her face crumpled.
“I don’t even know where to start,” she whispered.
A woman whispering sadly | Source: Midjourney
“You don’t have to,” I assured her. “That’s why I’m here. Maybe you could spend the day with Margaret while I work? It might be easier that way.”
Eleanor hesitated, chewing on her lower lip. Finally, she nodded. “Let me get my purse.”
She disappeared behind the door for a moment. When she emerged, she was wearing a cardigan that had seen better days and carrying a worn leather handbag. I noticed how she kept her eyes down, avoiding looking at her front yard.
Withered plants near a fence in a neglected yard | Source: Pexels
We walked together to Margaret’s house next door. Eleanor moved cautiously, like each step required calculation. Her shoulders hunched forward slightly, as if she was carrying something heavy.
Margaret answered her door with surprise that quickly melted into joy.
“Eleanor! Oh, it’s so good to see you out,” she exclaimed. “Come in, come in. I just made a fresh pot of tea.”
A smiling woman | Source: Midjourney
Eleanor managed a small smile as she stepped inside. “Thank you, Margaret.”
Margaret caught my eye over Eleanor’s shoulder and mouthed a silent “thank you.” I nodded and headed back to Eleanor’s house, already pulling out my phone.
“Ryan? I need you to bring the industrial garbage bags. And maybe a respirator.”
A concerned woman on a phone call | Source: Midjourney
Ryan arrived 30 minutes later, a box of our heavy-duty cleaning supplies in his arms. He took one look inside the house and exhaled sharply.
“She’s been living like this?” he asked, his voice muffled by the mask he’d already put on.
I nodded. “For years, I’d guess.”
The house wasn’t packed floor to ceiling with junk, but it was suffocating. Dishes with dried food crusted onto them formed precarious towers in the sink. Mold crept along the baseboards.
Dirty dishes in a sink | Source: Pexels
The air was stagnant, heavy with the smell of neglect.
I pulled on my gloves and mask. “Focus on bagging up the obvious trash in the living room and kitchen, please — rotting takeout containers, empty packaging, bottles. I’ll start in the bedrooms.”
Ryan nodded, already opening a trash bag. “Got it. I’ll leave the sorting to you.”
I moved carefully across the living room, noting the layer of dust on the television screen.
A dirty and untidy living room | Source: Midjourney
The master bedroom was in similar disarray. There were clothes piled on chairs and a bed that hadn’t been made in what looked like months. Prescription bottles for anti-depressants and sleep aids were nestled among the junk on the nightstand.
The labels were all for Eleanor. Anti-depressants. Sleep aids. Another familiar sign.
But it was the second bedroom that stopped me cold.
A bedroom door | Source: Pexels
I pushed open the door and immediately felt like I’d stepped into a different house.
Dust floated in the air, catching in the slant of light from a single, grime-streaked window. Cobwebs dangled everywhere, like drapes. The lack of trash in here made it feel abandoned in a way that sent shivers down my spine.
A twin bed sat against one wall, covered with dust. A model solar system hung from the ceiling, also brown with dust, the planets tilting at odd angles from years of stillness.
A model solar system hanging from a ceiling | Source: Midjourney
A dresser stood against the far wall. Inside, I found children’s clothes, neatly folded. T-shirts small enough for a nine or ten-year-old. Superhero pajamas. School uniforms.
I exhaled slowly. This room wasn’t a storage space. It was a memorial.
I carefully closed the drawer and left the room exactly as I’d found it. I’d dust it later, but for now, there were bigger problems.
A woman in a doorway | Source: Midjourney
As I cleaned the house, I unearthed framed photographs on a dusty bookshelf. A young boy with dark curls grinned at the camera. In another, the same boy sat on a man’s shoulders, both of them laughing.
But as I found more photos, something gnawed at me. There were no pictures of the boy past the age of ten, or so. All the clothes I’d found earlier were for a child around that age.
In the master bedroom, I found a small stack of birthday cards addressed to “Michael” tucked inside a nightstand drawer.
Trash and junk on a nightstand | Source: Gemini
There were cards for every birthday from his first to his 13th. The text in the 13th birthday card was shaky, mostly illegible handwriting. All I could make out was “…would’ve been 13 today.”
Would’ve been? A heavy feeling settled over my heart as I began putting the pieces together. There was always a reason people lost control over the state of their homes, and I suspected this child was part of Eleanor’s reason.
By early afternoon, Ryan and I had made considerable progress. We’d cleared most of the floors and built a mountain of trash bags on the curb.
Trash bags on a sidewalk | Source: Midjourney
The kitchen countertops were visible now, and the sink sparkled. The living room had been vacuumed, the surfaces dusted and disinfected.
“I’ll start on the bathroom,” Ryan said, filling a bucket with hot water and bleach.
I nodded. “I’ll finish up in here.”
As I opened a kitchen drawer looking for stray utensils, I found a folded newspaper, yellowed at the edges. I almost threw it out, but then a name caught my eye: Eleanor.
A folded newspaper | Source: Pexels
My breath stilled as I scanned the headline: “Local Father Dies in High-Speed Crash En Route to Hospital.”
According to the article, James had been speeding to get to County General when he lost control of his vehicle. His ten-year-old son, Michael, had been rushed to the same hospital hours earlier by Eleanor, his mother, and James’s wife.
James never made it to see his son.
A woman holding a newspaper | Source: Midjourney
I closed my eyes, absorbing the weight of it. He’d been rushing to see his sick son, and then he was gone. The article didn’t mention what had happened to Michael, but the birthday cards and the second bedroom suggested she’d lost him, too.
No wonder it had all gotten too much for Eleanor.
I wiped my hands on my jeans and headed to Margaret’s house. I needed to speak to Eleanor.
A sad and determined woman’s face | Source: Midjourney
Eleanor was still at Margaret’s kitchen table, hands curled around a now-cold mug of tea. She looked up as I entered, her eyes questioning.
I sat across from her, placing the folded newspaper on the table.
“I found this,” I said quietly.
Eleanor didn’t move. Her eyes fixed on the paper but then shifted away.
“I should have thrown that away years ago,” she whispered.
A woman’s face in shadow | Source: Pexels
“But you didn’t.” My voice was gentle. Not accusatory, just observing.
The silence stretched between us. Margaret stood by the sink, her hands clutched together.
“Michael developed severe asthma when he was four,” Eleanor finally said, her voice flat, as if she’d told this story so many times in her head that the words had lost their power. “We managed it for years, but…” Her voice wobbled.
A woman at a kitchen table | Source: Midjourney
“Michael’s condition worsened suddenly. I had to rush him to the hospital one day. I called James and he… he was driving too fast.”
Her breath shuddered.
“He never made it. And Michael… a week later, he was gone, too.”
A hard lump settled in my throat. To lose both of them so close together…
I reached across the table and placed my hand over Eleanor’s. “The room. You kept it exactly the same.”
A woman’s hand | Source: Pexels
Eleanor nodded, a tear slipping down her cheek. “At first, it felt wrong to change anything. Then, as time passed, it felt wrong to even go in there. So I just… closed the door.”
“And the birthday cards?” I asked softly.
“I couldn’t help myself.” She wiped at her eyes with her free hand. “For three years afterward, I bought my son a birthday card. I wrote him a message I wished he could read. I thought I was just working through my grief, but it became more painful instead of less. It was silly.”
A woman in a kitchen | Source: Midjourney
“No,” Margaret said firmly, coming to sit beside Eleanor. “It’s not silly at all. It’s love.”
Eleanor broke then, her shoulders shaking with years of bottled grief. Margaret moved her chair closer, putting an arm around her.
“It wasn’t just Michael and James,” Eleanor managed between sobs. “It was me, too. Part of me died with them. And I just… I couldn’t keep up with everything. The house, the yard… it all seemed so pointless, so exhausting.”
A sad woman in a kitchen | Source: Midjourney
“Grief can swallow you whole,” I said quietly. “My mom went through something similar after my dad left. Not the same, but… things piled up. Literally.”
Eleanor looked at me with red-rimmed eyes. “How did she get past it?”
“She didn’t, not really. Not on her own.” I squeezed her hand. “I helped where I could, but we both needed more than that. Eventually, she got therapy. Made some friends at a support group. It wasn’t a straight line to better.”
A woman looking at someone | Source: Midjourney
Margaret stroked Eleanor’s back gently. “You don’t have to be alone in this anymore.”
Eleanor wiped her eyes again. “The house… is it awful?”
“Nothing that can’t be fixed,” I assured her. “I called in back up and we’ve made good progress. Would you like to see?”
Eleanor nodded. Moments later, she stood hesitantly in the doorway of her home.
A front door and porch | Source: Pexels
Ryan stood aside, a nervous half-smile on his face.
“We’re not totally finished,” he explained. “But it’s getting there.”
Eleanor stepped inside slowly. The living room was transformed — floors cleaned, surfaces dusted, clutter removed.
She moved through the space as if in a dream, touching things, testing their reality. When she reached the closed door of the second bedroom, she froze.
A woman looking anxious | Source: Pexels
“We didn’t touch that room,” I said quickly. “I wanted to ask first.”
Eleanor nodded but didn’t open the door.
“Thank you.” She turned to face us. “Thank you both.”
Her eyes filled with tears again, but these seemed different. Relief, maybe. Or the first hint of something like peace.
“We’ll come back tomorrow to finish up, if that’s okay,” I offered. “The bathroom needs more work, and there’s still the yard…”
“Yes,” Eleanor said, and for the first time, I saw the shadow of a smile on her face. “That would be… yes.”
A woman smiling faintly | Source: Midjourney
The next morning, Eleanor was ready when we arrived. She had put on a clean blouse and combed her hair.
“Margaret invited me over for breakfast,” she told us. “And then we might look at some plants for the garden. If that’s all right?”
“That sounds perfect,” I said.
While Ryan tackled the overgrown yard with our garden tools, I finished the bathroom and laundry room. By mid-afternoon, the house was transformed. Not perfect, but livable. Clean. Fresh.
A clean and tidy home | Source: Pexels
When Eleanor returned, Margaret was with her, carrying a small tray of potted herbs.
“For the kitchen window,” Margaret explained.
Eleanor surveyed her house, her yard, her life — all visible now, all accessible again.
“I don’t know how to thank you,” she said.
“You don’t have to,” I replied.
As Ryan and I packed up our supplies, I watched Eleanor and Margaret at the kitchen table, drinking coffee. Something had shifted in Eleanor, like a door had opened, letting in light.
Coffee mugs on a table | Source: Pexels
I thought about my mother, about how hard it had been for her to accept help when her mental health started to deteriorate. She was the reason I’d started doing these free cleans in the first place, so nobody would have to suffer the same way.
Ryan caught my eye and smiled. “Another successful clean slate?”
I nodded, watching the two older women through the window as we walked to our van. “The cleanest.”
A smiling woman | Source: Midjourney
My Daughter Started Sleepwalking, I Followed Her One Night and Was Shocked by What I Saw—Story of the Day
My mother-in-law Cynthia moved in, and soon after, my daughter Lisa began acting oddly. She was no longer her cheerful self, and it worried me deeply. One night, I saw her sleepwalking through the house, clutching her teddy bear. I quietly followed her, and what I discovered that night shocked me, leading to a bigger mystery I needed to solve.
We were a happy family, living together in peace. Our days were filled with laughter, playful moments with our daughter, Lisa, and cozy family dinners.
Tony worked as a financial analyst, always dreaming of starting his own business, while I balanced my career and took care of our home.
For illustration purposes only | Source: Pexels
One evening, Tony came home with exciting news.
“Amelie, I found partners, and I can finally start my own business, just like I’ve always dreamed!” he announced, grinning from ear to ear.
“That’s amazing, Tony!” I hugged him, feeling proud. “You’ve worked so hard for this.”
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“There’s something I need to talk to you about,” he said, looking a bit hesitant.
“With our new jobs, we’ll be even busier. Mom has been complaining about her health and suggested moving in with us. She wants to help with taking care of Lisa.”
I frowned.
“Tony, you know how Cynthia feels about our marriage. She never really accepted me.”
“I know, but she insisted,” Tony replied. “And we really could use the help right now.”
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I sighed, unsure.
“Alright, but only because we need the help. And of course, she wants to move in now that things are looking up for us.”
***
A few days later, Cynthia moved in. She entered the house with a big smile, her hands held in front of her, carrying a gift for Lisa.
“Hello, Lisa! Look what Grandma brought you,” she said, handing Lisa a fluffy teddy bear.
“Thank you, Grandma!” Lisa hugged the bear tightly, her eyes sparkling with joy.
For illustration purposes only | Source: Pexels
Tony looked at me, hoping I would make an effort. “Thanks, Cynthia. I’m sure Lisa will love it,” I said, forcing a smile.
“Amelie, I know we’ve had our differences,” Cynthia began. “But I want to make this work for Tony and Lisa.”
“I hope so,” I replied cautiously.
***
Days turned into weeks, and I noticed changes in Lisa. She became cranky and sleepy during the day. She wasn’t her usual cheerful self, and it worried me.
For illustration purposes only | Source: Pexels
“Lisa, honey, why are you so tired?” I asked one afternoon as she rubbed her eyes.
“I don’t know, Mommy. I just feel sleepy,” she replied, yawning.
That night, as I checked on her, I saw her walking around. Her eyes were closed, and she seemed to be in a daze.
For illustration purposes only | Source: Midjourney
“Lisa, sweetie, what are you doing?” I whispered, gently taking her by the hand.
She didn’t respond, just continued clutching the teddy bear. I carefully guided her back to bed and tucked her in, feeling a knot of worry in my stomach.
The next morning, over breakfast, I decided to bring it up with Tony.
“Tony, I saw Lisa sleepwalking last night,” I said, trying to keep my voice calm. “She was wandering around with that teddy bear your mom gave her.”
For illustration purposes only | Source: Pexels
Tony looked surprised. “Really? That’s strange.”
Before he could say more, Cynthia, walking nearby, chimed in.
“Oh, that’s perfectly normal. Tony used to sleepwalk as a child too. There’s nothing to worry about,” she said with a dismissive wave of her hand.
“Are you sure?” I asked, looking at her thoughtfully.
“Absolutely. It’s just a phase,” Cynthia insisted, her tone final.
For illustration purposes only | Source: Pexels
I nodded, but the worry didn’t leave me. Later that morning, as Tony was getting ready for work, he suddenly frowned and checked his wallet.
“Amelie, have you seen some money I left in my wallet? It’s missing,” he said, looking puzzled.
“No, I haven’t touched your wallet,” I replied honestly.
Tony sighed. “Maybe I misplaced it. It’s probably just somewhere around.”
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I decided to get my purse to give my husband some money. But I was surprised to find a much larger sum than I had yesterday.
“Tony, look at this. Is this the amount you were missing?” I said, showing him the money.
Tony peered into the purse and nodded. “Yes, that’s exactly how I tied and stored the amount in my wallet yesterday. That’s strange. Maybe you took it by mistake?”
I shook my head. “No, I’m sure I didn’t. It’s really odd.”
How did it get there?
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Tony shrugged, trying to brush it off. “Let’s not worry about it.”
But I couldn’t shake off the uneasy feeling. Something was definitely wrong, and I needed to figure out what was happening. That night, I couldn’t sleep, thinking about Lisa and the strange occurrences.
For illustration purposes only | Source: Pexels
***
The next few days, I kept a closer eye on Lisa. She was still cranky and tired during the day, and I noticed she clung to the teddy bear more than usual.
I decided to follow her if she sleepwalked again, to see if I could find any answers.
That night, it happened again. I saw Lisa get up from her bed, holding the teddy bear tightly in her arms. This time, her eyes were wide open, but she didn’t seem to notice me.
For illustration purposes only | Source: Midjourney
She walked out of her room and down the hallway. I quietly followed her, making sure not to wake her. My heart pounded as I watched her small figure move through the dimly lit house.
This time, she went straight to Cynthia’s room. I paused outside the door, straining to hear. I heard Cynthia’s voice, low and insistent.
“Go to your parents’ room… Take the money from the safe, Lisa. Remember, it’s our little secret.”
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My blood ran cold. I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. I stood frozen for a moment, then hurried back to my room to wake Tony.
“Tony, wake up! You have to see this,” I whispered urgently, shaking him awake.
Tony groggily opened his eyes. “What’s going on, Amelie?”
For illustration purposes only | Source: Pexels
“It’s Lisa. She’s in your mom’s room. I heard Cynthia giving her instructions to take money from the safe,” I said, my voice trembling.
Tony sat up, looking frustrated. “Amelie, you’re overreacting. Mom wouldn’t do that.”
“Please, Tony, just come and see,” I begged.
Reluctantly, he got out of bed and followed me to Cynthia’s room. We quietly opened the door and saw both Cynthia and Lisa seemingly asleep. Tony sighed in exasperation.
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“See, they’re both asleep. You’re making a big deal out of nothing,” he said, rubbing his temples.
“No, Tony, I know what I heard,” I insisted.
Frustrated, Tony stomped over to the safe.
“I’ll prove to you that this is all a misunderstanding. The money should be right here. I was going to invest it in my project tomorrow.”
For illustration purposes only | Source: Midjourney
Then Tony’s face went pale.
“What? No, this has to be a joke. The money was here this morning!” he shouted, his voice filled with anger.
“Tony, it’s not a joke. Your mother is responsible for this,” I said firmly.
The commotion woke everyone up. Cynthia came into the room, looking defensive.
“What’s all this noise about?”
For illustration purposes only | Source: Midjourney
Tony turned to her, fury in his eyes. “Mom, did you ask Lisa to steal money from the safe?”
Cynthia’s eyes widened, and she started to deny it. “Of course not! How could you even think that?”
Just then, Lisa started to cry, scared and confused by the shouting. I knelt down and gently took her hand.
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“Lisa, sweetie, can you tell us what happened? It’s important.”
Lisa sniffled and nodded. She walked over to my purse and pointed.
Tony looked inside my purse and found the missing money. His face contorted with rage and disbelief.
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“Amelie, how could you? Were you trying to frame my mother?”
“No, Tony! I didn’t know the money was there! It was your mother’s doing!” I protested.
But Tony was too angry to listen.
“This is too much. I can’t deal with this right now. Amelie, I think it’s best if you stay somewhere else for a while. Mom will watch over Lisa.”
“Tony, please, you have to believe me. I’m not the one at fault here!” I pleaded, tears streaming down my face.
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Cynthia stood behind Tony, a look of satisfaction hidden in her eyes.
“It’s for the best, Amelie. We need some time to sort this out.”
My heart was breaking, but I knew I had to find a way to prove the truth and protect my family.
***
In the morning, Tony left for work while I started packing my things. My heart was heavy with sadness and frustration.
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As I gathered my belongings, I went into Lisa’s room and noticed her sitting on the bed, talking to the teddy bear.
“Lisa, sweetie, who are you talking to?” I asked gently, trying not to startle her.
She looked up at me with big, innocent eyes.
“The teddy bear, Mommy. But it doesn’t want to talk anymore.”
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I frowned, feeling a knot of worry. “What do you mean, it doesn’t want to talk anymore?”
Lisa hugged the bear tightly.
“It used to talk to me before bedtime. Grandma said it was our little secret.”
My heart sank. This was worse than I had imagined.
“Lisa, can I borrow the teddy bear for a bit? I need to wash it,” I said, trying to sound casual.
For illustration purposes only | Source: Pexels
She hesitated, then answered, “Okay, Mommy. Just be careful with him.”
I didn’t leave the house. I was waiting for the evening to put everything in its place. I had a hunch about what was happening and who was behind it all.
***
That evening, while preparing dinner, Cynthia entered the kitchen. She stood there with her arms crossed, looking smug.
For illustration purposes only | Source: Midjourney
“Why haven’t you left yet, Amelie? Tony doesn’t want a thief in his house.”
I took a deep breath, trying to stay calm. “I have some unfinished business, Cynthia. Everything will be resolved when Tony returns.”
Cynthia’s eyes narrowed. “What are you planning?”
“You’ll see,” I replied, turning back to the stove.
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When Tony came home, I was ready.
“Tony, I need to show you something,” I said, holding the teddy bear.
He looked weary. “What is it now, Amelie?”
“Please, just trust me,” I urged.
I brought out the teddy bear and carefully opened it, revealing a small talking device inside.
For illustration purposes only | Source: Midjourney
“Tony, Lisa wasn’t sleepwalking. She was being manipulated by this device. Cynthia has been using it to give her instructions.”
“That’s ridiculous!” Cynthia shouted, her face turning red. “You’re making this up!”
“Let’s check Cynthia’s room for the other half of the device,” I suggested, keeping my voice steady.
Cynthia backed away, her eyes wide with fear. “No, you can’t go in there!”
Tony, now suspicious, insisted, “Mom, we need to see.”
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I pressed the button on the bear’s device and spoke into it. At that moment, we heard my voice echoing from Cynthia’s room.
Tony rushed in and found the other device hidden under Cynthia’s pillow.
Lisa, hearing the commotion, peeked into the room. “Grandma, are we playing a new game since our secret is out?”
For illustration purposes only | Source: Midjourney
Tony looked puzzled. “Mom, how did you use the bear to control her?”
Cynthia sighed, wiping her tears. “I put a walkie-talkie inside the teddy bear and another one under my pillow. When Lisa would start sleepwalking, I would whisper instructions to her through the bear. I would tell her to come to my room, and we would play a game. She would take money from your wallet and put it in her mom’s purse, and then back again.”
“Mom, why? Why would you do this?” Tony exclaimed.
In tears, Cynthia finally broke down.
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“At first, it was just to see if it would work. Then it became a way for me to feel in control, to have a role in the family. I didn’t realize how much it would hurt everyone.”
Tony, filled with anger and disappointment, shook his head.
“Mom, this is wrong. You can’t use Lisa like that. If you want to be part of this family, you have to stop these manipulations and respect our lives.”
Realizing her mistakes, Cynthia nodded, her face wet with tears.
“I’m sorry, Tony,” Cynthia said, her voice trembling with emotion.
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“I just wanted to feel needed. I promise I’ll do better. I’ll only visit on weekends and spend time with Lisa occasionally.”
Tony looked at me. “Amelie, what do you think?” he asked softly.
I took a deep breath, trying to hold back my tears.
“Cynthia, we all make mistakes. But if you truly want to be part of this family, you need to accept us and respect our boundaries. I think it would be good for Lisa to spend time with her grandmother.”
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Cynthia nodded, wiping her tears.
“I understand. I’ll respect your family’s peace and unity.”
I smiled faintly, looking at my sleepy daughter and feeling a glimmer of hope.
“Let’s take it one step at a time and work together to create a loving environment for Lisa.”
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Cynthia reached out and took my hand.
“Thank you, Amelie. I promise I’ll make it right.”
The truth was finally out, and now we could begin the process of rebuilding our trust and unity. It wouldn’t be easy, but with love and understanding, we could overcome this challenge together.
For illustration purposes only | Source: Midjourney
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If you enjoyed this story, read this one: Six-year-old Ethan had recently lost his mother, leaving a deep void in his heart. In his grief, he started writing letters to her, pouring out his feelings on paper. One day, while wandering the streets, he stumbled upon an old, rusty mailbox at an abandoned house. He decided to slip one of his letters inside, never expecting anyone to see it. To his astonishment, the very next day, he found a mysterious reply waiting for him.
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