Girl Claims She Sees Late Mom at School Every Day, Dad Shocked Upon Discovering the Truth — Story of the Day

Michael, a single father, was left with his 8-year-old daughter after his wife died in a car accident. He thought he was managing well and that his daughter was coping with her mother’s death. But one day, she approached him and said she saw her mom at school every day.

Michael mourned the loss of his wife, Simone, every day. Just a few months ago, she had died in a car accident, but her body was never found because she had fallen into a river.

For illustration purposes only. | Source: Pexels

This left Michael alone with his 8-year-old daughter, Hannah. Determined to stay strong for her, Michael moved to another city to escape the painful memories that filled their old town. He knew Hannah had already lost her mother; he couldn’t let her lose him, too.

Hannah slowly adapted to her new school and even seemed happy. Michael, on the other hand, had to learn to be both a father and a mother.

He taught himself how to style Hannah’s hair, woke up early every morning to make her breakfast and pack her lunch, and even learned some ballet moves to practice with her at home.

For illustration purposes only. | Source: Pexels

Simone had enrolled Hannah in ballet, believing she would be a great ballerina one day. Michael kept that dream alive, and it kept a part of Simone alive in her.

Today, Michael had finished work early and decided to pick up Hannah from school, a rare treat since she usually took the bus. He waited in the car outside the school, excitement bubbling inside him.

Soon, Hannah ran out of the school. Michael honked the horn to get her attention, and she waved cheerfully, sprinting toward the car. She hopped in, throwing her backpack onto the back seat.

“Hi, Dad!” Hannah said with a big smile as she got into the car.

“Hi, sweetheart. How was school today?” Michael asked, starting to drive.

“It was good. Everyone praised me for my math. All the work we did yesterday really helped,” Hannah replied proudly.

For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney

Hannah’s smile faded. “But Mom still ignores me,” she said sadly.

Michael’s heart skipped a beat. He hit the brakes harder than he meant to. “What do you mean, Hannah? Do you talk to her?” he asked, his voice full of worry.

“Yes, every day,” Hannah said. “But she pretends she doesn’t know me.”

Michael sighed and started driving again, feeling a heavy weight on his chest. “Hannah, your mom is in a better place now. It’s far away, and she can’t respond to you. But she hears everything you say and loves you very much.”

For illustration purposes only. | Source:Midjourney

Hannah looked confused. “What do you mean? She’s not far away. She’s at school. I see her every day,” she insisted.

Michael glanced at her, puzzled. “What? I don’t understand what you’re talking about.”

Hannah groaned in frustration. “Dad, what’s not to understand? Mom cleans our school every morning when I get there. But when I talk to her, she says she doesn’t know me. I think she’s mad because I want to quit ballet,” she said.

For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney

“You want to quit ballet?” Michael asked, surprised.

Yes. I don’t like it anymore. Mom wanted me to do ballet, but now she doesn’t even talk to me,” Hannah said.

“Hannah, you’re not quitting ballet,” Michael said firmly.

“I will!” Hannah shot back, her voice rising.

For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney

“No!” Michael shouted louder than he intended. Hannah’s eyes widened in fear. He took a deep breath and softened his tone. “I’m sorry, but you’re not quitting ballet. We’re not discussing this.”

“But…” Hannah started to say.

Michael cut her off. “It’s not up for discussion. Now let’s go to school, and you show me your mom.”

“She’s not there now. She only comes in the mornings,” Hannah replied.

“Then tomorrow, I’ll go to school with you, and you can show me,” Michael said, determined to understand what was going on.

“Okay, you’ll see I’m telling the truth. You don’t believe me now,” Hannah said quietly.

Michael sighed, his heart aching for his daughter.

For the rest of the day, Michael couldn’t find peace. His mind kept racing with thoughts of Hannah seeing visions of Simone. He had thought Hannah was coping well with her mother’s death.

She had been calm and cheerful since their move to the new city. But now, it seemed he was wrong.

The next day, Michael took Hannah to school and went inside with her. All morning, Hannah kept repeating that she wasn’t lying and that he would soon see for himself.

“Where is she?” Michael asked as they walked through the school corridors, his eyes scanning the halls.

“I don’t know. We need to find her,” Hannah replied, looking around anxiously.

For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney

They walked further, passing classrooms and offices. Suddenly, Hannah shouted, “There! Mom!” She pointed at a cleaner standing with her back to them. Michael froze, his heart pounding.

From behind, the woman did look like Simone. Hannah ran up to her and gently tugged on her sleeve. Michael approached slowly, his mind racing.

When the woman turned around, Michael realized it wasn’t Simone. The resemblance had been uncanny from behind, but up close, it was clear she was a stranger.

“Oh, you’re not my mom,” Hannah said. She stepped back, her shoulders slumping.

“Unfortunately not, sweetie,” the woman replied kindly, giving Hannah a gentle smile.

After apologizing to the woman, Michael took Hannah’s hand and led her aside. “Hannah, this isn’t your mom. I know it’s hard to lose her, but your mom is in a better place now and is always watching over you,” he said softly.

“I know this isn’t Mom! I’m not blind,” Hannah said, her eyes filling with tears. “But she was here. I swear, I saw her.”

“Okay,” Michael sighed heavily, feeling the weight of her words.For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney

“You don’t believe me!” Hannah shouted, her voice echoing in the hallway. “Mom always believed me!” She turned and ran away from Michael.“Hannah!” he called after her, but she kept running, her small figure disappearing down the hall.

Michael returned to his car, feeling a deep sense of guilt. He knew Hannah and Simone had a special bond. He realized he could never replace her mother, but he would try his best to be there for his daughter.

Michael took time off work and scheduled an appointment with a psychologist for Hannah that very day after school. He picked her up and explained, “We’re going to see a lady you can talk to about anything. She’s here to help.”

Hannah crossed her arms and frowned, still angry with Michael. “I don’t want to talk to anyone,” she muttered.

“I know you’re upset, but this might help,” Michael said gently as they drove to the psychologist’s office.

When they arrived, the psychologist greeted them warmly. “Hi, Hannah. I’m Dr. Stevens. Would you like to come with me?” she asked with a kind smile.

Hannah glanced at Michael, then reluctantly followed Dr. Stevens.

After an hour, Dr. Stevens came out to talk to Michael. She looked thoughtful and serious.

“How did it go?” Michael asked, his voice filled with concern.

Dr. Stevens smiled reassuringly. “I don’t see any signs of psychological issues. I don’t think she’s lying. Hannah genuinely believes she sees her mother at school.”

For illustration purposes only. | Source: Pexels

Michael frowned. “But that’s impossible. Her mother is dead.”

“I understand,” Dr. Stevens said, nodding. “But everyone grieves in their own way. Hannah might not be ready to let go of her mother. She could be seeing her in others.”

“What should I do?” Michael asked, feeling lost.

“Support her. Believe her,” Dr. Stevens advised. “She’s not lying to you. This is her reality right now.”

Michael nodded, taking a deep breath. “Okay, thank you.”

He picked up Hannah, and they headed home. On the way, he glanced at her, noticing she seemed a bit calmer, less angry. He hoped this was a step in the right direction.

The next day, Michael took Hannah to school again. As they arrived, her teacher approached his car. “I have some of Hannah’s drawings to show you,” the teacher said.

Michael got out of the car, curious. “Sure, let’s see them,” he replied, following the teacher.

For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney

The teacher handed him a stack of drawings. Michael flipped through them, astonished. “These are amazing. I didn’t know Hannah could draw like this,” he said, feeling a swell of pride.

“She has real talent,” the teacher agreed.

Michael thanked the teacher and continued to look at the drawings as he walked into the hallway. He was so absorbed that he almost didn’t notice what was in front of him.

When he looked up, his heart nearly stopped. Standing there was Simone. Michael felt like he had forgotten how to breathe; his heart raced, and he couldn’t move.

For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney

Just then, Hannah ran out of her classroom, her face lighting up when she saw the woman.

“Mom!” Hannah shouted, running towards the woman who looked exactly like her late mother. She turned to Michael with a triumphant smile. “I told you I was telling the truth.”

Michael stood frozen, his mind reeling. “Uh-huh,” he mumbled, unable to form any other words.

The teacher called Hannah back, and she reluctantly returned to her classroom. Michael, still in shock, slowly approached the woman. “Simone?” he asked, his voice shaking.

The woman looked at him, clearly confused. “Excuse me?” she said.

“Simone, is it really you?” Michael asked again, his heart pounding.

“I’m sorry, sir, but my name is Evelyn,” the woman replied firmly.

For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney

“Sorry, I didn’t hear you,” Evelyn said, still looking puzzled

How is this possible? How did you end up here?” Michael asked.

“Sir, I really don’t understand what you’re talking about. I’ve never seen you before in my life. I think you must be mistaking me for someone else. I need to get back to work,” Evelyn said, turning to leave.

“You have a tattoo on your shoulder!” Michael shouted, desperate. Evelyn stopped in her tracks, frozen. “A chrysanthemum,” he added.

Evelyn turned around slowly, her eyes wide with surprise. “How do you know that?”

“You got it when Hannah was born. Hannah Chrysanthemum, that’s the name of the flower on your shoulder. You joked that even if Hannah grew up and forgot about you, the flower would always be with you,” Michael explained.

“Listen, this is very strange, and it’s scaring me,” she said, her eyes darting around nervously.

For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney

“I also wanted to get that tattoo but was too scared. You were always braver than me,” Michael said.

“How do you know what tattoo I have? Have you been following me? First, that strange girl calls me her mother, and now you. I’m going to go crazy,” Evelyn said, her voice rising with fear.

“Please, let me explain everything. Will you have coffee with me?” Michael asked, his eyes pleading.

“I need to finish my work,” Evelyn replied, still looking wary.

For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney

“I’ll wait for you outside,” Michael said, hoping she would agree.

Michael went outside and leaned against his car, his mind racing. He couldn’t believe this was real. After some time, Simone came out of the school and hesitantly approached him.

“Ready to go?” Michael asked softly.

Simone nodded, and they got into the car, driving to the nearest café. They ordered coffee. Black. Michael smiled, remembering how Simone always hated coffee with sugar or cream.

When their order arrived, Michael took a deep breath. “I need to tell you something. We were married, and we have a daughter named Hannah.”

Simone looked confused but listened intently. “I don’t remember any of that,” she said softly. “Fishermen found me on the riverbank. They let me live with them, but I couldn’t remember anything about my life, not even my name. I chose the name Evelyn, but I don’t know why.”

Michael’s eyes softened. “We wanted to name our next daughter Evelyn,” he explained.

For illustration purposes only. | Source: Pexels

Simone’s eyes widened. “Really?”

Michael nodded. “Yes. Hannah and I would love for you to come home with us. You don’t have to decide now, but think about it.”Simone looked down at her coffee. “Okay, I’ll come with you. But I still don’t remember anything.”

Michael smiled gently. “That’s alright. We can figure it out together.”Simone had been living with Michael and Hannah for a week. Hannah was very happy and constantly reminded Michael that she had been right.

Simone was also trying to adjust to her new life. Although she still couldn’t remember anything from before, she was trying her best to fit in.

Michael decided they should sleep in separate rooms for now. He wanted Simone to feel comfortable and not pressured.

For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney

Today, after breakfast, Simone was finishing her coffee at the table while Michael washed the dishes. Hannah approached Simone with a serious look on her face.

“Mom, will you be mad at me if I quit ballet?” Hannah asked.

“Why would I be mad at you?” she asked, glancing at Michael, who stopped washing dishes to listen.

“You liked watching me dance. You wanted me to be a ballerina,” Hannah said quietly.

Simone smiled gently. “And what do you want to do?” she asked.

Hannah’s face lit up. “I want to draw!”

“Then you should draw,” Simone said. She turned to Michael. “Do you think we could enroll her in an art school?”

Michael smiled warmly. “Yes, definitely,” he replied.

For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney

“Yay!” Hannah shouted. She hugged Simone tightly, then ran to Michael and hugged him before dashing off to her room.

Simone watched her go, then cautiously approached Michael, holding her coffee cup. “Let me wash this,” she offered.

Michael took the cup from her hands. “It’s okay, I’ll wash it,” he said with a smile. Simone smiled back but didn’t move away. She continued to stand there, watching him.

“Is everything okay?” Michael asked, noticing her hesitation.

For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney

“Yes,” Simone said softly. “I think I remembered something.”

Michael turned to face her. “What did you remember?”

“We were standing by the sea, and a dog ran up to us. It first knocked me over and then knocked down an arch we were standing under,” Simone said.

For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney

Michael laughed. “Yes, that was our wedding. The dog was Toby, my childhood pet. He adored you and couldn’t contain his excitement. That was your favorite story from our wedding.”

Simone smiled. “I think it will still be my favorite story when I remember everything,” she said.

For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney

Michael smiled back, and Simone tentatively hugged him. Michael hugged her back, trying not to splash her with water and soap. He felt warmth and hope flood through him.

Just a few weeks ago, he couldn’t have imagined feeling this happy again. As he held her, he realized how much he had missed this closeness.

For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney

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My Late Stepmother Left Me Her $2.5 Million Vacation Home While Her Daughters Only Got $5,000 Each

For years, Carol lived in the shadow of her stepfamily, unseen and ignored. Then, out of nowhere, a lawyer’s call shattered her quiet life: her stepmother, who had barely loved her, had left Carol a $2.5 million inheritance, while her own daughters got only $5,000 each. The reason blew Carol’s mind.

When I was 12, my dad remarried his new girlfriend. Linda came into our lives with her two daughters, Amanda and Becca, who were a few years older than me. Blending into their family felt like trying to fit a square peg into a round hole. Amanda and Becca were the stars of every show — praised, adored, and always front and center.

And me? I was just… there. Like a corner table.

A newlywed couple | Source: Midjourney

A newlywed couple | Source: Midjourney

I remember watching them from the edges of the room, feeling invisible. At family gatherings, I’d sit quietly, my hands folded in my lap, observing how effortlessly they commanded attention.

“Look at my daughter’s straight A’s,” Linda would beam, her eyes never finding mine. My report cards would sit forgotten on the kitchen counter, collecting dust and ignorance.

“Do you want some help with that?” I’d sometimes ask Becca when she was struggling with homework, hoping for a connection.

She’d look up, a hint of disdain in her eyes. “I’ve got it,” she’d say, turning away. Those moments crushed whatever hope I had of belonging.

An upset girl with her eyes downcast | Source: Midjourney

An upset girl with her eyes downcast | Source: Midjourney

Linda wasn’t outright mean, but she wasn’t warm either. I wasn’t included in anything, not really. Family trips were planned around Amanda and Becca’s wants. Holidays? I spent more time washing dishes than enjoying the celebrations.

Once, when I was 16, I asked why everything had to revolve around them. Linda barely looked at me as she said, “You’re not the only one here, Carol. Stop acting like a victim.”

Her words stung then, and they still sting now.

The kitchen would become my sanctuary and my prison. While others laughed in the living room, I’d scrub plates, the sound of my family’s joy muffled by the running water. Each dish I cleaned felt like another layer of my identity being wiped away, replaced by the expectation of being the background character in my own house.

A teenage girl washing vessels | Source: Pexels

A teenage girl washing vessels | Source: Pexels

By the time I turned 18, I couldn’t take it anymore. I left for college, went no-contact with Amanda and Becca, and kept Linda at arm’s length. When Dad passed away two years later, we lost the only thing holding us together. Linda faded from my life after that.

The only other connection I had with her was through the phonebook, with my phone number scribbled on it. But she barely called, and I didn’t want her to, either.

For 15 years, I rarely thought about her. I got married to my wonderful boyfriend David, welcomed two amazing kids, and life just rolled on. Then, one day, my phone rang, and everything changed.

“Carol, this is Mr. Higgins, Linda’s attorney.”

I paused, confused. The name felt distant, like an echo from a life I’d deliberately forgotten. “Okay… why are you calling me?”

“I’m sorry to inform you that Linda passed away last week from lung cancer,” he said gently.

A woman holding a smartphone | Source: Midjourney

A woman holding a smartphone | Source: Midjourney

For a moment, I was too stunned to respond. Memories flickered like old photographs: Linda’s dismissive glances, her quick corrections, and the perpetual distance between us.

I hadn’t even known she was sick. The irony wasn’t lost on me. We’d been so disconnected that even her terminal illness had slipped past me completely.

“I see,” I finally managed. “What does this have to do with me?”

“She named you in her will. Linda left you her vacation home.”

My heart skipped a beat. “Her vacation home?”

“Yes, the one that belonged to your father and was passed on to her after his death. It’s valued at $2.5 million,” he explained. “Her daughters Amanda and Becca were left $5,000 each.”

A startled woman holding a phone | Source: Midjourney

A startled woman holding a phone | Source: Midjourney

I sat down hard on the couch, my head spinning. The numbers seemed surreal.

All those years of feeling like an afterthought, and now this? Linda had barely been a presence in my life, yet she’d left me her most valuable asset and almost nothing for her own daughters. Why?

Before I could process it, my phone buzzed with incoming texts. The screen lit up with family drama, as if Linda’s death had suddenly reignited old tensions.

My husband, David, leaned over to read one of them. His jaw tightened. “Amanda’s accusing you of manipulating Linda. Classy!”

“She’s calling me a thief,” I said, staring at the words. The accusation felt achingly familiar… the same dismissive tone I’d heard throughout my childhood, the same narrative of me being the problem.

An upset woman | Source: Midjourney

An upset woman | Source: Midjourney

“That’s nothing,” he muttered, scrolling through Becca’s online post. “She’s ranting about ‘backstabbers destroying families.’”

A bitter laugh escaped me. Destroy families? We were barely a family to begin with. Those connections had been threadbare, held together by nothing more than shared last names and occasional holiday gatherings.

I sighed, setting my phone aside. “Why would Linda do this? We weren’t even close.”

David shrugged, his eyes soft with understanding. “Maybe you need to find out.”

I nodded. Something told me this inheritance was more than just a financial transaction. It felt like an unfinished story, waiting to be understood. So, I decided to dig through the house to see if I could find any clues.

A woman standing before a mansion | Source: Midjourney

A woman standing before a mansion | Source: Midjourney

The vacation home looked exactly as I remembered when I entered. Nestled on the edge of a serene lake, it had always been my dad’s favorite place. We used to fish on the dock for hours, talking about everything and nothing.

Standing in the doorway, I felt like a ghost of my former self. Each step was a journey through time, my fingers tracing familiar surfaces, collecting memories like dust.

Dad would sit in that worn armchair by the window, his fishing hat tilted just so, telling me stories about his childhood. Those moments had been our sanctuary… a place where I felt truly seen and loved.

I walked through the house, memories washing over me with every step. The living room still had the same luxurious furniture. The smell of cedar lingered, just like it did years ago.

A grand living room | Source: Midjourney

A grand living room | Source: Midjourney

But I wasn’t here for nostalgia. I needed answers. Linda was meticulous, and I hoped somewhere in her files, she’d left a clue about her decision. Each drawer I opened felt like peeling back layers of a complicated family history.

Finally, tucked away in the back of a drawer in her office, I found a letter addressed to me. The paper was crisp, the envelope sealed with a precision that was quintessentially Linda.

My hands trembled slightly as I reached for it, knowing that this small piece of paper might hold the key to understanding everything.

A woman holding an envelope | Source: Midjourney

A woman holding an envelope | Source: Midjourney

With anxious eyes, I began reading:

“Dear Carol,

By the time you read this, I hope you’ll understand the choice I made.

I’ve carried the weight of my mistakes for years, and this letter is my final attempt to make things right. The truth is, I failed you… repeatedly and profoundly. When I married your father, I was so focused on protecting Amanda and Becca that I became blind to the harm I was causing you.

My insecurities after my divorce turned me into a mother who couldn’t see beyond her own fears. I created a hierarchy in our family where you were always last, always invisible. I watched you endure our family’s coldness, and I did nothing.

Time has a way of revealing uncomfortable truths. I’ve seen Amanda and Becca for who they truly are… entitled, manipulative women who learned to value status over genuine connection. And you? You built a life of integrity without seeking my validation or approval.

This house, the place your father loved most, was always meant to be a sanctuary. He spoke of your times here with such joy and love. I realize now that I robbed you of those precious memories, of feeling truly part of a family.

The vacation home is my apology. Not just a piece of property, but a chance for a fresh start. A legacy from a father who loved you completely, and a mother who is finally, painfully aware of her mistakes.

Forgive me, if you can.

Linda”

A shocked woman holding a letter | Source: Midjourney

A shocked woman holding a letter | Source: Midjourney

Tears blurred the words. My hands trembled, not from anger, but from a profound sense of loss for the relationship we never had, and for the years wasted in silence and misunderstanding.

I read the letter twice, then for a third time, and I let her words sink in. She’d known all along how unfair she’d been but hadn’t found the courage to fix it while she was alive. The letter felt like a final, desperate attempt at redemption and a whispered apology from beyond.

Outside, the lake sparkled, indifferent to the complex emotions swirling inside me. Dad’s favorite place. My sanctuary. Now, unexpectedly, my inheritance.

A week later, I got another call from Linda’s lawyer.

A lawyer talking on the phone in his office | Source: Pexels

A lawyer talking on the phone in his office | Source: Pexels

“There’s a secondary clause in Linda’s will,” he explained. “She set aside a $5 million trust for Amanda and Becca.”

I felt my stomach tighten. “I’m guessing there’s a catch?”

He hesitated, and in that pause, I could almost hear Linda’s calculated precision. “They’d only inherit it if they accept the terms of the will without any hostility toward you.”

“And if they don’t?”

“The funds will be donated to a local youth charity Linda supported,” he said. “Given the phone calls, social media posts, and emails from Amanda and Becca, the trust has been forfeited.”

A woman talking on the phone | Source: Pexels

A woman talking on the phone | Source: Pexels

I was floored. Linda had anticipated Amanda and Becca’s behavior and planned accordingly. It was like a final chess move, calculated and precise. The lawyer confirmed the charity would receive the money instead.

A part of me wanted to laugh at the irony. Linda, who had spent years marginalizing me, had ultimately chosen to protect me in the most unexpected way possible.

Amanda called me that evening, and she was so furious. “You think you’ve won? You’re disgusting! You stole everything from us!”

I stayed calm, years of being overlooked had taught me emotional resilience. “I didn’t steal anything, Amanda. Maybe you should think about why Linda made the decisions she did.”

She hung up on me without saying much. But I could feel her fury.

An angry woman talking on the phone | Source: Pexels

An angry woman talking on the phone | Source: Pexels

That night, David and I sat on the porch of the vacation home. The lake was calm, the sky painted with soft hues of pink and orange. Memories of fishing with my dad danced across the water’s surface, bringing a bittersweet smile to my lips.

“Do you feel guilty?” David asked, breaking the silence.

I thought about it, watching a lone bird glide across the darkening sky. “Not really. But I feel… sad. She waited too long to try and make things right. If she’d just talked to me while she was alive, maybe things could’ve been different.”

David nodded, understanding etched in the gentle pressure of his arm around my shoulders. “She didn’t know how to fix things, so she did what she could in the end. It’s not perfect, but it’s something.”

A couple embracing each other | Source: Unsplash

A couple embracing each other | Source: Unsplash

The lake seemed to whisper in agreement, its gentle waves a subtle reminder that healing isn’t always straightforward.

Amanda and Becca have gone no-contact, and honestly, it’s a relief. The vacation home is ours now, and David and I are planning to move here next year with our kids. The house feels less like an inheritance and more like a homecoming.

Linda may not have been the mother I wanted, but her final act was both an apology and a gift… a chance to reclaim a piece of my history.

And that, at least, is something.

A magnificent house by the lake | Source: Midjourney

A magnificent house by the lake | Source: Midjourney

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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