I Went to Care for My Sick Boyfriend, but What I Found Changed Everything and Brought Someone Unexpected into My Life — Story of the Day

I went to check on my boyfriend, worried he was too sick to even text me back. But what I found shattered my trust and sent my world spinning. Days later, the last person I ever expected showed up at my door, and together, we started something that changed my life forever.

One crisp autumn day, I sat alone in my small, cozy apartment, the sunlight streaming weakly through the windows.

For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney

For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney

The orange and red leaves outside seemed to mock my restlessness as I stared at my phone, waiting for my boyfriend, Jace, to finally show up.

He hadn’t visited in days, claiming he was just tired, but something about his excuses didn’t sit right with me.

I fiddled with the hem of my sweater, tapping my foot anxiously against the hardwood floor. Finally, I gave up and dialed his number. The phone rang a few times before he answered.

For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney

For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney

“Hello?” Jace answered, his voice low and groggy, like he’d just woken up.

“Are you sleeping?” I asked, trying to hide the edge in my voice.

“Yeah,” he said, pausing for a second. “Sorry I didn’t text you. I just fell asleep. I’m not feeling great—might have a fever or something.”

“Oh…” I said softly, not sure what else to say.

He coughed hard into the phone, making me wince. “Look, I’ll text you later,” he muttered, his words rushed.

For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney

For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney

“Feel bet—” I started, but the line went dead before I could finish.

Frustration bubbled up as I tapped my fingers on the table, my thoughts racing. If Jace was really sick, I couldn’t just sit there doing nothing. I’d take care of him, whether he liked it or not. That’s what girlfriends do, right?

Grabbing my coat, I headed out into the crisp autumn air, determined. The walk to the store was brisk, the kind that makes your cheeks tingle.

For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney

For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney

Inside, I picked up fresh fruit, tea, and a box of throat lozenges, imagining how grateful Jace would be when I showed up.

Back at his building, I pressed the elevator button, adjusting the heavy bag on my arm. Usually, I took the stairs, but not today.

The elevator hummed softly as it descended, and I distracted myself by humming along to a tune stuck in my head.

For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney

For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney

When the doors slid open, my heart stopped. There he was—Jace—with his arms around a woman I didn’t recognize.

Her face pressed against his chest, and they were so close it made my stomach churn. This wasn’t just a hug. It was something more.

“Looks like you’re feeling better,” I said, my voice louder than I intended, cutting through the quiet hallway.

For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney

For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney

Jace’s head whipped toward me, his face draining of color. “Kate…” he stammered, his arms falling away from the woman. He stepped toward me, his hand reaching out like that would somehow fix things. “I can explain.”

His mouth opened, but I held up a hand to stop him. “Don’t. Just don’t. If you take one more step or say one more word, I swear I’ll make you regret it.” I hurled the bag of groceries at him, the fruit spilling across the floor.

For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney

For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney

Without waiting for his reaction, I turned and walked away, my heart pounding with anger and disgust.

He didn’t call after me, didn’t try to stop me, and for that, I was glad. He wasn’t worth it. Not anymore.

A few days had dragged by since I’d caught Jace in the elevator with another woman. He hadn’t bothered to call, text, or even send a pathetic apology.

For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney

For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney

Not even a simple “I’m sorry, I’m a jerk, and I don’t deserve you.” Was that too much to ask?

It gnawed at me, this unfinished business. I couldn’t move on, couldn’t let go, because it felt like he was still lurking in my life, like a shadow I couldn’t shake.

I decided I needed closure, even if it meant facing him. So, I texted him, my fingers trembling with anger. After a few minutes, he replied.

For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney

For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney

@Jace:

Let’s meet tonight at 6 p.m., at our café.

Our café. The place where we had our first date. The nerve. Still, I agreed.

At 6 p.m., I sat in the corner booth, the one we always chose. The warm smell of coffee and pastries surrounded me, but it brought no comfort.

Every time the door opened, I glanced up, expecting to see him. But Jace didn’t show.

For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney

For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney

By 7 p.m., I was tapping my foot under the table, staring at the cold tea I hadn’t touched. By 8 p.m., I was furious. Finally, my phone buzzed.

@Jace:

I can’t come. I can’t stand seeing you so sad like this.

I stared at the screen, stunned by his cowardice. What did that even mean? He couldn’t stand seeing me?

He was the one who had cheated, yet he was acting like the victim. My anger boiled over.

For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney

For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney

When I finally got home, the fury still burned in my chest. I stomped up the stairs, muttering under my breath.

Then, as I turned the corner, I froze. Standing outside my apartment was her. The woman from the elevator. She looked nervous, like she’d been waiting for me.

“What the hell are you doing here?!” I shouted, my voice echoing in the hallway. I couldn’t believe she had the nerve to show up.

“I want to talk to you,” she said, her tone calm but uneasy. “I feel like I owe you… more than just a conversation.”

For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney

For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney

I folded my arms tightly, glaring at her. “You’re a few hours late,” I snapped. “I don’t want anything to do with that jerk. You can have him.” Turning away, I fumbled with my keys, determined to shut this conversation down.

“That’s the thing—I don’t want him either,” she said, her voice firmer this time. It stopped me cold. “I finally realized what he’s really like, and I wanted to talk to someone who understands.”

For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney

For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney

I hesitated, my hand still on the doorknob. This was absurd, completely insane. But a part of me was curious.

With a deep sigh, I turned back to her. “Fine. Come in,” I said, pushing the door open and stepping aside.

As she entered, I asked, “What’s your name, anyway?”

“Ashley,” she said softly, her eyes darting to the floor.

For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney

For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney

“Kate,” I said, introducing myself reluctantly.

“I know,” she admitted, guilt written all over her face.

I walked to the kitchen, motioning for her to follow. “Come on,” I said. “I’d offer you tea, but I think this calls for something stronger.” I grabbed a bottle of wine from the counter and set it down.

For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney

For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney

Ashley sat at the table, folding her hands nervously. “You didn’t know about me,” she began. “But I knew you existed. Jace told me he had a girlfriend, but he said you were awful to him. He claimed you ignored him, flirted with other men, made him feel worthless.”

“What the—?! That’s exactly what he did to me!” I burst out, anger flaring.

Ashley nodded slowly. “I see that now, after what happened when you caught us. But back then, I believed him. I thought he was going to leave you and be with me.”

For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney

For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney

“Looks like the jerk fooled both of us,” I said bitterly, pouring the wine.

“That’s why I’m here. I don’t want him to get away with it,” she said, her voice steady.

“What are you suggesting?” I asked, narrowing my eyes.

Ashley smiled, a sly, mischievous grin. “Revenge,” she said simply. “You know how much of a homophobe Jace is?”

For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney

For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney

Her words made me pause, curiosity sparking despite my anger. And that was how it all began.

Ashley and I wasted no time setting our plan into motion. We created several profiles for Jace on popular dating sites, carefully crafting his “interests” and uploading photos we had saved from his social media.

We sent flirty messages to men who seemed eager to connect, pretending to be Jace himself.

For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney

For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney

“I’m looking for someone special,” we wrote, ending with a winking emoji. We even set up meetups at his apartment, choosing times when we knew he’d be home.

The thought of him opening his door to confused strangers made us laugh until our sides hurt.

On another site, we posted his phone number with the tagline: “Night owl? Call me between 2 and 4 a.m. for some fun.”

For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney

For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney

Though we couldn’t track the exact number of calls, the texts we received from Jace told us everything we needed to know. “Who are these people?” “Why won’t my phone stop ringing?” His desperation fueled us to keep going.

The billboard idea was the final touch. We found ad space in the busiest parts of town and designed a bright, eye-catching poster featuring Jace’s smiling face with the caption: “Looking for a man to support and cherish.”

For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney

For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney

Seeing the first billboard go up was priceless. We high-fived in the car, imagining his face when he spotted it.

Our phones buzzed nonstop with texts and calls from Jace. “You have to stop this,” he wrote. “Please, I’m begging you!”

Eventually, we responded.

@Me:

We can stop, but there’s one condition.

For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney

For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney

@Jace:

I’ll do anything. Just stop.

I sent him the amount—enough for a two-week vacation to Spain. When the transfer hit my account, I sent him one last text.

@Me:

Oops, we forgot the passwords to the accounts, and the billboards are prepaid for two months 🙂

For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney

For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney

After sending that final text to Jace, Ashley and I blocked his number. There was nothing more to say. The moment felt oddly triumphant, like closing the chapter of a bad book I’d been stuck reading for far too long.

We immediately turned our focus to planning the trip. A few days later, Ashley and I landed in Spain.

The sun was bright, the air warm, and the sound of waves crashing against the shore was the perfect soundtrack to our newfound freedom.

For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney

For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney

We found a spot on the beach, stretched out on lounge chairs, and ordered cold sangria.

Ashley turned to me with a grin. “Best team effort ever,” she said, raising her glass of sangria. I smiled, knowing she was right.

I’d lost a terrible boyfriend but gained one hell of a friend. Revenge never tasted so sweet.

For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney

For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney

Tell us what you think about this story and share it with your friends. It might inspire them and brighten their day.

If you enjoyed this story, read this one: When a grouchy old man slams the door on a persistent teen, he thinks he’s rid of her for good. But when a hurricane traps them together, the storm outside reveals the truth about her shocking connection to his past.

This piece is inspired by stories from the everyday lives of our readers 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.

My Foster Dad Gave Me One Dollar on My 5th Birthday — Years Later It Radically Changed My Life When I Was at My Lowest

Clichés about small things having big impacts usually roll off your ears, right? But for me, a single birthday gift, a dollar bill no less, became the unlikely lifeline that transformed my life as a homeless kid. This is the story of how that crumpled dollar bill not only carried me through the toughest times but also steered me on a path to success I never dared to dream of.

A white couple with their black foster son | Source: Midjourney

A white couple with their black foster son | Source: Midjourney

I was two years old when Steve and Linda, my foster parents, took me in. They were a white couple with big hearts and already had eight Black foster kids like me. They treated us all like their own children.

I didn’t even know what my biological parents looked like, and honestly, I didn’t care much because Steve and Linda were everything I could ever hope for in my parents.

Being the youngest, I was always shy and thought everyone else was better than me. But Steve, my foster dad, had a way of making me feel special.

A white father laughing with his black foster son | Source: Midjourney

A white father laughing with his black foster son | Source: Midjourney

I remember how he’d kneel down, look me straight in the eyes, and say, “Dylan, you’re just as good as anyone else. You’ve got a spark in you, kid.”

My fifth birthday was a turning point in my life, though not in the way most birthdays are. That was the day my biological parents showed up out of nowhere. They wanted me back, and for reasons I couldn’t understand, the authorities decided I should go with them.

A grayscale photo of a white father comforting his sad black son | Source: Midjourney

A grayscale photo of a white father comforting his sad black son | Source: Midjourney

I remember the day I had to leave like it was yesterday. I was crying my heart out as I hugged Steve one last time. “Dad, I’ll never be anything,” I sobbed. “I’m just a loser.”

Steve hugged me tighter and whispered, “Happy birthday, Dylan. Here’s something for you.” He handed me a one-dollar bill and added, “There’s a special message for you written on this bill. Never lose it.”

At the time, I couldn’t read or write, so I didn’t pay much attention to those words. I just shoved the bill into my pocket and held onto Steve, not wanting to let go.

A one-dollar bill lying on a table | Source: Midjourney

A one-dollar bill lying on a table | Source: Midjourney

Leaving my foster family was the hardest thing I had ever done. My biological parents took me to Europe, where we lived together. But it didn’t take long for their true colors to show. They weren’t doing well financially or emotionally, and two years later, they abandoned me in a park.

I was seven years old then, alone, and scared. I remember sitting on a park bench, clutching the dollar bill Steve had given me. It was the only piece of my past that I had left.

A black boy sitting alone on a bench in a park | Source: Midjourney

A black boy sitting alone on a bench in a park | Source: Midjourney

That day, I made a promise to myself. “No more orphanages and no more foster families, Dylan. You’re going to make it on your own.”

And so, for the next nine years, I lived on the streets, begging for money and doing odd jobs just to get by. Life was tough, and many nights I went to bed hungry. I learned to be resourceful and always kept that dollar bill close to me. It was a reminder of better times and the love I once knew.

A homeless black boy on the streets | Source: Midjourney

A homeless black boy on the streets | Source: Midjourney

One day, I met a homeless man named Jacob. He was older, with a kind face and a worn-out look. We struck up a friendship, and he took me under his wing.

“Hey, kid,” Jacob said one evening as we sat under a streetlight. “Got something for you.” He pulled out an old, tattered book he had found in the trash. “We’re gonna learn to read and write.”

Every evening, we’d sit together with that book. Jacob would patiently point at the words and say, “Dylan, you’ve got to learn this. It’s your way out of here.”

A black man on the street teaches a homeless black boy to read a book | Source: Midjourney

A black man on the street teaches a homeless black boy to read a book | Source: Midjourney

I soaked up everything he taught me, and slowly, I started to read and write. It felt like a small spark of hope in an otherwise bleak existence. I never told Jacob about the dollar bill or the message written on it.

It was my little secret, a connection to my past that I wasn’t ready to share. Life on the streets was tough, but Jacob and I managed to find small joys in the little things. We shared stories about our pasts, laughed about the absurdity of life, and dreamed about a better future.

A homeless black boy looks at the starry sky at night | Source: Midjourney

A homeless black boy looks at the starry sky at night | Source: Midjourney

“Jacob, do you think we’ll ever get out of here?” I asked one night, staring up at the stars.

Jacob smiled softly, his eyes filled with a mix of hope and reality. “Maybe, Dylan. But no matter what, we have to keep believing we can. That’s what keeps us going.”

Over time, Jacob became the closest thing to family I had, and his friendship kept me going through the darkest times. His belief in me was unwavering, and it was that belief that fueled my determination to survive and succeed.

A homeless black boy lying underneath a bridge | Source: Midjourney

A homeless black boy lying underneath a bridge | Source: Midjourney

One day, while lying under a bridge, I accidentally pulled out that same dollar bill my foster dad Steve had given me years ago. It was crumpled and faded, but the memory of Steve’s comforting words came rushing back.

I remembered there was supposed to be a message for me on it. So, with trembling hands, I unfolded it. Here’s what it said: “You are my son and always will be, no matter what. I always believed in you and always will. This dollar is lucky. With it, you will succeed, but you have to believe in yourself!”

A closeup shot of a black teenager holding an old and crumpled one-dollar bill | Source: Midjourney

A closeup shot of a black teenager holding an old and crumpled one-dollar bill | Source: Midjourney

Those words hit me hard. They reignited a spark inside me that had long been smothered by years of hardship. I read the message over and over, letting Steve’s belief in me sink in. Little did I know that this very message would radically change my life.

From that day on, I was determined to turn my life around. I started working harder than ever, taking on any job I could find. Mornings were spent cleaning up at a local diner.

A teenage black boy is washing dishes in a restaurant | Source: Midjourney

A teenage black boy is washing dishes in a restaurant | Source: Midjourney

In the afternoons, I helped an old man named Mr. Johnson with his garden, and in the evenings, I worked as a dishwasher at a small restaurant. I barely had time to rest, but I didn’t care. I was on a mission.

One day, while I was scrubbing dishes in the back of the restaurant, an elderly man walked in. He had a distinguished air about him, and everyone seemed to know and respect him. He watched me work for a while, then approached me. “You’re quite the hard worker, aren’t you?” he said, his eyes twinkling with curiosity.

An elderly man talks to a black guy in a restaurant | Source: Midjourney

An elderly man talks to a black guy in a restaurant | Source: Midjourney

I wiped my hands on my apron and nodded. “I have to be. I don’t have much of a choice.”

He smiled. “What’s your name, son?”

“Dylan, sir.”

“Well, Dylan, I’m Mr. Brown. I’ve been watching you for a few days now, and I’m impressed by your dedication. How would you like to work for me?”

I was stunned. “Work for you? Doing what?”

“I need a driver. Someone reliable and hardworking. You fit the bill. I’ll help you get the necessary documents, a passport, and anything else you need.”

A black man driving a car | Source: Midjourney

A black man driving a car | Source: Midjourney

I couldn’t believe my ears. “Why me?”

Mr. Brown chuckled. “Because you remind me of myself when I was your age. Determined, hardworking, and willing to do whatever it takes. So, what do you say?”

I didn’t hesitate. “Yes, sir. I’d be honored.”

Working for Mr. Brown was the break I needed. He taught me everything he knew about business, and over the years, he became like a mentor to me. He showed me the ropes, and I soaked up every bit of knowledge he shared.

A black man flying in an airplane | Source: Midjourney

A black man flying in an airplane | Source: Midjourney

After a few years, he trusted me enough to appoint me as the manager of his company’s branch in the USA.

When I flew to the USA, the first thing I did was visit my foster parents’ house. They were older now, and when I knocked on the door, it took a moment for them to recognize me. But once I explained who I was, they hugged me in tears.

Steve, my foster dad, looked at me with pride in his eyes. “Dylan, is it really you?”

A black man hugging his white foster dad | Source: Midjourney

A black man hugging his white foster dad | Source: Midjourney

I nodded, tears streaming down my face. “It’s me, Dad. I made it.”

I pulled out that same dollar bill, which I had kept safe all these years, and handed it to him. “It really works! This dollar is lucky!”

Steve smiled, a tear rolling down his cheek. “When you didn’t know it was lucky, you were homeless. As soon as you knew it was lucky, you succeeded. Maybe it’s not the dollar but you?”

I laughed through my tears and hugged him tight. “Maybe you’re right, Dad.”

A black man smiling while holding a crumpled one-dollar bill | Source: Midjourney

A black man smiling while holding a crumpled one-dollar bill | Source: Midjourney

He chuckled. “Besides, I pulled it out of my wallet just five minutes before I handed it to you all those years ago. I was deciding between a five-dollar bill and a one-dollar bill. I chose the one-dollar!”

We both laughed, holding each other close. It felt like coming home after a long, hard journey. I realized then that the true luck wasn’t in the dollar bill but in the love and belief Steve had always had in me.

A white elderly man is laughing with his black son at home | Source: Midjourney

A white elderly man is laughing with his black son at home | Source: Midjourney

Reuniting with my foster family felt like a full-circle moment. Despite all the hardships, I made it through, thanks to the love and support of my foster parents and the lessons learned from friends like Jacob.

Life had thrown many challenges my way, but with resilience, hard work, and a bit of luck, I had overcome them. And through it all, I learned that the most important thing was to believe in yourself, just as Steve had believed in me.

A happy black man standing in his office | Source: Midjourney

A happy black man standing in his office | Source: Midjourney

Want to explore more heartwarming stories? Click here to read another one: Imagine losing your everything, then defying the world to honor their memory. That’s where this story starts. My son, a dream tragically shattered, and a trip to Europe that took an unexpected turn: one that revealed the true depths of grief and love. Let me tell you about it.

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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