Amelia wanted to meet her newborn grandson, but when her son, Mark, wouldn’t pick her up, she decided to walk to his house. It took hours because she was using a walker. But when she got to Mark’s house, he banned her from entering, and something shocking happened.
“I can’t pick you up, Mom. I have to run some errands for Camilla, and other people are coming. We’ll set a time for you to see the baby,” Mark told his mother, Amelia, on the phone. She was supposed to come to see their newborn baby for the first time, and he had to pick her up because his house was far away.
“Are you sure? It’s pretty quick by car,” Amelia almost pleaded. She truly wanted to meet her grandson.
“Some other time, Mom. I have to go. See you later!” he hung up, and Amelia plopped down on her couch with a huge sigh.
“I don’t care what you brought! I don’t want you here right now. You need to go immediately!”
She was worried about Mark’s attitude lately. It seemed like he had been pulling away from her. If she was being honest, it started happening when he married Camilla.
Camilla came from an extremely wealthy family in Connecticut, while Amelia raised Mark as a single mother with the help of his grandmother. They never had much except tons of love. But now, her son had everything. Camilla’s parents gifted them a huge house after they eloped, and he was living the high life.
Ever since then, Amelia felt left out, as if he was ashamed of his background, although he never said it outright.
“You’re being silly,” she told herself often when she thought about this matter. “Mark is just busy. Now they have a baby and a million things to do. He’ll pick you up some other time.”
But she had a sudden idea. She could walk to his house. It might be challenging, but she could do it. The bus routes didn’t reach his home, and she couldn’t afford it, so walking was her only option.
She finally reached his house and rang the door bell. | Source: Pexels
Amelia heaved herself up with her walker and grabbed her purse and a bag she had prepared for that day. She hung them on the walker securely and started her journey. It was slow, and although she could lean on the walker, it was tough on her.
She had to stop several times along the way, and before she knew it, two hours had passed. Three. Four. Finally, she reached his house, heaving heavily but happy that she had done it even with her walking issues.
After ringing the doorbell, she took the special bag as she wanted Mark to open it right away. But when he answered the door, his face fell.
“Mom?” he said, shocked. “What are you doing here?”
Amelia didn’t understand his expression and almost frowned, but she was was excited to be there and that’s what she focused on. “Surprise!” she said, trying to sound enthusiastic although she was tired, hungry, and concerned about his attitude.
Mark stepped out, closing the door behind him and forcing her to take several steps back with her walker. “What are you doing, Mark?” she asked, frowning now.
“Mom! I told you you would meet the baby some other time. You can’t come in right now!” he scolded her, his face crumpled in anger.
Mark was angry and told her to go away, shutting the door in her face. | Source: Pexels
“I don’t understand. Why are you angry? I just walked almost five hours to see my grandson, Mark, and I brought—”
“I don’t care what you brought! I don’t want you here right now. You need to go immediately! You’ll meet Hans another day, alright? Please just go now!” he demanded, looking behind him as if worried that someone would see them. He opened the door and returned inside, shutting the door in her face and leaving her standing outside with her things.
Amelia was shocked. Tears gathered in her eyes. He didn’t even ask if she was alright, although she had just told him about walking for five hours to get there. He knew she had problems with mobility.
But she didn’t want to cause any more trouble, so she started to turn around, then she remembered the bag in her hands. She decided to leave it outside his door, hoping he would find it later.
Amelia set out to walk home, prepared for the long, tiring hours that lay ahead. Luckily, her neighbor, Mrs. Cassavetes, saw her and gave her a ride in her old car. When she arrived home, her legs gave out as soon as she closed her front door. She sat down on the couch, and that’s when she noticed her legs were inflamed.
Mark finally found the bag that Amelia had left on his doorstep. | Source: Pexels
After some rest, she managed to stand up, get some ice, and take a pain reliever. But in the end, she had to sleep on the sofa because her bedroom seemed too far away.
***
Meanwhile, Mark said goodbye to his guests that night, waving at them through his front door. It had been a hectic day with many visitors, and it was finally over. He hunched his shoulders, thinking about his actions earlier that day.
His mother had walked to his house from her own home, he thought guiltily, then shook his head, convincing himself that it was not his fault.
“She shouldn’t have done that,” he whispered to himself. As he turned around, he noticed the bag on the floor. He picked it up and saw a tag labeled, “From Grandma.”
Mark bit his lip, thinking about his mother leaving it there and returning to her house. He opened the bag and realized what was inside. They were his old toys from his childhood. They never had much at his house, but these items were always precious to him. They still were. He couldn’t help but start crying.
Camilla saw him outside and got worried. “What’s wrong, honey?”
He went to her house and entered with his set of keys. | Source: Pexels
“I did something horrible to my mother,” he wailed, and his wife embraced him. He revealed everything he had done, including that he started pulling away from his family because they were all poor, and he felt ashamed. “I can’t believe I was so horrible to her!”
After his wife comforted him, Mark decided to drive to his mother’s house immediately with a big apology. He still had the keys to her house in case of emergencies, so when he got there, he decided not to ring the doorbell and just use them to get in. But he was greeted by the vision of his mother passed out on the couch with cold compresses on her legs.
“Mom,” he whispered, waking her up gently.
“Mark, why are you here?” she said groggily and tried to get up, but he stopped her.
“Don’t move,” he said and picked up his mother as if she weighed nothing, moving her to her bedroom. He added more ice to her cold compresses and helped her put them on her swollen legs. He also made her something to eat, and they drank tea together. Then he apologized for his attitude and told her the truth.
Amelia moved in with them and helped with Hans. | Source: Pexels
Luckily, his mother was the most fantastic person in the world. “I had a feeling you were ashamed, but I’m glad you came here right away to apologize. That’s what I taught you. When you do something wrong, you have to make things right,” Amelia reassured him, and Mark cried into her arms for some time.
He stayed with her the entire night, and fortunately, her legs were much better. The next morning, they decided to go to his house so she could meet his new baby, Hans.
Camilla also apologized because she had no idea what Mark did, but she should’ve asked why Amelia was not there. They spent a wonderful day together, and Amelia gave Camilla tons of advice about babies.
Eventually, Mark asked his mother to move in with them because they had a huge house, and he didn’t want her to be all alone so far away.
What can we learn from this story?
- Never be ashamed of your parents. Mark felt embarrassed about his background and tried to keep it from Camilla’s family, hurting his mother in the process. He regretted it later.
- It’s best to make things right when you realize you made a mistake. Mark immediately tried to make things right after realizing his horrible mistake against his mother. Luckily, she forgave him quickly.
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Grumpy Loner Finds a Teen Trying to Jack His Car and It Ends Up Changing Both Their Lives — Story of the Day
All old Harold cared about in his remaining years were his car and his privacy, but both now seemed at risk after new Asian neighbors moved in. One night, he caught a teenage boy trying to open his car, and from that moment, his solitary life changed forever.
Harold sat on his creaky porch, the paint peeling from the wooden railing, his scowl as deep as the furrows in his weathered face.
The late afternoon sun glared down, reflecting off the hood of his 1970 Plymouth Barracuda, making its cherry-red paint glow like embers.
The car had been his pride and joy for decades, a tangible reminder of his younger, more vibrant days.
But today, Harold wasn’t basking in nostalgia. His gaze was fixed on the commotion across the street.
For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney
His new neighbors—a bustling Asian family—were unloading boxes from a moving truck.
Kids dashed around the driveway, shrieking and laughing, while a dog yapped incessantly.
A grandmother in a wide-brimmed hat waved instructions in a language Harold didn’t understand.
“Can’t they do anything quietly?” Harold muttered, his words a growl as he took a bitter sip of his lukewarm coffee.
Needing an escape, Harold pushed himself up from the chair, wincing as his stiff knees protested.
He shuffled toward his garage, muttering under his breath about the state of the world. Starting the Barracuda, he reversed it onto the driveway with a low, throaty rumble.
For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney
He knew the engine’s growl was loud enough to turn heads, and that’s exactly what he wanted.
As he began unwinding the hose to wash his car, a voice called out, breaking his solitude.
“Wow! Is that a ‘70 Barracuda?”
Harold turned, startled to see a skinny teenage boy standing near the curb.
The boy’s eyes sparkled with curiosity, and his face was lit with the kind of awe Harold hadn’t seen in years.
“Yeah, it is,” Harold said curtly, already regretting engaging.
For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney
“Does it have the 440 engine? A Six Pack?” the boy asked, stepping closer, his excitement bubbling over. “How’d you keep it in such good shape? I mean, it’s pristine!”
Harold grunted, turning his attention back to the car.
“It’s just maintenance,” he said flatly, hoping the boy would take the hint and leave.
But the boy, introducing himself as Ben, didn’t. He kept firing questions, his enthusiasm unrelenting.
He asked about the car’s history, its restoration, and its performance. Harold’s responses grew shorter, his patience wearing thinner with each passing second.
For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney
“Kid, don’t you have something better to do?” Harold snapped, narrowing his eyes at the boy.
Ben hesitated, his smile fading slightly.
“I just really love classic cars,” he said softly. “My dad used to—”
“Enough!” Harold barked, turning to face him fully. “Go home and leave me alone!”
Ben’s shoulders slumped, and he muttered, “Sorry, sir,” before shuffling away.
Harold shook his head and turned back to his car, scrubbing harder than necessary.
For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney
But as much as he tried, he couldn’t quite shake the image of the boy’s hopeful face. It lingered like a faint echo, reminding him of something he couldn’t quite name.
Harold was jolted awake by the unmistakable sound of clanging metal. It wasn’t subtle—it was the kind of noise that didn’t belong in the stillness of the night.
His eyes snapped open, and for a moment, he lay there, listening.
Then, with a groan, he reached for the baseball bat leaning against his nightstand.
For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney
His heart pounded as he slipped on his slippers and shuffled toward the garage, the cold night air prickling his skin.
He paused at the garage door, holding his breath as he heard muffled voices and the distinct rustling of tools. Gritting his teeth, Harold flipped on the light.
“Hey! Get outta here!” he roared, his voice slicing through the chaos.
Three teenage boys froze like deer caught in headlights.
One was hunched over the steering wheel of his prized Barracuda, while another rifled through his neatly organized tools.
For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney
The third stood near the hood, his face partially obscured by the shadow of his hoodie.
The two boys closest to the car bolted without a word, vanishing into the darkness. Harold barely noticed.
His eyes locked onto the third boy, who had slipped on an oil patch and fallen hard onto the concrete floor.
“Not so fast,” Harold growled, marching over and grabbing the boy’s arm. He hauled him to his feet, and the boy’s hood fell back, revealing a familiar face.
“Ben?” Harold’s voice was incredulous and angry all at once.
For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney
“Please, sir,” Ben stammered, his face pale and his hands shaking. “I didn’t mean to—I was—”
“Save it,” Harold snapped, his grip firm. “You’re coming with me.”
Still clutching Ben’s arm, Harold marched him across the street and banged loudly on the door of the boy’s house.
After a moment, the door creaked open, and Ben’s parents appeared, their faces groggy and confused.
“They don’t speak much English,” Ben mumbled, his eyes glued to the floor.
“Then you’re going to tell them exactly what you did,” Harold said, his voice cold and commanding.
For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney
Ben hesitated, then began translating, his voice trembling as he explained what had happened.
His parents’ faces fell, their expressions a mix of shame and dismay.
Bowing repeatedly, they murmured apologetic phrases in their native language, their gestures sincere.
Harold let go of Ben, pointing a finger at the boy. “Next time, I won’t hesitate to call the cops. Got it?”
“Yes, sir,” Ben murmured, his head bowed low.
Harold turned and stomped back to his house, his adrenaline slowly fading. He collapsed into his armchair, staring at the car keys he had left on the table.
For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney
The image of Ben’s pale, terrified face lingered in his mind, unsettling him. Somehow, his anger didn’t feel as satisfying as it should have.
The next morning, Harold was startled from his coffee by the sound of clinking metal on his porch.
Grumbling, he got up and opened the door to a surprising sight: Ben’s grandmother and mother, both balancing trays of steaming food, carefully arranging them on the steps.
“What’s all this?” Harold asked, his tone sharp.
For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney
“Listen, I don’t need—what’s all this for?”
The women looked up at him nervously, bowing their heads slightly. Their smiles were polite but hesitant, and they didn’t say a word.
Harold waved his hands awkwardly, trying to shoo them away.
“It’s fine. You don’t need to do this,” he sputtered.
They continued their work undeterred, gesturing to the trays with small, encouraging nods. Harold sighed, stepping aside and muttering under his breath, “No one listens anymore.”
For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney
As they finished and disappeared back across the street, Ben appeared, shuffling up to the porch with his head low.
His face was flushed, and he avoided Harold’s gaze. Suddenly, he knelt down, bowing deeply.
“I’m sorry for what I did,” he said softly, his voice barely above a whisper. “I’ll do anything to make it up to you.”
Harold crossed his arms, his scowl deepening, but his voice lacked its usual edge. “Kid, get up. You don’t have to do this.”
Ben didn’t move. “Please,” he insisted. “Let me fix this.”
For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney
Harold sighed heavily. “Fine. Wash the car. And don’t scratch it.”
As Harold returned inside, he eyed the trays of food warily before sitting down to pick at the unfamiliar dishes.
Through the window, he watched Ben working diligently on the Barracuda, the boy’s careful movements a stark contrast to the chaos of the night before.
After some time, Harold stepped back outside. “You did a decent job,” he admitted gruffly. “For a guy who tried to get into it last night.”
“Thanks,” Ben replied, drying his hands on a rag. He hesitated before speaking again.
For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney
“The truth is… those guys made me do it. They said I’d be a coward if I didn’t help. They knew I know a lot about cars.”
Harold frowned. “Why didn’t you tell your parents that?”
Ben shrugged, looking down.
“It’s hard enough being new here. If I snitched, people would make fun of my sister. She’s finally starting to fit in.”
Harold studied him, his face softening.
“You’re a good kid, Ben. You just have bad taste in friends.”
For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney
Ben nodded, finishing the job. As Harold watched him clean up, he surprised himself by saying, “Come on in. Let’s eat before all this food gets cold.”
Ben’s eyes widened slightly, but he smiled. “Thanks, sir.”
Harold waved him inside, the faintest hint of a smile tugging at his lips.
That evening, he sat in his recliner, a cup of tea cooling on the side table. The soft hum of crickets filled the air, but a commotion outside drew his attention.
He leaned toward the window, pulling the curtain aside, and his sharp eyes spotted Ben down the street.
For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney
The boy was backed against a fence by the same two teens who had fled Harold’s garage that night.
Harold squinted, his knuckles tightening on the curtain. The taller of the two boys jabbed a finger at Ben, his voice carrying through the quiet.
“We’re not taking the fall for this! You better fix it.”
Ben’s shoulders slumped as he hesitated, then reluctantly handed over a set of keys. He pointed toward Harold’s garage, his expression filled with shame.
For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney
The two teens grinned, their laughter cutting through the stillness as they swaggered toward the garage.
Harold’s lips pressed into a thin line as he grabbed his jacket and headed outside.
Staying hidden in the shadows, he waited until the boys disappeared inside his garage.
Then, with a deliberate stride, he approached the building, flanked by a police officer he’d called earlier.
“Evening, boys,” Harold said coolly, flipping on the garage lights.
The two teens froze, their grins vanishing as the officer stepped forward. “Hands where I can see them,” the officer commanded.
For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney
The boys stammered, their bravado crumbling as they were cuffed and led toward the patrol car.
Ben stood nearby, watching the scene with a conflicted expression. Harold approached him, his voice steady but firm.
“You did the right thing, kid,” he said. “Criminals need to learn their lessons early. Better they fix their lives now than ruin them later.”
Ben nodded, a look of relief washing over his face. “I wasn’t sure if…” He trailed off, searching Harold’s face.
For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney
Harold patted Ben’s shoulder, his touch surprisingly gentle.
“You’ve got a good head on your shoulders. I could use someone like you to help me with the car. You interested?”
Ben’s eyes widened in surprise. “Really?”
“Yeah, but don’t let it go to your head,” Harold said with a smirk.
For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney
“And maybe, if you prove yourself, this car could be yours one day.”
Ben’s grin spread wide, and for the first time in years, Harold felt a flicker of pride he thought he’d never feel again.
Together, they walked back to the house, the night quieter than it had been in years.
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: “Perfect neighbor”—that was Julia’s dream title. She wanted to be a role model for other women in the community. Imagine her face when she saw her mother ride a Harley-Davidson into the driveway. Pure embarrassment nearly drove Julia to the point of kicking her mother out, but the truth stopped her.
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.
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