One morning, a poor man is stunned to wake up and find his father’s old trailer in his yard with a note from his older brother — but the despised inheritance ends up making his fortune.
When Mark Kendrick’d first married, it looked as if life would run smoothly. He and his wife Sally had a good job. But then back in 2008, his wife lost her job as a chef when the restaurant she worked in closed down.
Left with a huge mortgage, two children, and one salary, the Kendricks had struggled. In 2019 when Mark’s father pa::ssed away, his estate — which was substantial — had all gone to his brother, Jim. It seemed that Mark just couldn’t catch a break.
Mark never told anyone, even Sally, but the conditions of his father’s will had hurt him deeply. Mark was the younger brother by nearly 20 years and the child of his father’s second marriage.
He understood that the company and the big house his father had lived in had once belonged to Jim’s deceased mother and were his by right — but Mark had thought his dad would leave him some token of his esteem.
When Mark was still a child, his father had often played hide-and-seek games with him. The little boy would often find a little treat under his pillow with a note — chocolate or a piece of candy — and the note always said: ‘Daddy loves you, Mark.’
They’d go off on vacation — Mark, his mom, and his dad — on their old trailer. His half-brother, Jim, would never go. He’d always turn up his nose at their ‘trashy trailer’ and go off with his fancy college friends.
The trio would drive around the back roads of America stopping whenever they fancied a town’s name, and the first meal they made was always his dad’s spicy clam chowder.
For Mark, those vacations were his fondest memories of his childhood, and they had ended when his mother pass::ed away, a victim of can::cer when Mark was fifteen. After that, the trailer just sat in the backyard.
Our family’s memories and the good times we spent together are the most precious things we have.
Mark’s dad had withered away to a shadow of his former self and became almost a recluse. In his last years, he refused to see anyone at all, even his sons and grandchildren.
Then, two years after his dad’s pa:ssing, Mark woke up to find the old trailer parked in his driveway! He immediately phoned his brother. “Jim, what’s going on?” he asked. “You left the trailer here?”
His brother was abrupt. “The old man wanted you to have that piece of junk,” he said. “And it’s taking up space I need. So you take it and throw away your own trash!”
“Jim,” Mark asked quietly. “Why can’t we be friends?”
“You ask me why?” asked Jim bitterly. “He loved you more than he ever loved me, he spent more time with you on that stupid trailer than he ever did with me. Tha’s why!”
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Sad Mark hung up the phone, then he went outside and climbed into the old trailer. It was sadly neglected and would need a lot of work before it could be used again.
Mark sat on his old bed and tested the mattress. He’d have to get a new one. Then, out of old habit, he stuck his hand under the pillow. To his surprise, he felt something there!
There was an envelope under the pillow with his name on it! He opened it and found a bank book for an account with a balance of over $60,000! In the envelope was a recipe for his dad’s chowder, and a note.
The note read: “My dear Mark, this recipe and the memories of the good times we shared are all I have to leave you. I hope this money will come in handy. It’s not much, but it may help to smooth your way. Remember me. Daddy loves you, Mark.”
Mark had tears in his eyes. He took the bank book and showed it to Sally. “That’s not bad…” she said. “It’s not the millions that Jim got, but it will help. You can sell that old trailer too. That should bring in a little more money.”
Mark was in shoc::k. “I’m not selling my dad’s trailer!” he cried. “That’s out of the question!”
“Well I don’t want that piece of junk just sitting in the front yard!” cried Sally crossly.
Mark sat on the front porch looking at that trailer for hours. It certainly needed a lot of work… Then he pulled his dad’s recipe out of his pocket and stared at it. “Sally!” he cried. “Come here! I have an idea!”
“What is it, Mark?” she asked.
“You know how you always said you wanted your own restaurant?” he asked excitedly and pointed at the old trailer. “There it is!”
“Are you mad?” gasped Sally.
“No!” Mark said. “Listen, we transform that old trailer into a mobile restaurant/ food truck. We make that amazing clam chowder of my dad’s… We’ll paint it bright, happy colors and string up lights…”
“That could work,” said Sally thoughtfully. “If we can afford the licenses…”
They could and they did. Pretty soon, people were coming from all over the city to eat Pop’s Chowder, making Mark give up his job to help Sally. They started a franchise, and before long, there were Pop’s Chowder food trucks all over the state.
Mark was very happy. His father’s memory was honored every day, with every bite a satisfied customer took of that amazing clam chowder. And thanks to that legacy, he was taking good care of his family.
Mark called Jim and invited him and his family to join them for a family lunch at the old refurbished trailer. Jim came and ate the chowder and the two brothers made peace, just as their father would have wanted.
After Years of Leaving and Going back to My Cruel Dad, My Mom Showed up on My Doorstep Again — Story of the Day
My mom always left my dad, swearing it was for good, only to return after his apologies and gifts. It became a pattern I was used to, a cycle that never broke. But this time, when she showed up at my door with a suitcase, she had news that changed everything.
I sat across from my friend Sandy in my kitchen, enjoying a rare moment of free time together. Life got busy, and it felt like we never saw each other anymore.
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“It’s nice to finally catch up,” Sandy said with a smile.
“Yeah, it is,” I agreed, pouring her a glass of wine.
After a pause, she looked at me curiously. “Is your mom living with you now?”
“No, why would she?” Sandy’s eyebrows furrowed.
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“I thought she left your dad again?”
“Oh, you know how it goes with them. Every two years, same story. He messes up, she gets mad, packs her bags, and swears she’s done for good. Then he buys her something fancy, and suddenly all is forgiven. They act like they’re in love again, like nothing ever happened.” Sandy sighed.
“Have you tried talking some sense into her?”
“I did,” I said, feeling the old frustration return.
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“I told her she deserves better. But then she goes back to him, and she’d get mad at me, saying I wasn’t supporting her.”
Sandy frowned and took a sip of her wine. “I’m sorry, Amalia. That sounds hard.”
My eyes landed on the corner of the kitchen table, where my mom had left a note the last time she left my dad. I could still picture her then—standing in my doorway, suitcase in hand, her face full of hope.
“I’ve left him for good this time, Amalia,” she said with a determined smile.
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I wanted to believe her, but deep down, I doubted it. Still, a tiny hope stirred inside me, whispering that maybe this time would be different.
We went to a café nearby for breakfast, sitting across from each other. I took a deep breath, trying to steady my nerves, and finally said what I’d been too scared to say before.
“Mom, you know you can’t keep going back to him, right?” I asked, my voice steady.
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She looked down at her coffee, then back up at me with a weak smile. “Of course, I’m not planning to. I’ve made up my mind.”
I sighed and leaned closer. “He’s awful, Mom. He treated you terribly. He doesn’t change.”
“I know,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. I reached out and took her hand.
“I just want you to be happy. You deserve that, you know?”
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She squeezed my hand, her eyes watering. “Thank you, dear. It means a lot.”
I thought maybe my words got through to her. Maybe this time would be different. But when I came back from work that evening, the house was quiet. I called for her, but no answer.
Instead, a note sat on the table: “Your father apologized and bought me a new car. I realized I overreacted and went back. XX Mom.” I crumpled the note, tossing it into the trash. How foolish I’d been to hope.
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Sandy’s words pulled me out of my thoughts. “You should understand your mom better than anyone,” she said. “You left Robert, and that was hard. But you did it.”
I shrugged. “Yeah, it was hard. But I knew I had to.” She lifted her glass, her eyes warm.
“Well, I think you’re strong as hell. Cheers to that.”
I laughed and raised my glass. “Cheers.”
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The next morning, I woke up late. My alarm didn’t go off, or maybe I just slept through it. Either way, I was rushing around, trying to get dressed, find my keys, and grab my bag all at once.
My hair was a mess, and I could barely think straight. I could already tell it was going to be one of those days where nothing goes right. As I tried to slip on my shoes, I heard the doorbell. I glanced at the clock.
I didn’t have time for this. “Damn it,” I muttered, frustrated. I opened the door and froze. There stood my mom, holding a suitcase, her face serious.
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I didn’t mean to sound harsh, but the words slipped out. “What did Dad do this time?!”
She didn’t flinch. She didn’t look away. Her eyes stayed locked on mine, and she said, “He died.”
For a moment, everything around me just stopped. I couldn’t breathe or think. My mind went completely blank, like a switch had been turned off. I tried to say something, anything, but no words came out.
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After hearing the news, I called my boss and said I needed the day off. There wasn’t much I could explain, so I just told him there was a family emergency. My mom and I got in the car and drove back to my childhood home.
When we arrived, I walked into my old bedroom and felt a rush of memories. Everything was the same—the posters on the wall, the faded bedspread, even the little figurines on the shelf. It was like stepping back in time, and for a moment, I felt like I was a teenager again.
On the morning of the funeral, I woke up to loud music blasting through the house. I groaned, pulled the pillow over my head, but Mom just turned it up louder, filling every corner of the house.
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“Mom! Turn it off!” I shouted, my voice barely cutting through the blaring music.
“What?!” she yelled back from somewhere down the hall. “Hold on, I can’t hear you!”
A moment later, the music stopped, and I heard her footsteps. She appeared in my doorway, looking calm, like it was just a regular morning. “What were you saying?” she asked, tilting her head.
“Why is the music so loud?” I asked, trying to keep my voice steady. “It’s too early for this.”
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She shrugged, a small smile on her face. “This song makes me happy,” she said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.
I stared at her. “You’re not supposed to feel happy today. It’s the funeral.”
She looked at me, still smiling. “Why not? You should feel happy every day, no matter what’s happening.”
I sighed, rubbing my temples. “Besides, this song is like 20 years old. Nobody listens to it anymore.”
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She raised an eyebrow. “You used to love it,” she said. “I remember you dancing around your room, singing every word.”
“Yeah,” I replied, “and then I got sick of it, like everyone else.”
She paused for a moment. “I don’t know. When I love something, I love it forever,” she said softly, then turned and walked out. A few seconds later, the music started up again, just as loud.
After greeting everyone at the church, shaking hands, and hearing the same phrases—”I’m so sorry for your loss,” “He was a good man”—I felt drained. It was like I was on autopilot, just nodding and thanking people without really thinking.
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I needed a break, so I slipped away to a small, quiet room at the back of the church. I was hoping to be alone for a minute, but when I walked in, Mom was already there, sitting by the window. She looked up and smiled, her eyes tired but calm.
“I don’t like funerals either,” Mom said, staring out the window.
I just scoffed, feeling a bitter laugh rise in my throat. “Yeah, well, we’re stuck here.”
She turned back to me. “Did you prepare your speech?” she asked, her tone gentle.
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I shook my head. “I’m not saying anything. I don’t have anything good to say about him.”
Mom’s face softened, like she was trying to understand. “Why not? He was a good father and a wonderful husband.”
I stared at her, stunned. “You’ve got to be kidding me. Are we talking about the same person?”
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She looked confused. “Why do you hate him so much?” she asked, almost like she truly didn’t understand. “I never got it.”
“Why? Do you really want to know?” I felt something snap inside, and the words just came pouring out. “When I was 13, you went on a business trip, and my friend stayed over. We heard noises from your bedroom. We thought someone was hurt, so we went to check…”
“…And there he was, in bed with Mrs. Brown, our neighbor. I just screamed and ran out of the house. And when I came back, he didn’t say a word to me. He pretended like it never happened, like I didn’t see it. That’s why I hated him. And I still hate him,” I said, my voice trembling.
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Mom’s eyes softened. “I know.”
“You don’t know how I feel!” I shouted, tears welling up.
“I mean, I know about the affairs,” she said, her voice calm.
“You knew?” I asked, shocked. “And you did nothing?”
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“Of course I knew,” she said softly.
“Then I hate you too,” I said, my voice cold. I turned to leave, but her voice stopped me.
“I’m sorry, Amalia,” Mom said. “I’m sorry I wasn’t strong like you. I was scared to leave him. I didn’t know how to do it for good.”
“You think I wasn’t scared when I left Robert? I was terrified,” I said, my voice shaking a little. “But I did it because I knew I had to. And you know what? It was hard, but eventually, it felt… freeing.”
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“I’m glad to hear that. I never liked Robert, you know. When you left him, I was so proud. You knew you deserved better. But it wasn’t the same for me. When I love something, I love it forever. And I loved your father.” I stared at her, confused.
“Even after he treated you that way?”
She nodded. “He wasn’t perfect. I never needed him to be. He had flaws, and some were really big ones. But he always came back.”
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I frowned, trying to understand.
She sighed, her eyes meeting mine. “Honestly, I’m glad to hear you hate me. Because all this time, I thought you didn’t care. And between hate and indifference, I’d rather have your hate.”
I didn’t expect those words to hit me the way they did, but they did. For some reason, I found myself smiling a little. I glanced at the clock. “We need to go. People will be waiting.”
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Mom gently placed her hand on my back. “You know, your father loved two things most in life: expensive liquor and making you laugh. Maybe you can mention that in your speech, but… skip the first part,” she said, a small smile tugging at her lips.
I couldn’t help but laugh, a real, honest laugh, and for a moment, the tension lifted. We left the small room together, side by side, and I felt something shift inside me.
I glanced at Mom and realized she wasn’t just my mom—she was a person, with her own fears, flaws, and regrets. I had always seen her as someone who should be stronger, someone who should have known better. But in that moment, I understood she was just trying her best, like I was.
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If you enjoyed this story, read this one: While helping her mother, Sarah, move into a new house, Natalie stumbles upon an old photograph hidden in a box. It shows a young Sarah holding a newborn baby with a distinctive birthmark on its cheek. But Natalie never had a birthmark. Confused and unsettled, she realizes there’s a secret her mother has been hiding.
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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