Woman with rare skin condition overcomes negativity and finds true love

Thanks to the rise of social media, we’re all bombarded with images of seemingly perfect-looking people; it seems as though the world has become even more shallow in how people are judged.

For those of us that don’t fit the stereotypical “perfect” mold, the world can seem very cruel, with complete strangers feeling it necessary to criticize someone based on their appearance on social media.

Karine de Souza knows this more than anyone. The Brazilian has spent her life covering her skin in SPF100 sunscreens – even when she’s inside her home – due to her rare skin condition.

The 33-year-old was diagnosed with Xeroderma Pigmentosum when she was three years old which means she is at high risk of skin cancer.

Her ”one-in-a-million” condition, which is incurable, means she is highly sensitive to UV rays as she lacks the ability to repair any damage the sun causes to her skin.

Just a few minutes in the sun can mean incredibly painful sunburn for her. Growing up, she was often isolated from the outside world because it was too dangerous for her to spend too much time outside her house.

“When I expose myself to the sun it doesn’t happen in the moment, I don’t feel anything. However, in the future, the lesions appear and need to be removed because of cancer,” she said.

Karine has had to endure 130 surgical procedures to remove lesions caused by the sun, including the removal of her lower lip and part of her nose.

Sadly, it is not only a physical battle she has to endure. Karine often gets stared at in the street and has been the victim of verbal abuse both within her community and online.

But despite her suffering, she remains upbeat and happy and has even found love.

She met her husband Edmilson through social media, who fell in love with her “story and her strength.” Edmilson has always stood by Karine’s side, and he knew he wanted to spend the rest of his life with her.

He also decided to embrace Karine’s three children from her previous relationship, which of course, meant a lot to Karine.

”He came and he showed me that I could live a true love story”, she says.

But after posting photos of them together online, Karine was once again exposed to a whole host of offensive comments.

”We have already read many offensive comments calling me a monster, deformed, a zombie,” Karine said.

Other comments suggested that their relationship wasn’t genuine and that Karine was a ”sugar mommy,” and that she must be very rich.

”Because of the fact he’s a young man and pretty, that caught people’s attention and they didn’t believe that he was with me because he really liked me,” Karine said.

A photographer who captured the couple after they got engaged posted a selection of the images online and wrote:

”In a world where appearance matters more than the feeling, they met not by chance, but by a gathering of souls, an encounter of acceptance and character and love emerged when their souls met and today you are the inspiration to so many people who do not believe in themselves, in life and especially in love.

“THANK YOU every day for being who you are. STOP complaining for being like you are. HUG LIFE, and accept yourself. Much gratitude for teaching me so much. You guys are AMAZING. You are the missing hope in so many people. Thank you for the big hug, and for the wonderful day we experienced together. I carry your smile with me forever.”

His heartfelt words and beautiful images he captured of Karine and Edmilson went viral, and thousands of people commented, congratulating the couple.

Karine wants others to realize the importance of being positive.

”Be happy, smile, because life happens only once,” she said.

In 2023, Karine and Edmílson welcomed a baby girl into the world, and they couldn’t be happier! Their daughter, Zaia, was long awaited – Karine and her husband had been trying for a baby since 2020.

Karine has been through so much but thanks to her positive attitude she has found the happiness she deserves.

Her story is inspirational so help us inspire others in similar situations by sharing this story with your friends and family.

During my grandfather’s funeral, a stranger gave me a note — I couldn’t help but laugh after reading it because Grandpa had played a trick on us

At Grandpa’s funeral, 18-year-old Dahlia feels isolated as her family fumes over the pitiful $1 inheritance. But when a stranger slips her a secret note, Dahlia is pulled into a mystery only she can solve.

I stood by the graveside, hands clenched in the pockets of my too-small black dress, listening to the priest’s droning voice blend with the rustle of the wind.

This was the saddest day of my life, but everyone else in the family seemed more concerned with glaring at each other than mourning Grandpa.

I could feel their bitterness lingering in the chilly October air, thick like syrup. One dollar each. That’s all Grandpa left us in his will, and they were furious. But me? I wasn’t angry. Just… hollow.

Grandpa wasn’t supposed to be gone. He was the only person who ever saw me, not the mess-up or the spare kid nobody paid attention to, but me. He let me in when no one else cared.

I stared down at the flowers resting on his coffin. I’d brought him a red rose, and it stood out among the white daisies everyone else had placed on the casket.

“One dollar,” Aunt Nancy hissed from behind me. “One damn dollar! That man was loaded, and this is what we get?”

Uncle Vic let out a bitter laugh. “Right? I swear he did it on purpose, the spiteful old man.”

“Typical Dad,” Mom muttered, crossing her arms tight across her chest. “He always played favorites, and Dahlia here was his little pet. Bet she got something we don’t know about.”

Aunt Nancy’s eyes cut toward me, sharp as glass. “What did he leave you, Dahlia? Anything? Don’t act like you didn’t get something.”

I stiffened. “I got the same as all of you.”

Mom’s fingers tightened over my shoulder. “Are you sure?” she asked in a low voice. “You were always with him. Maybe he told you something… think hard, Dahlia. You owe it to your family to share whatever he gave you.”

Memories came rushing back of Grandpa’s goofy stories about long-lost treasure and the butterscotch candies he always kept in his coat pocket.

Sometimes, he’d wink at me and say, “One day, kiddo, I’m leaving you a treasure. Real treasure!” But it was just a game, a joke between us.

I shook my head and turned my gaze back to the coffin. “What Grandpa gave me was his love, his stories, and a place that felt more like home than my actual home. Those things were worth more than money, and there’s no way I can—”

“Nobody cares about any of that!” Mom snapped. “Think, girl! What happened to all of his money?”

I shrugged. I truly didn’t know the answer to her question and didn’t care. Grandpa was gone. He was my confidant, my safe place, my friend. I’d lost the most important person in the world, but all they cared about was slapping a price tag on his death.

“She knows something,” Vic muttered, loud enough for me to hear.

Their voices twisted together, accusing, scheming — like they could squeeze secrets out of me if they tried hard enough. But I had no secrets that could earn them more money.

The second they realized there’d be no fortune, they turned away from the grave and stormed off. I could still hear them bickering as they walked away, lashing out at each other like vultures. It made me sick.

“You must be Dahlia.”

I looked up to see a woman, maybe in her 60s, with kind eyes and a worn leather bag slung over her shoulder. Her smile was soft and secretive, like she knew something the rest of us didn’t.

“I was a friend of your grandpa’s,” she said, leaning in as if we were co-conspirators. “He asked me to give you this.”

Before I could respond, she slipped a folded piece of paper into my hand and whispered, “Don’t let anyone see it, especially your family.”

Her presence felt surreal, almost dreamlike, and before I could say anything, she was gone, swallowed by the crowd of mourners. My heart pounded in my chest as I unfolded the note.

111 locker — Southern Railway Station.

For a second, I stood frozen, the words blurring in front of me. Then it hit me: Grandpa’s “treasure.” A laugh bubbled up from my throat, inappropriate and wild, but I couldn’t help it. He wasn’t joking after all.

That night, I lay in bed staring at the ceiling. The note was tucked under my pillow like a secret. Grandpa’s voice echoed in my mind, playful yet certain: “Locker number 111… There’s treasure in there, kiddo!”

A weight settled on my chest, something between grief and hope. What if this wasn’t just some wild goose chase? What if Grandpa had really left something for me, hidden away where no one else could reach?

The thought twisted around in my mind until I couldn’t take it anymore. I needed to know what was in that locker.

I called a cab the next morning. It was the first thing I did after I woke up. As I tiptoed past the kitchen, I could hear Mom muttering on the phone about Grandpa’s will, probably trying to squeeze sympathy or cash out of anyone who would listen.

I clenched my jaw and slipped out the door, the chilly morning air hitting my skin like a slap.

The ride to Southern Railway Station felt like the longest 20 minutes of my life.

My knee bounced with nervous energy as the cab wound through narrow streets, past graffiti-covered walls, and empty coffee shops just starting to open. The driver glanced at me in the rearview mirror but didn’t say a word.

When we finally pulled up at the station, I stepped out and asked him to wait for me. I clutched the note tightly as I entered the train station.

The station smelled like diesel and stale popcorn. People rushed past me in every direction — commuters, travelers, strangers with places to go.

I hesitated at the entrance, suddenly feeling small and out of place. But then Grandpa’s voice floated back into my mind, steady and reassuring: “Real treasure, kiddo.”

I took a deep breath and headed toward the lockers and I could hear my heart pounding. Rows of metal boxes lined the wall, each one looking identical: gray, dented, and slightly rusty.

My eyes scanned the numbers until I found number 111.

I reached into my pocket and pulled out the folded note. The key was taped to the back. With trembling fingers, I peeled it off and slid it into the lock.

For a second, it jammed, and I panicked. But then — click! The lock turned, and the door swung open.

Inside was a duffel bag. It was old, faded, and heavy. My hands shook as I pulled it out and unzipped it.

The bag was full of cash. Bundles upon bundles of it!

I gasped, my mind reeling. It couldn’t be real, could it? I reached in and pulled out a stack, flipping through crisp hundred-dollar bills. There had to be at least $150,000 in there.

And tucked inside the bag was another note, written in Grandpa’s messy scrawl:

For my beloved granddaughter, everything I saved is now yours. Take it and live free, kiddo. The rest of the family may not see your worth, but I’ve always believed in you.

Tears blurred my vision, and I hugged the note to my chest, a knot forming in my throat. This wasn’t just money. It was freedom — a way out.

Grandpa always knew how badly I needed to escape this family. And now, he’d given me exactly what I needed and tricked everyone else in the process!

I zipped the bag shut, slung it over my shoulder, and walked out of the station, my heart pounding in tune with my footsteps.

The early morning sun was just starting to peek through the clouds, casting everything in a soft, golden light. For the first time in years, I felt… light.

During the cab ride back, I stared out the window, watching the city come to life. I had options now. No more suffocating family dinners, no more being ignored or treated like an afterthought, no more being the family scapegoat.

I could leave. I could build something new.

The thought scared me as much as it excited me, but Grandpa’s voice echoed in the back of my mind: “Live free, kiddo.”

As the cab pulled up to my house, I made my decision. I wasn’t staying. Not another minute!

I didn’t even bother going inside. I pulled out my phone, booked a ticket to anywhere, and told the driver to head straight to the airport.

With the duffel bag in my lap and Grandpa’s note tucked safely in my pocket, I smiled for the first time in days.

I was free. And for the first time in my life, I knew exactly what that meant.

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