I lost my daughter 13 years ago when my wife left me for another man. Yesterday, I got a letter addressed to ‘Grandpa Steve,’ and my heart nearly stopped when I read what had happened.
Thirteen years. That’s how long it had been since I last saw my daughter, Alexandra. She was only 13 when Carol, my ex-wife, packed up and left. I was 37.
Young teen girl with blue eyes smiling | Source: Midjourney
I still remember the day like it was yesterday. It was a warm, sticky summer evening, and I came home from work to find Carol sitting at the kitchen table, perfectly calm, waiting for me.
Back then, I was just a construction foreman in Chicago. Our company wasn’t huge, but we built all kinds of stuff: roads, office buildings, you name it. I worked my tail off with long days, scorching summers, and freezing winters.
Man working in construction | Source: Midjourney
It wasn’t exactly a glamorous job, but it paid the bills and then some. My boss, Richard, owned the company. He was older than me, always wore fancy suits, and had this fake smile that bugged me.
The guy loved to show off his money. He drove expensive cars and threw parties at his huge mansion outside of town. Carol, my wife, ate that stuff up. She loved getting dressed up and pretending she was part of that crowd. Meanwhile, I always felt like a fish out of water at those things.
Woman laughing at a party | Source: Midjourney
But perhaps, if I’d paid more attention, I would’ve seen my wife’s next move.
“Steve, this just isn’t working anymore,” she said in a clipped voice, like she was reading from a script.
I blinked at her, confused. “What are you talking about?”
She let out a small sigh. “I’m leaving. Richard and I are in love. I’m taking Alexandra. She needs a better life than this.”
The phrase “better life” still makes me angry. I worked hard, harder than most to provide Carol and Alexandra with everything they needed. We had a decent house in the Chicago suburbs, food on the table, and clothes to wear. Sure, it wasn’t fancy.
A house in the suburbs | Source: Midjourney
We didn’t go on vacations or have designer anything, but it was more than many people had. I didn’t understand what was so wrong with it. Carol, however, always wanted more: more money, more luxury, more of everything.
Therefore, she left to shack up with my boss, and my life was shattered. I still tried to be a good father to my daughter. But Carol poisoned her against me. I believe she told her I didn’t care about her and that I had been unfaithful.
Mother gossiping to her daughter | Source: Midjourney
I don’t know. What I do know is that eventually, my daughter stopped answering my calls and opening my letters. I no longer existed to her.
Unfortunately, that wasn’t the end of my misfortunes. I spiraled into a depression and ignored my health until I ended up in a hospital bed, facing surgery after surgery. The medical bills were so high that I had to sell my house.
Eventually, my job let me go for taking too many days off, although not working for Richard anymore was a blessing.
During this time, Carol moved out of state with my ex-boss, and my Alexandra was gone for good.
Man in construction clothes sadly sitting on a couch | Source: Midjourney
The years crept slowly by. I never remarried. I never wanted to. Instead, I worked hard to rebuild my health and focused on founding my own construction business. With that, I managed to claw my way back to a stable, if lonely, life.
At 50, I lived in a decent apartment, and I was financially independent. But there were many moments when I wanted my daughter back.
Wistful man in an apartment | Source: Midjourney
Then, yesterday, something happened that shook me to my core. I found a letter in my mailbox with a child’s handwriting, though they must have gotten help from an adult to address it.
The front said: “For Grandpa Steve.”
For a moment, I just stared at it. My hands started shaking. Grandpa? I wasn’t a grandpa. Or at least, I didn’t think I was. I tore the envelope open, and the first line nearly stopped my heart.
Man holding a letter saying “For Grandpa Steve” | Source: Midjourney
“Hi, Grandpa! My name is Adam. I’m 6! Unfortunately, you’re the only family I have left…”
I walked back to the house without thinking and sat on the couch to continue to read the letter. This Adam had help with some of the sentences, but he had written everything in these big, uneven letters.
It made me smile until Iread that he lived in a group home in St. Louis and that his mom, Alexandra, had mentioned me in passing.
He ended his message with: “Please come find me.”
Man holding a letter saying “Please come find me” | Source: Midjourney
Of course, I’d booked the earliest flight to St. Louis.
I didn’t sleep that night. How could I? Questions swirled in my mind. How did I have a grandson? Where was Alexandra? Why was he in a home?
Early the next morning, I was at the airport, and a few hours later, I was getting out of a taxi.
The shelter was a plain brick building with chipped paint and a sagging awning that read St. Anne’s Children’s Home. A woman named Mrs. Johnson met me in the lobby. She was around my age, with kind eyes and a soft voice.
Woman smiling at a children’s center | Source: Midjourney
“You must be Steve,” she said, shaking my hand. “Adam’s been waiting for you.”
“Where is he? Is he really my grandson?” My voice cracked, but I didn’t care.
“I’ll let you meet him soon,” she said gently, guiding me into her office. “But there’s something you need to know first. Please, have a seat.”
It was in that tiny room, filled with folders and surrounded by pictures of kids, that my life changed.
Man smiling in an office at a children’s center | Source: Midjourney
First, Mrs. Johnson confirmed that Adam was Alexandra’s son. She said she had greeted them herself the day my daughter surrendered custody of him, just a few months ago.
Mrs. Johnson told me the entire story in detail. Alexandra’s life had fallen apart after Carol kicked her out for getting pregnant at 20 without a husband. The father had left, of course.
Sad pregnant young woman at a bus stop | Source: Midjourney
Afterward, my daughter tried to make things work, juggling low-paying jobs while raising Adam in a tiny apartment. Then, a year ago, she met a rich man named David, who promised her a better life. But, he didn’t want someone else’s kid.
“That’s why she left him here,” Mrs. Johnson said. “She said she hoped he’d find a good home. I don’t think she knew how to love him even after all those years she raised him. It’s tragic, really.”
Woman at a desk in an office at a children’s center | Source: Midjourney
My stomach turned. Alexandra had abandoned her own child. My Alexandra? How had it come to this? And then, I realized what had happened. She had spent six years living a harrowing life and traded it for a wealthy man. Just like her mother. It wasn’t a completely equal situation, but it was close.
It was what Carol had taught her.
“And Adam?” I asked hoarsely. “How does he know about me?”
Emotional man in an office at a children’s center | Source: Midjourney
Mrs. Johnson smiled faintly. “He’s a smart boy. Apparently, he’d overheard your name during conversations Alexandra had with others. He even found an old diary that mentioned you. When she left him here, he told me he had a grandpa named Steve. I did some digging and found you. Then, we wrote the letter together.”
I nodded, still reeling, but Mrs. Johnson stood and walked to the door. “You know everything,” she smiled. “Adam’s outside in the playground. Are you ready to meet him?”
Woman smirking at the door of an office at a children’s center | Source: Midjourney
I nodded and followed her with my heart pounding in my ears.
***
Adam was small for his age, with shaggy brown hair and big blue eyes that looked just like Alexandra’s. He clutched a toy truck in one hand and looked up at me with curiosity and just a tad of shyness.
“Hi,” he said quietly.
“Hi, Adam,” I said, keeping my voice steady. I knelt so we were at eye level. “I’m your grandpa.”
Man smiling at an outdoor playground at a children’s center | Source: Midjourney
His eyes widened immediately, and a huge smile broke out on his face. “You’re finally here!” He jumped up and hugged me. “I knew you’d come!”
While I embraced my grandson for the very first time, I thought back to my life. I could hate Carol all I wanted. What’s more, that anger would probably get even stronger, considering that my daughter had turned into a version of her mother somewhere along the way.
But it was time to focus on what mattered. My grandson was in my arms, and he had been abandoned, just like me. That cycle ended here. Adam wasn’t going to grow up feeling unloved or unwanted. I didn’t care what it took. I was going to give him a home.
A boy with blue eyes smiling | Source: Midjourney
Minutes later, I told Mrs. Johnson, I wanted Adam with me, and she smiled. I noticed a sheen of tears in her eyes, but I didn’t mention it.
It was going to take some paperwork and time before I could take Adam back to Chicago. But Mrs. Johnson was confident there would be no issues if I took a DNA test to prove I’m his grandfather.
I promised to do that soon enough.
Man shaking hands with a woman at a children’s center | Source: Midjourney
Honestly, it’s strange how life works. Thirteen years ago, I lost my daughter. I thought I’d lost everything. But now, I had a grandson, and my whole life made sense again.
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.
My Downstairs Neighbor Asked Me to Be Quieter at Night, but I Have Not Been Home for the past Week
When Piper returns from a trip with her friends, she cannot wait to get home to her husband. But as she unpacks her car, a neighbor approaches her, complaining about the noise from her apartment. If Piper wasn’t home, who was Matthew entertaining in her absence?
I had just returned from a blissful week-long camping trip with my friends. It was all about us taking time away from our lives and enjoying being away from the city.
My husband, Matthew, had stayed behind, claiming that he needed to stay at home.
“I have to be home, Piper,” he said when I was packing my bags. “It’s just work responsibilities. There are meetings and presentations coming up.”
“Are you sure?” I asked him. “Why don’t you come along, and then we can find you a place to work in between it all?”
“It’s okay, sweetheart,” he said. “You go and join the others and have fun. You need some time away from this place.”
He continued to persuade me to go on the trip, and eventually, I gave in.
“If you’re sure, then it’s settled. I’ll go,” I said. “But I’ll meal prep your food for you before I go.”
Two weeks later, I was back home, feeling rejuvenated and happy to be back with my husband.
“I missed you,” I said when I walked into the house.
Matthew was cooking for us, music was playing in the background, and I felt grateful that I could come home to him.
“I’m just going to unpack the car,” I said. “But dinner smells great!”
I went outside and began to unpack my things when our downstairs neighbor, Mrs. Peterson, approached me by the car. Her stern expression made me pause everything.
“Is everything okay?” I asked her, ready to jump at whatever she needed.
“No, Piper,” she said, crossing her arms. “I know that you and your husband are a young couple and stay up until the late hours. But could you try and keep it quiet at night? At least from about nine-thirty. For the past week, I could barely sleep.”
I blinked, taken aback.
“What? Mrs. Peterson, I haven’t been home all week. Are you sure that it was coming from our place?”
The old woman frowned, and I could tell that she was trying to see if I was joking or not.
“Well, someone was making a lot of noise, Piper,” she said. “It sounded like a party every single night.”
I wasn’t sure what I was listening to. I knew that Matthew was a good guy, but we were on the top floor, and there wasn’t anyone living above us.
Was there a possibility that I didn’t know my husband as well as I thought?
I apologized profusely, my mind racing. As soon as she walked away, I rushed upstairs to confront Matthew. I needed to know what Mrs. Peterson was talking about.
If he had been entertaining people, then that was one thing, and it was okay.
But what if he was having an affair?
“Stop it,” I muttered to myself as I stood in the elevator.
I found my husband lounging on the couch, watching TV.
“Matt, we need to talk,” I said, my voice giving me away.
He looked at me, picked up the remote, and switched the TV off.
“What’s wrong, Piper?”
“Mrs. Peterson just complained about noise coming from our apartment every night last week. I wasn’t here, Matthew. What the hell is going on, and who were you making so much noise with?”
My husband’s face paled, and he buried his face in his hands. My heart sank.
There was something about the resignation of his body that made me think that he was guilty. But guilty of what?
Was he simply guilty of having friends over? Or an affair?
“Please, just tell me the truth,” I pleaded, sitting down on the couch across from him.
“I’m not having an affair,” he muttered, barely audible. “And I know that’s what you’re thinking. But I was just ashamed to tell you the truth.”
“What truth? What do you mean? What’s going on?” I asked, the questions hurling themselves at Matthew.
My husband took a deep breath and looked up, his eyes filled with something that I couldn’t understand.
“I lost my job a few months ago, Piper. I didn’t know how to tell you. But I’ve been desperate to make money so that you wouldn’t notice the shortfall. While you were gone, I rented out our apartment to make some money. I stayed at Trent’s place while the apartment was rented out.”
I sighed, the relief and confusion dissipating from my body.
“So, the noise was from the people who rented out the place?” I asked, needing to hear it from him.
He nodded.
“I’m sorry, love,” Matthew said. “I just didn’t know how to tell you. I didn’t want you to worry. And I didn’t want you to miss the trip just because of me. I also had an interview during the first week, and I wasn’t about to reschedule it.”
“Why didn’t you just tell me, Matt?” I asked. “We could have figured something out together.”
“I know,” he said, his voice breaking. “But I was just scared about letting you down.”
“We’re a team, Matthew,” I said. “You don’t have to face things like these alone. We can deal with this together. That’s what marriage is about.”
My husband smiled and pulled me toward him.
“I understand that now,” he said.
We sat in silence for a while, both trying to figure out the next move. I knew that he would have been trying to find another job, and I didn’t want to ask him a million questions about it.
He would tell me when something came up.
“Come,” he said. “Let’s eat.”
We sat down at the table, and Matthew asked me about the trip.
“Tell me everything,” he said. “Did Liam get drunk and do something stupid?”
“Of course he did!” I laughed as Matthew poured me a glass of wine. “He tried moonshine from some other campers and ended up streaking, running through tents.”
“I bet Sasha wasn’t impressed,” Matthew laughed. “That couple is always disagreeing.”
As we did the dishes together that evening, Matthew sighed and leaned against the counter.
“Thank you for understanding,” he said. “Thank you for not thinking that I was covering up an affair.”
I smiled at my husband, ashamed that I entertained the thought of him having another woman in our home.
“But did you make sure to change the bedding?” I asked him. “I’m not about to sleep in a bed that other people have been in.”
Matthew laughed loudly.
“Our bedroom was locked, darling,” he said. “They only used the guest room.”
Over the next few days, we talked about everything. We spoke about the loss of his job, the financial strain, and our plan moving forward.
“I’m actively looking, Piper,” he said over coffee and toast the next morning. “I’ve set up alerts for job positions that I would fit into. And I’ve cut down on any other unnecessary expenses. This isn’t going to be for long. I can promise you that.”
As for Mrs. Peterson, I went downstairs to her apartment, ready to explain everything.
“I’m so sorry,” I said. “I didn’t know about everything Matthew was going through. And he ended up letting our apartment out as an Airbnb for the week, just to make some money off it.”
“Oh, honey,” she said, her eyes softening as she put the kettle on. “It’s okay! I understand it now. I just thought that you two were taking advantage of the situation. But I get it now.”
“Thank you for understanding,” I said. “We just need a minute to get back on our feet.”
Mrs. Peterson faffed around the kitchen, making us some tea.
“Look, Piper,” she said, giving me a plate of biscuits. “I’m here and willing to help you out if you ever need the help.”
It turned out that in her youth, Mrs. Peterson had been through tough times herself and knew how hard it could be to ask for help.
What would you have done?
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