Um motorista de ônibus expulsa uma senhora idosa do ônibus porque ela não conseguiu pagar a passagem, mas quando ele chegou na casa da noiva, percebeu quem ela era.
George Harris estava quase no fim do seu turno quando começou a nevar. Não leves como flocos de neve no ar, mas rajadas grossas que pareciam deixar o ar tão espesso quanto sopa. Ele deu um soco no volante. “Era tudo o que eu precisava! Hoje, de todos os dias!”
George parou em um ponto de ônibus e observou as pessoas entrando uma por uma, exibindo seus cartões. Então, uma senhora mais velha com um longo sobretudo escuro se aproximou dele e começou a procurar sua bolsa.
Apenas para fins ilustrativos. | Fonte: Usplash
George gemeu. Ela iria segurá-lo e cada segundo contava se ele quisesse chegar a tempo para conhecer os pais de Angelica.
“Boa tarde”, disse a senhora mais velha com um sorriso doce. “Desculpe, minha carteira parece ter caído no fundo da minha bolsa…” A mulher continuou remexendo, então começou a tirar as coisas.
Primeiro, era uma escova de cabelo, depois um pequeno guarda-chuva dobrável, uma bolsa de maquiagem, uma barra de lanche…”Moça”, George retrucou. “Você já conseguiu encontrar esse dinheiro?”
“Desculpe”, gaguejou a moça. “Fui à cidade comprar um presente de noivado para minha neta e devo ter deixado cair… Ah, não! Meu telefone também sumiu!” A mulher estava pálida e seus olhos brilhavam com lágrimas de vergonha.
A gentileza não custa um centavo, mas a crueldade pode custar o amor da sua vida.
“Histórias de soluços eu ouço muitas”, George disse em um tom desagradável. “Você paga e fica — ou desce do ônibus e anda para casa!”
“Eu juro para você”, a mulher mais velha gritou. “Eu juro que essa é a verdade de Deus! Minha carteira sumiu, e eu não tenho como voltar para casa!”
Apenas para fins ilustrativos. | Fonte: Pexels
George zombou. “Bem, isso é uma pena porque você não vai andar no meu ônibus!”
“Por favor, filho”, disse a mulher mais velha com calma dignidade. “Fiz uma cirurgia recentemente no joelho, não posso dirigir, por isso peguei o ônibus — e não vou conseguir andar uma distância tão grande para chegar em casa.
“Você deveria ter pensado nisso antes de aplicar esse golpe!”, gritou Geoge. “SAIA FORA!”
A mulher empurrou seus pertences de volta para a bolsa e saiu do ônibus. O último vislumbre que George teve dela foi através do espelho retrovisor. Ela parecia perdida e pequena e por um segundo ele sentiu uma pontada de pena dela.
Então seu olhar caiu no relógio no painel. Ele já estava atrasado! Ele dirigiu para longe da mulher e do ponto de ônibus, certo de que nunca mais a veria.
Geoge começou a pensar em Angie. Ela era alguma coisa! Angelica era linda e inteligente — muito além do seu alcance, todos os seus amigos pensavam. Desde quando a filha de um milionário se apaixona por um motorista de ônibus?
Apenas para fins ilustrativos. | Fonte: Pexels
Mas desde o primeiro momento em que George e Angie se conheceram, eles se apaixonaram. Claro, os pais dela não ficaram exatamente encantados com a ideia de ter um motorista de ônibus se casando com sua preciosa filha única, mas Angie os enfrentou.
Então, esta noite foi a primeira vez que ele conheceu a família Westerly e ele queria causar uma boa impressão, o que significava voltar a tempo para um banho rápido e trocar de roupa para um terno elegante.
Três quartos de hora depois, George estava parado em frente à porta da linda casa de arenito marrom Westerly em Tribeca, ajeitando sua gravata nervosamente, então tocou a campainha.
“Eu pego!” George ouviu a voz alegre de Angie gritar, e então a porta se abriu, e lá estava ela! George apenas olhou para ela, então ele foi envolvido pelos braços de Angie e seu perfume o cercou. Angie sussurrou em seu ouvido, “Não fique nervoso, eu te amo!”
Angelica levou George para uma sala linda onde uma mulher esbelta que se parecia muito com ela estava sentada. A mulher se levantou e sorriu rigidamente.
Apenas para fins ilustrativos. | Fonte: Pexels
“Você deve ser George!” ela gritou. “Eu sou Meredith, a mãe de Angie. Meu marido está um pouco atrasado — ele teve que pegar minha sogra na cidade…”
“Está tudo bem, Sra. Westerly”, George disse educadamente e procurou algo para dizer. “Sua casa é adorável, você mesma a decorou?” Era a coisa certa a dizer.
Meredith se animou e começou a levar George para um passeio pela sala, falando monotonamente sobre diferentes bugigangas, todas elas parecendo ter alguma história chata das viagens de Westerly ao redor do mundo.
E então o coração de George deu um pulo. Em uma pesada moldura prateada na lareira havia uma fotografia da velha que ele tinha jogado do ônibus. “Oh meu Deus!” George arfou. “Quem é essa?”
Apenas para fins ilustrativos. | Fonte: Unsplash
Meredith acenou com a mão desdenhosa. “Essa é a mãe do meu marido, a avó da Angie. Essa mulher é um verdadeiro teste… Você acredita que ela realmente perdeu a carteira hoje ou que ela foi roubada ou algo assim?”
“Sério?” George perguntou enquanto um arrepio gelado percorria sua espinha. Então uma chave girou na fechadura da porta da frente, e um homem alto de meia-idade entrou, um braço protetoramente envolto em volta dos ombros da velha senhora do ônibus.
“Meredith”, ele gritou. “Por favor, peça um pouco de chá quente para minha mãe. A pobrezinha está congelando!”
Angie imediatamente correu até a velha e a abraçou. “Oh, vovó Millie”, ela gritou. “Você tem que ter mais cuidado…”
Apenas para fins ilustrativos. | Fonte: Unsplash
A velha senhora balançou a cabeça. “Estou tomando cuidado. Acho que alguém roubou minha carteira depois que comprei seu presente. Eu tinha na Bloomingdales, mas no ônibus, ela sumiu.”
Gran Millie estremeceu. “O motorista do ônibus era o homem mais cruel! Ele se recusou a ouvir, e se recusou a ajudar…” Então o inevitável aconteceu. Seus olhos caíram sobre George e ela o reconheceu imediatamente.
“Você!” ela gritou. “O que você está fazendo aqui? Se alguma senhora gentil não tivesse me deixado usar o celular dela, eu ainda estaria parada na neve!”
Angelica franziu a testa. “O que você quer dizer, vovó?” ela perguntou perplexa. “Este é George. Lembra que estamos jantando com ele?”
Apenas para fins ilustrativos. | Fonte: Unsplash
“Eu não sou senil, Angie!”, gritou a mulher. “Este é o motorista que me chutou para fora do ônibus e me jogou na tempestade de neve e me disse que eu era uma vigarista!”
Angelica se virou para olhar para George e seu rosto estava mortalmente pálido. “Você fez isso?” ela perguntou.
“Olha, Angie”, disse George. “Eu estava atrasado e não sabia que era sua avó…” As palavras engasgaram em sua boca seca. Angelica estava olhando para ele como se ele fosse um estranho. Então ela tirou o anel do dedo.
“Aqui”, ela disse, entregando-lhe o anel. “Pegue de volta. Eu nem sei quem você é. Eu não vou me casar com você.”
George chorou e se ajoelhou aos pés dela. Ele implorou por seu perdão, mas nada que ele pudesse fazer ou dizer a fez mudar de ideia. George era notícia velha, e enquanto ele saía daquela casa na neve, ele sabia que a havia perdido porque ele simplesmente não era bom o suficiente para ela.
Apenas para fins ilustrativos. | Fonte: Pexels
O que podemos aprender com essa história?
- A gentileza não custa um centavo, mas a crueldade pode custar o amor da sua vida. Se George tivesse sido compreensivo e gentil, ele teria sido o marido de Angie.
- Nunca negue um apelo genuíno por ajuda. Gran Millie estava em apuros, mas George era egoísta demais para tirar um tempo para ajudar e ele perdeu sua linda noiva.
Compartilhe esta história com seus amigos. Pode alegrar o dia deles e inspirá-los.
Se você gostou desta história, talvez goste desta sobre uma mulher que fica perturbada quando seu marido vende os brinquedos e roupas do filho morto em um bazar.
Este relato é inspirado na história do nosso leitor e escrito por um escritor profissional. Qualquer semelhança com nomes ou locais reais é mera coincidência. Todas as imagens são apenas para fins ilustrativos. Compartilhe sua história conosco; talvez ela mude a vida de alguém.
My Husband Went on a Business Trip Right Before Christmas — on Christmas Eve, I Found Out He Lied and Was Actually in Our City
My husband left on an “urgent” business trip just two days before Christmas. When I learned he had lied and was actually at a nearby hotel, I drove there. But when I burst into that hotel room, I froze in tears. The face looking back at me shattered my heart and turned my world upside down.
I always thought my husband and I shared everything. Every silly joke, every little worry, and every dream. We knew each other’s quirks and flaws, celebrated our victories together, and helped each other through rough patches. At least, that’s what I believed until Christmas Day when everything I thought I knew came crashing down around me.
An upset woman | Source: Midjourney
“Andrea, I need to tell you something,” Shawn said, his fingers drumming nervously on our kitchen counter. “My boss called. He needs me to handle an emergency client situation in Boston.”
I looked up from my coffee, studying his face. There was something different in his expression. A flicker of… guilt? Anxiety?
“During Christmas?” my eyes widened.
“I know, I know. I tried to get out of it, but…” He ran his hand through his dark hair — a gesture I’d grown to love over our three years of marriage. “The client’s threatening to pull their entire account.”
A distressed man | Source: Midjourney
“You’ve never had to travel on Christmas before.” I wrapped my hands around my coffee mug, seeking warmth. “Couldn’t someone else handle it?”
“Trust me, I wish there was.” His eyes met mine, then quickly darted away. “I’ll make it up to you, I promise. We’ll have our own Christmas when I get back.”
“Well, I guess duty calls.” I forced a smile, though disappointment settled heavy in my chest. “When are you leaving?”
“Tonight. I’m so sorry, honey.”
I nodded, fighting back tears. It was going to be our first Christmas apart since we’d met.
A sad woman with her eyes downcast | Source: Midjourney
That evening, as I helped Shawn pack, memories of our life together flooded my mind.
I remembered our wedding day, how his eyes lit up when I walked down the aisle, and the way he surprised me with weekend getaways. How he worked extra hours at the consulting firm to save for our dream house — the Victorian with the wrap-around porch we’d been eyeing.
“Remember our first Christmas?” I asked, folding his sweater. “When you nearly burned down our apartment trying to make a roast turkey?”
He laughed. “How could I forget? The fire department wasn’t too happy about that 3 a.m. call.”
A man laughing | Source: Midjourney
“And last Christmas, when you got us those matching ugly sweaters?”
“You still wore yours to work!”
“Because you dared me to!” I tossed a sock at him, and he caught it with a grin. “The office still hasn’t let me live it down.”
His smile faded slightly. “I’m so sorry about this trip, darling.”
“I know!” I sat on the edge of the bed. “It’s just… Christmas won’t be the same without you.”
A worried woman sitting on the edge of the bed | Source: Midjourney
He sat beside me, taking my hand. “Promise you won’t open your presents until I’m back?”
“Cross my heart.” I leaned against his shoulder. “Promise you’ll call?”
“Every chance I get. I love you.”
“Love you too.”
As I watched him drive away, something nagged at the back of my mind. But I pushed the thought away. This was Shawn, after all. My Shawn. The man who brought me soup when I was sick and danced with me in the rain. And the man I trusted more than anyone in the world.
A man driving a car | Source: Unsplash
Christmas Eve arrived, bringing with it a blanket of snow and an emptiness I couldn’t shake. The house felt too quiet and too still. I’d spent the day baking cookies alone, watching Christmas movies alone, and wrapping last-minute gifts… alone.
Around 9 p.m., my phone lit up with Shawn’s call. My heart leaped.
“Merry Christmas, beautiful,” he said, his voice oddly strained.
“Merry Christmas! How’s Boston? Did you get the client situation sorted out?”
“It’s… uh… good. Listen, I can’t really talk right now. I have to go—”
A shocked woman talking on the phone | Source: Midjourney
In the background, I heard what sounded like dishes clinking, muffled voices, and laughter.
“Are you at dinner? This late? I thought you had meetings?”
“I have to go!” he practically shouted. “Emergency meeting!”
The line went dead.
I stared at my phone, my hands shaking. Emergency meeting? At 9 p.m. on Christmas Eve? With restaurant noises in the background? None of it made sense.
Then I remembered my fitness tracker! I’d left it in his car last weekend after our grocery run. With trembling fingers, I opened the app on my phone.
A woman holding a smartphone | Source: Unsplash
The location pointer blinked back at me, mocking my trust. Shawn’s car wasn’t in Boston. It was parked at a hotel right in our city, less than 15 minutes from our house.
My world stopped spinning for a moment. Then everything rushed back in a tornado of thoughts.
A hotel? In our city? On Christmas Eve?
My mind raced through possibilities, each worse than the last. Was he meeting someone? Had our entire marriage been a lie? The signs had been there… the nervous behavior, the quick departure, and the strange phone call.
“No,” I whispered to myself. “No, no, no.”
A woman driving a car | Source: Unsplash
Without thinking twice, I raced to my car and headed straight to the hotel.
The drive passed in a blur of tears and terrible scenarios. Every red light felt like torture. Every second that ticked by was another moment my imagination ran wild with possibilities I couldn’t bear to consider.
Sure enough, there sat Shawn’s silver car, right in the parking lot when I arrived.
The sight of it — the car I’d helped him pick out, the car we’d taken on countless road trips — made my stomach churn.
A silver car in a hotel’s parking lot | Source: Midjourney
My hands shook as I marched into the lobby, my heart pounding so hard I thought it might burst. Christmas music played softly in the background like a cruel mockery.
The receptionist looked up with a practiced smile. “Can I help you?”
I pulled out my phone, bringing up a photo of Shawn and me from last summer’s beach trip. My thumb brushed across his smiling face.
“This man is my husband. Which room is he in?”
An anxious woman at a hotel reception area | Source: Midjourney
She hesitated. “Ma’am, I’m not supposed to—”
“Please, I need to know. He told me he was in Boston, but his car is right outside. Please… I have to know what’s going on.”
Something in my expression must have moved her. Maybe it was the tears I couldn’t hold back, or maybe she’d seen this scene play out before. She typed something into her computer, glancing at my phone again.
“Room 412,” she said and slid a keycard across the counter. “But miss? Sometimes things aren’t what they seem.”
I barely heard her last words as I rushed toward the elevator.
An agitated woman in an elevator | Source: Midjourney
The elevator ride felt eternal. Each floor dinged past like a countdown to disaster. When I finally reached the fourth floor, I ran down the hallway, my footsteps muffled by the carpet.
Room 412. I didn’t knock… just swiped the keycard and burst in.
“Shawn, how could you—”
The words died in my throat.
There was Shawn, standing beside a wheelchair.
And in that wheelchair sat a man with silver-streaked hair and familiar eyes — eyes I hadn’t seen since I was five years old. Eyes that had once watched me take my first steps, had crinkled at the corners when he laughed at my jokes and had filled with tears the day he left.
An older man in a wheelchair | Source: Midjourney
“DADDY?” The word came out as a whisper, a prayer, and a question I’d been asking for 26 years.
“ANDREA!” my father’s voice trembled. “My little girl.”
Time seemed to freeze as memories crashed over me: Mom burning all his letters after the divorce… moving us across the country. And me crying myself to sleep, clutching the last birthday card he’d managed to send — the one with the little cartoon puppy that said: “I’ll love you forever.”
“How?” I turned to Shawn, tears streaming down my face. “How did you…?”
An emotional woman in a hotel room | Source: Midjourney
“I’ve been searching for him for a year,” Shawn said softly. “Learned a few details about him from your mother a few months before she passed. Found him in Arizona last week through social media contacts. He had a stroke a few years back and lost his ability to walk. I drove down to get him yesterday… wanted to surprise you for Christmas.”
My father reached for my hand. His fingers were thinner than I remembered, but the gentle strength in them was the same.
“I never stopped looking for you, Andrea. Your mother… she made it impossible. Changed your addresses and moved so many times. But I never stopped loving you. Never stopped trying to find my little girl.”
An emotional older man | Source: Midjourney
I fell to my knees beside his wheelchair, sobbing as he pulled me into his arms. His cologne, the same sandalwood scent from my childhood, wrapped around me like a warm blanket.
Every Christmas wish I’d ever made, every birthday candle I’d blown out, and every 11:11 I’d wished on — they’d all been for this moment.
“I thought…” I choked out between sobs. “When I saw the hotel… I thought…”
“Oh, sweetheart,” Shawn knelt beside us. “I wanted to tell you so badly. But I needed to make sure I could find him first. I couldn’t bear the thought of disappointing you if it didn’t work out.”
An upset young man in a hotel room | Source: Midjourney
“I’m so sorry,” I whispered to Shawn later, after emotions had settled somewhat and we’d ordered room service.
He pulled me close on the small sofa. “I wanted it to be perfect. Tomorrow morning, Christmas breakfast, your father walking… well, rolling in… the look on your face…”
“It is perfect!” I looked between the two men I loved most in the world. “Even if I ruined the surprise. Though I might have given myself a heart attack getting here.”
An emotional woman looking at someone | Source: Midjourney
My father chuckled from his wheelchair. “You were always an impatient one. Remember how you used to shake all your Christmas presents?”
“Some things never change,” Shawn said, squeezing my hand.
“Remember the time I tried to convince you there was a fairy living in the garden?” Dad’s eyes twinkled. “You left out tiny sandwiches for a week.”
“I’d forgotten about that!” I laughed through fresh tears.
“I have 26 years of stories saved up,” Dad said softly. “If you want to hear them.”
“I want to hear everything.” I reached for his hand. “Every single story.”
A man sitting in a wheelchair and smiling | Source: Midjourney
I rested my head on Shawn’s shoulder, watching as my father began telling tales of my childhood — stories I’d thought were lost forever. Snow fell softly outside, and somewhere in the distance, church bells began to ring on Christmas Day.
My father’s eyes twinkled. “Now, who’s ready to hear about the time five-year-old Andrea decided to give our dog a haircut?”
“I think what we’re all ready to hear,” Shawn said with a grin, “is how Andrea jumped to conclusions and thought her loving husband was up to no good on Christmas Eve!”
A cheerful man laughing | Source: Midjourney
I groaned, but couldn’t help laughing. “I’m never going to live this down, am I?”
“Never,” they both said in unison, and the sound of their laughter was the best Christmas gift I could have ever received.
An emotional woman smiling | Source: Midjourney
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.
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