When a workaholic businessman receives devastating news about his health, he meets a young boy in the hospital who changes his outlook on life. Their bond grows through unexpected friendship and small acts of kindness, teaching him what truly matters—until a heartbreaking twist reshapes everything.
Andrew, 50, sat at his desk, shuffling through papers while juggling scheduling meetings with his partners.
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He didn’t hear Michael, his assistant, enter the room. Michael stood there, waiting. After a few moments, he cleared his throat.
No response. Andrew kept working, his focus sharp. Michael tried again. “Mr. Smith.” Still no answer. He repeated his name three more times.
Finally, Andrew slammed his hands on the desk and snapped, “What?”
Michael didn’t flinch. “You asked me to tell you if your ex-wife called.”
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Andrew groaned and rubbed his temples. “How many times do I have to tell you? Ignore her calls. What now?”
Michael held a notepad. “She left a message. I should warn you—it’s a direct quote. Her words, not mine.” He read from the note. “‘You pompous jerk, I will never forgive you for wasting so many years of my life. If you don’t give me back my painting, I’ll smash your car.’ That’s the message.”
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Andrew’s face turned red. “We’ve been divorced for two years! Does she not have anything better to do?”
Michael looked at him, waiting for further instructions. “Should I respond to her?”
“No! And stop taking her calls,” Andrew said. Then he paused. “Actually, tell her I threw that painting in the trash!”
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Andrew grabbed a pen and hurled it toward the wall. Michael ducked slightly, gave a polite nod, and left the room.
Moments later, Andrew’s phone rang. He frowned, picking it up.
“Andrew Smith?” a voice asked.
“Yes. Who’s calling?”
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“This is the hospital. Your test results are ready. The doctor wants to see you.”
“Can’t you just tell me now?” Andrew said, irritated. “I’m busy.”
“Sorry, sir. The doctor will explain in person.”
Andrew sighed heavily. “Fine. I’ll come in.” He hung up, shaking his head.
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Andrew rarely allowed himself the luxury of a lunch break, but this time was different. The doctor’s office was quiet, the ticking clock on the wall the only sound.
Andrew sat stiffly in a chair, his fingers tapping against the armrest. When the door opened, the doctor stepped in, his face serious. Andrew frowned, sensing bad news.
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The doctor sat across from him and spoke in a steady, measured tone, using terms Andrew didn’t understand.
Then came the word—cancer. “We need to act fast,” the doctor said.
“Is this some kind of joke?” Andrew asked, his voice sharp. “I own a company. I can’t just check into a hospital.”
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The doctor met his eyes. “Your health should come first. The company can wait.”
Andrew leaned forward. “What are my chances of getting better?”
“I can’t promise anything,” the doctor said. “Starting treatment right away is critical.”
Andrew’s voice rose. “Can I still work while I’m here?”
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“Treatment affects everyone differently,” the doctor explained. “You will stay in the hospital so we can monitor you. Someone can bring you a computer.”
Andrew frowned and stood up. “Fine. I’ll sort it out.”
The doctor watched him leave. “We’ll see you tomorrow with your things,” he said before Andrew reached the door.
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As Andrew walked through the hospital’s pediatric wing, he noticed a boy, about eight years old, tossing a ball back and forth with a nurse.
The sound of their laughter echoed in the corridor. The ball suddenly rolled across the floor and stopped near Andrew’s feet.
“Excuse me, sir!” the boy called out, smiling. “Can you please throw the ball back?”
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Andrew picked up the ball, his face tense. Without a word, he hurled it down the hall, far from the boy and nurse, then turned and walked away.
“That was mean, sir!” the boy shouted.
Andrew had been in the hospital for days that felt like weeks. He tried to keep working, setting up his laptop and pushing through meetings.
But the treatment was draining. Each session left him weaker. The nausea was constant, and sleep was nearly impossible.
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One afternoon, during another long chemotherapy session, Andrew leaned back, his eyes half-closed. He felt miserable.
Suddenly, a small voice broke through his fog. He opened his eyes to see a boy standing in front of him. Startled, Andrew flinched. The boy giggled. It was the same boy from the corridor.
“What do you want, kid?” Andrew mumbled, not even lifting his head.
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“I’ve been walking around the hospital looking for someone to play with. It’s boring here.”
Andrew glanced at him, annoyed. “What’s your name?” he asked.
“Tommy,” the boy replied with a wide grin.
Andrew sighed. “Listen, Tommy. I’m not in the mood to play. Go bother someone else before I start feeling worse.”
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Tommy didn’t move. Instead, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a small peppermint candy. He held it out to Andrew. “This helps with nausea. You should try it.”
Andrew hesitated, then snatched the candy and set it on the table.
“You’re really grumpy!” Tommy said, laughing. “I’m going to call you Mr. Grouch. Are you mad because you’re scared of needles?” He pointed at the IV attached to Andrew’s arm.
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Andrew frowned. “I’m not scared of anything.”
Tommy nodded. “That’s fine. I was scared at first too, but then I stopped. My mom says I’m a superhero. Do you have a superpower?”
“No,” Andrew said, his voice flat.
“That’s because you’re too sad,” Tommy replied, his tone serious now.
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Andrew looked at the boy, surprised by the honesty in his big, bright eyes. “Is there anything you want?” Andrew asked.
Tommy grinned. “Yeah. I want to buy flowers for my mom. She works really hard, but I don’t have any money.”
Andrew sighed again, reached for his wallet, and pulled out a few bills. “Here. Get your flowers. Maybe buy yourself something too. But leave me alone.”
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Tommy’s face lit up. “Thanks, Mr. Grouch!” He ran out, clutching the money, while Andrew stared at the peppermint candy on the table.
With a sigh, he picked it up, unwrapped it, and popped it into his mouth. To his surprise, the sharp sweetness helped ease the nausea. It wasn’t much, but it made a difference for a while.
That evening, as Andrew stared at his laptop, a nurse knocked on his door.
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She carried a small paper bag. “This is for you,” she said, placing it on the table. “Tommy sent it.”
Andrew opened the bag and found it full of peppermint candies. He shook his head, unsure whether to feel amused or moved.
The next morning, he decided to find Tommy. He needed to make one thing clear: the money wasn’t a gift.
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As he approached Tommy’s room, he saw a woman leaning against the wall, her shoulders shaking. She was crying.
“Are you okay?” Andrew asked, his voice low.
The woman wiped her eyes quickly and looked up. “Yes… Did you need something?”
“Tommy gave me some candies yesterday,” Andrew said.
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The woman’s lips curved into a small smile. “Oh, so you’re Mr. Grouch,” she said.
Andrew raised an eyebrow. “My name’s Andrew,” he replied.
“I’m Sara,” she said. “Are you here for treatment too?”
Andrew nodded.
“Then you understand,” Sara said quietly. “The bills, the stress. I can’t even pay rent right now. They told me we’ll be evicted in two months.”
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Andrew nodded again, unsure of what to say. Before he could respond, the door burst open. Tommy ran out, his face lighting up when he saw Andrew. “Hey, Mr. Grouch!” he called, grinning ear to ear.
From that day forward, Tommy became a constant presence in Andrew’s life.
The boy would wander into Andrew’s room with a big grin and endless energy. At first, Andrew found it annoying, but Tommy’s persistence wore him down.
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Soon, Andrew began looking forward to the visits. Tommy taught him to notice the simple joys in life.
They sat by the window, watching the sunset, guessing the colors in the sky. They played harmless pranks on nurses, earning scolding looks and stifled smiles.
Sometimes, they “borrowed” wheelchairs and raced down the halls, laughing until their sides hurt.
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Andrew didn’t ask about Tommy’s illness. He wasn’t sure how to bring it up. One afternoon, Tommy mentioned Sara had been crying again. “She’s worried about money,” Tommy said. “We might lose our house.”
Andrew quietly gave Tommy an envelope of cash. “Tell her it’s from a magician,” he said.
When Sara tried to return the money, Andrew waved her off. “I’m not a magician,” he said. “I don’t know where it came from.”
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Weeks passed. Andrew’s treatments worked, and the day came when the doctor gave him the news—he was cancer-free.
Ecstatic, Andrew rushed to share it with Tommy. But when he arrived, Tommy was unconscious, Sara sitting beside him, tears streaming down her face.
“What happened?” Andrew asked, his voice barely above a whisper.
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Sara wiped her eyes and shook her head. “The doctors said there’s nothing more they can do.”
Andrew stared at her, struggling to process the words. “But… he seemed so happy. He always smiled. I thought he was improving.”
Sara looked at him, her face full of pain. “He didn’t want you to see how sick he was. He wanted to be strong for you. He thought he was a superhero.”
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Andrew’s chest tightened. “I’m so sorry.”
Sara managed a faint smile through her tears. “Don’t be. He said you saved him. These months, you gave him laughter and hope. You made him forget about being sick.”
Andrew shook his head slowly. “No. He’s the one who saved me.”
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He stepped closer and wrapped his arms around her in a gentle hug. She cried quietly against his shoulder, and though Andrew wished he could take her pain away, he knew nothing would ever truly ease it.
That night, Tommy passed away peacefully, surrounded by the love of his mother and the memories he had made.
Andrew sat alone in his room afterward, overwhelmed by the loss. Andrew couldn’t bear the thought of such a bright soul being forgotten.
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Determined, he started a foundation in Tommy’s name to help sick children, ensuring his kindness would live on.
He also stayed in touch with Sara, offering her support in every way he could.
One afternoon, Andrew stood at his ex-wife’s door, holding the painting she had demanded for so long. She opened the door, her mouth ready to hurl accusations, but Andrew silently handed her the painting.
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“I’m not here to argue,” Andrew said, his tone calm as he held out the painting.
His ex-wife frowned, puzzled. “What is this supposed to mean?” she asked.
“Nothing important,” Andrew replied, a small smile forming. “I’m just making sure I keep my superpowers.” Without waiting for a response, he turned and walked away.
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If you enjoyed this story, read this one: Taking care of Mom was hard enough without the tension with my sister. Accusations flew when precious things started disappearing. I thought I knew who was to blame, but the truth shattered my world. Betrayal came from where I least expected, leaving me questioning everything—and everyone—I trusted.
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I Yelled ‘I Don’t!’ at My Own Wedding after Conversation with Groom’s Mother Whose Plan Almost Worked Out
After a chance encounter and years of dating, Ryan and Hanna are about to walk down the aisle and commit to each other. But when Ryan’s mother reveals an incriminating video of Ryan with another woman, Hanna feels her heartbreak. But later, the truth of the video is revealed, along with more deceit than Hanna ever expected.
Do parents just enjoy dropping bombshells before weddings? When I say before—I mean 30 minutes before?
Because that’s exactly what Ryan’s mother did.
Ryan and I met two years ago—it was one of those by-chance meetings. I was at the community theatre because one of my friends, Mila, was in the local musical with her directorial debut.
So, there I was, standing outside after the performance, holding a bouquet of flowers for Mila. Ryan walked out, and because of the crowd, walked directly into me, crushing the flowers.
“I am so sorry,” he said, picking up the bouquet.
“I hate crowds,” I said.
He chuckled and gestured for us to move away from the door.
“I’m not a fan either,” he said. “I’m Ryan.”
“Hanna,” I said, introducing myself.
Just three months into our romance, Ryan proposed in a pub while drinking Guinness and eating crispy potato skins.
Last week, we should have sealed that promise with our wedding vows. But our wedding went in the complete opposite direction it should have gone.
Initially, my family welcomed Ryan with open arms. As the only daughter, my parents were thrilled that I had met someone who genuinely made me happy.
“This is a different side to you, Hanna,” my mother said one evening when we had Ryan over for family dinner.
“He makes her happy,” my father said, smiling. “That’s all a father could want.”
Ryan felt welcome—he felt the warmth that they showered him, and through that, we grew stronger as a couple, too.
On his side, it was more or less the same thing. The Coles opened their home and hearts to me, and they wanted nothing more than to have us over as much as possible. Mrs. Cole, Audrey, had gotten into a coffee date and manicure routine with me, too.
Everything felt right—until the very moment it wasn’t.
Leading up to our wedding, I was the calmest I could have been. It was a small church wedding, and Ryan and I had planned the intimate affair right down to the little details. We knew exactly what we wanted and how to make it special for our day.
But on what was meant to be the happiest day of my life, just before the ceremony, my soon-to-be mother-in-law pulled me aside.
“Darling,” she said. “Can we chat for a moment?”
I nodded and told her to wait until my glam team was done with my hair and makeup.
Something about her demeanor made me feel anxious and nervous. I watched her movements from my reflection in the mirror.
Her eyes moved around the room quickly, often settling on my wedding dress hanging from its hook.
When I was ready, and my mother was buttoning up my dress, I turned to Audrey.
“I’m ready when you are,” I said, smiling at her.
Her eyes glazed over, seeing me in the dress. She had been at my fittings before, but this was the moment that Audrey and my mother would see the full effect of my bridal outfit.
“Hanna,” Audrey said. “There’s no easy way for me to say this.”
My heart thundered in my chest. While my hair was being done, and I sat watching her, I knew that nothing good was going to come from our conversation.
“Just say it,” I said. “Tell me.”
Audrey pulled her phone out of her clutch and held it out for me.
“There are videos on this phone that will explain everything. I am so sorry, Hanna, but Ryan needs to be caught out.”
My mind raced. I couldn’t fathom what I was about to see once her phone was unlocked.
“Here,” she said, handing me her phone as a woman’s voice echoed through the room.
The videos on Audrey’s phone revealed Ryan with another woman, in clandestine affection, undeniable betrayal.
“Are you sure?” I asked. “This is him?”
Audrey closed her eyes and took a deep breath.
“Well, look at the jacket on the bed,” she said. “Isn’t that the one you got him?”
I pressed play again, and looked at the jacket. The hotel room also looked familiar—I was so sure that we had been there before.
“But Ryan’s face isn’t in the frame,” I said.
I was struggling. I couldn’t believe that my almost mother-in-law was standing in front of me with a video showing her son’s affair.
“Hanna,” she said slowly. “It’s right in front of you. You can choose to overlook it, but think of the man that you would be marrying if you choose to ignore it. Could you live with yourself knowing that? Could you live with him?”
I shook my head. I wanted to cry because of how overwhelmed I was.
“Fine,” I said.
“You’re calling off the wedding?” Audrey asked, hope lining her voice.
“No,” I said. “I’m going to walk down that aisle. I’m going to walk to the man who has been unfaithful to me. And when the time comes for our vows, I’ll break it off then.”
“Okay, dear,” Audrey said, putting her phone back into her bag. “It’s almost time now, anyway.”
I sat down on the chaise, and waited for my father to come and get me when it was time to marry Ryan. I wanted nothing more than to get into a car and drive away to some place where I could eat my feelings in a mountain of fries.
My heart violently pounded with fury as I approached the altar on my father’s arm. Ryan, aware of the storm brewing beneath my skin, smiled tenderly at me. He took my hand and squeezed it.
It would have been absolutely perfect, except for the fact that he had been with someone else.
Our priest went on to quote scripture about love and matrimony from the Bible. And when it was time for our vows, my heart quietened down—finally realizing what was about to come.
“I don’t,” I said softly, more to the ground than to Ryan.
“Speak louder, Hanna,” the priest said.
“I don’t!” I said more confidently, the words echoing like a resounding shockwave.
Ryan’s shock morphed into confusion as I repeated those two words again.
“Hanna? What?” he asked, hurt and betrayal deep in his voice.
“Ask your mom,” I said, pointing at Audrey. “Mrs. Cole, please tell everyone what you told me earlier.”
The church hushed immediately, as if everyone were holding their breath. With shaking hands, she opened her bag and took out her phone. Like earlier, she held it out to me.
“Look,” I said to Ryan.
Ryan took a step back, almost falling over the wedding arch.
“That is not me, Hanna!” he said loudly. “Hanna, you know it’s not me!”
I refused to look him in the eye.
Then he confronted his mother.
“Mom, what is all this? What is that? Where did you get that video?”
Audrey shook her head and walked down the aisle, leaving the church in silence.
I could not bear to hear Ryan’s excuses.
“Hanna, please,” he said. “I need you to believe me.”
And I wanted to. Of course, I wanted to believe the man I loved. But it was clear, the jacket that I bought him lay across the bed in the video. He had been with someone else.
And if there was the possibility that he wasn’t with another person—how would he explain the video? And the woman who was barely dressed? And the sound effects?
“I can’t do this,” I said. “I won’t.”
I ran out of the side door, my parents following closely behind.
Ryan continued to reach out to me for the rest of the day—and when night settled, I finally blocked his number.
Yet, two days later, when I was wrapped in a blanket wondering where everything had gone wrong—Ryan showed up at my parents’ house with takeout and flowers.
“You expect this to fix everything?” I asked.
“I need to talk,” he said simply.
Against my better judgment, I listened.
What Ryan revealed next sent me down another spiral.
He had confronted Audrey after the wedding.
“I went straight to her house,” he said. “She was sitting there, in her kitchen, eating toast and listening to old records as though she hadn’t just ruined our wedding.”
“I think you did that,” I blurted out.
“Hanna,” he warned. “My mother orchestrated that video. The people in it are her students. And it was all because she didn’t want us to get married.”
My jaw hit the ground.
Audrey was a high school teacher—but she also tutored first-year college kids in English. So, when it truly came down to the fact that Ryan and I were actually getting married, she panicked. She called two of her college students, who were too eager to make a bit of extra money, to play the part.
“I thought she liked me,” I said while digging into the food Ryan had brought over. “Clearly she doesn’t if she put an entire video together.”
“She did say that the sounds were edited,” Ryan chuckled nervously. “But I’ve got to hand it to her, adding my jacket was a good touch.”
I didn’t understand how I felt. For the past two days, since walking away from my own wedding—I convinced myself that Ryan had been the bad guy in my story. That he was the villain who broke my heart, while his mother exposed him for who he was.
And yet, the reality was so much worse.
Here was a woman who had claimed me as the daughter she never had, only to break my heart before marrying her son.
She believed I was unworthy of Ryan.
I forgave Ryan immediately, and he did the same in return—I did accuse him of cheating on me in front of all our guests.
We’re still together, but I don’t know what the future holds. For now, I feel hurt and betrayed by Audrey. And I know that forgiveness will be difficult to come by for her.
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