My mom gave up everything to raise me. After my dad bailed, she was always there for me, the only one. All I wanted was to do something nice for her. So, I figured it wasn’t too late for her to find love on a dating app. But Lord, what I definitely DIDN’T EXPECT was finding out who she was going on a date with!
My name is Lucy, and I’m 23 years old. Like I usually do on weekends, I went to visit my mother, Phoebe, one weekend.
I am her only daughter, and she has no one else. My father left the family when I was very young, and since then, my mother has always been alone.
I was her main priority, and with all the care she gave me, she never had time for her personal life. My mother is 56, and finding a partner at her age is not easy, but I stayed optimistic about helping her.
We were at her house, and I was standing there with my phone, taking pictures of her and showing her how to pose.
The afternoon sun streamed through the window, casting a warm glow in the living room. The room was cozy, filled with family photos and mementos of my childhood.
“Mom, stand by the window,” I instructed, trying to capture the best light. “No, not like that, more gracefully, like a cat.”
“A cat? Lucy, at my age?” Mom replied shyly, her cheeks turning a light shade of pink.
“It’s never too late to feel like a woman. Listen to what I say. And don’t look at the camera. Pretend you’re gazing mysteriously out the window…”
Phoebe hesitated but complied, standing by the window with a slight tilt to her head, looking out with a soft, pensive expression.
“Oh… Hold still… Got it!” I exclaimed, snapping the picture. I showed it to her with a big smile. “See? You look amazing, Mom!”
She looked at the photo, and a small smile crept onto her face. “You think so?”
“Absolutely! This is perfect for your Tinder profile,” I said, editing the photo a bit before uploading it.
“Sweetheart, are you sure this is a good idea? I’m not young anymore; who would want me there…” she trailed off, doubt evident in her voice.
“Mom! Don’t say that about yourself. Life doesn’t end at fifty! Love knows no age!” I said firmly, looking into her eyes to emphasize my words. “You deserve to find happiness too.”
Together, we worked on adding a description for her profile. We laughed as we brainstormed the right words to describe her warm heart, love for gardening, and passion for cooking.
“How about this: ‘Loving mother and avid gardener looking for someone to share laughs and good meals with. Believes love is timeless and life is full of surprises.’ What do you think?” I asked.
Phoebe chuckled softly. “It sounds lovely, Lucy. Thank you for doing this for me.”
“Of course, Mom. You deserve to find someone special,” I said, giving her a hug. “Now, let me show you how to use the app.”
After a quick tutorial on swiping left and right, I felt confident that she was ready to dive into the world of online dating.
We shared one last laugh over the absurdity of it all before I said goodbye and headed back home, feeling hopeful about what the future might hold for her.
The next day, I arrived at the office, and as usual, my workday began with coffee and gossip with my office friend, Natalie.
The office kitchen buzzed with early morning chatter as we grabbed our coffees and settled at a table in the corner. The aroma of freshly brewed coffee filled the air, creating a comforting start to the day.
Natalie immediately leaned in, her eyes twinkling with excitement. “You won’t believe this, Lucy. Michael, our boss, has been looking at his phone all day and smiling like a kid.”
I raised an eyebrow in surprise.
“Michael? Smiling? What’s going on with him?”
Natalie grinned, her excitement palpable. “A woman. I’m sure he has someone. I mean, it’s the only explanation. Michael is always so focused on work and never distracted. But today, he’s been glued to his phone, smiling like a teenager in love.”
The thought of Michael, our workaholic boss, being smitten was amusing. We had never seen him with a woman, let alone acting like this.
“We have to find out who it is!” I declared, my curiosity piqued.
At that moment, we devised a plan. Natalie approached Michael, carrying a stack of documents. “Michael, could you take a look? I can’t seem to find last week’s report,” she said, feigning confusion.
Michael sighed, setting his phone aside reluctantly. “Natalie, you’ve worked here for years. Let me see,” he replied, taking the documents from her.
While Michael was distracted by Natalie, I quietly took his phone from the desk. My heart raced as I opened it, not knowing what to expect. But I wasn’t prepared for what I saw.
It was my mother! He was messaging my mom! Their conversation had been going on since last night. My mind raced as I scrolled through the messages.
They had already arranged a date for that evening; Mom had invited him to dinner at her place. Panic set in. “No, no, this can’t be! Not this,” I thought frantically. How could this be real?
Why him, Mom? I couldn’t imagine how awkward it would be to work with my boss as my future stepfather. No! I couldn’t let it happen. I had to stop it.
When Natalie and I reconvened, she immediately began asking, “So, who is it? Do you know her?”
I forced a smile and lied, “Oh, just some girl. Nothing special.” Inside, I was panicking. I needed to come up with a plan to prevent Michael from going on that date. If he went, it would ruin everything. My mind raced with possible solutions.
The workday was coming to an end, and I saw Michael hurrying to finish his work. It was so unusual because Michael was always the last to leave.
But I knew where he was rushing to, and it was crucial to ensure he didn’t make it. Seeing Michael packing up, I approached him with my laptop.
“Michael, do you have a minute?” I asked, trying to sound casual despite my racing heart.
“I’m in a bit of a hurry… But sure, what do you need?” he replied, glancing at the clock.
“I can’t get this report right. Could you please check if everything is correct?” I handed him my laptop, hoping he wouldn’t notice the deliberate errors I had planted.
Michael sighed and took the laptop from me. “Alright, let’s see what you’ve got,” he said, opening the file and starting to review the report.
As he went through the report, pointing out mistakes and explaining corrections, I couldn’t help but notice his project on his computer screen.
It was a project he had been diligently working on all day to complete before his date. My heart pounded as I realized he would finish in no time.
“Lucy, I didn’t expect these kinds of mistakes from you; you usually do great work. What’s going on?” he asked, looking up at me with concern.
“Sorry, I’m not feeling well,” I mumbled, trying to hide my anxiety.
Michael finished reviewing the report much faster than I had anticipated. “It’s done. Now, please don’t distract me; I need to finish a few things,” he said, quickly pushing my laptop aside and reopening his project file.
Panic surged through me. Fearful he would finish in time, I did something horrible. Next to Michael’s laptop was a cup of coffee. I knocked it over, pretending it was an accident, and it spilled all over his laptop.
“No! Lucy, what have you done!?” Michael shouted, grabbing the laptop and trying to save it. But it was too late. The laptop wouldn’t start.
“Oh, I’m so sorry…” I stammered, guilt washing over me.
Michael looked at the laptop in disappointment, then checked the time on his phone and sighed sadly. He typed something on his phone and slowly took off his coat, sitting back at his desk. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to.”
“It’s okay… I’ll have to redo the project on another computer. Don’t worry about it,” he said, clearly frustrated.
I felt terrible. Until I saw the result of my actions, I hadn’t realized what I had done. But it was done, and nothing could change it. Mom probably wouldn’t be too upset; she would find a better match. That’s what I told myself to feel better.
Returning to my desk, I felt even worse. I was a terrible daughter, colleague, and person. I called my mom and heard her quiet, sad voice.
“Maybe this isn’t for me, sweetheart. I think I’ll stop using the app; it’s too hard for me,” she said softly.
“Mom, don’t worry, I’ll come over tonight,” I replied, my heart breaking.
I knew I had to fix things. So I went to Michael’s office once more. “Michael, do you have a minute?” I asked, my voice trembling slightly.
“There is one more thing I want to ask you…” I needed to make things right.
That evening, I knocked on my mom’s door. My heart raced as I waited, knowing I had to come clean. The door opened, and there stood my mother, looking shocked as she saw me standing with Michael.
“Lucy? What are you doing here?” she asked, her voice filled with surprise.
Michael looked equally bewildered. “Why did you bring me here, Lucy?” he asked. He had been kind enough to give me a ride after work, not knowing I had a bigger plan in mind.
I took a deep breath, trying to steady my nerves. “Mom, Michael, I need to confess something. I tried to sabotage your date,” I blurted out, feeling a mix of guilt and relief.
Phoebe’s eyes widened in confusion. “What are you talking about, sweetheart?”
Michael frowned, looking between me and my mom. “Lucy, what do you mean?”
I felt the weight of my actions pressing down on me. “Phoebe is my mom. When I found out you were going on a date, I panicked and only thought about myself. I worried about how it would affect me and focused only on my feelings. In my selfishness, I forgot how this would impact you,” I admitted, my voice trembling.
Phoebe’s expression softened as she stepped closer. “Lucy, why would you do that? You know I haven’t dated in so long.”
“I know, Mom. And that’s why I feel so terrible,” I said, my eyes filling with tears. “I was scared and selfish. I didn’t think about how happy this could make you. I was only thinking about myself and how awkward it would be to have my boss as my stepfather.”
Michael looked thoughtful, his initial shock giving way to understanding. “Lucy, I had no idea Phoebe was your mother. But I appreciate your honesty. It takes courage to admit you were wrong.”
I nodded, wiping away a tear. “I’m really sorry. Now, I realize that you two might be perfect for each other. Maybe fate brought you together because you’ve both had such a hard time finding someone.”
Phoebe smiled gently. “Sweetheart, I understand why you felt that way. But you need to know that my happiness means the world to me, and if Michael can bring that happiness, then we should give it a chance.”
Michael nodded in agreement. “Lucy, your mom is a wonderful woman. I would be honored to get to know her better.”
I felt a sense of relief wash over me. “Now that you know the truth, I just want to say one thing. No matter what happens, if you’re happy, then I’m happier. I hope I can fix my mistake.”
Phoebe gave me a warm hug. “You already have, sweetheart. Thank you for being honest.”
She then turned to Michael and invited him inside. “Come on in, Michael. Let’s have that dinner.”
Michael smiled and stepped inside. “Thank you, Phoebe.”
My mom looked at me and extended the invitation. “Would you like to join us, Lucy?”
I shook my head with a smile. “No, Mom. This evening should be yours. Enjoy it.”
As the door closed behind them, I felt a surge of joy. I got into my car and drove home, feeling lighter and happier. After all, I was right—love knows no age.
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My Fiancée Vacuumed Up and Threw Away My Dead Mother’s Ashes from the Urn
I treasured my mother’s ashes for three years after her death. Her urn was that one sacred thing I asked my fiancée to never touch. But in her rush to make our home spotless, my fiancée vacuumed up the ashes, threw them out with the trash, and hid the truth from me.
Does the death of a loved one mean they’re gone from us forever? My mother Rosemary was my sun, moon, stars, and everything in between. After her death, I still felt her presence through the urn that held her ashes. Until the day my fiancée decided to “clean” our apartment, and my world shattered all over again.
An older lady’s framed photo, an urn, and glowing candles on a table | Source: Midjourney
The evening air was thick with memories as I stood in our living room, touching the silver frame that held Mom’s favorite photo.
She wore her favorite white dress and smiled at the camera, her eyes crinkling at the corners.
It had been five days since the accident that killed Mom, but some days, the pain felt as fresh as the morning I got the call from the hospital.
A man holding an older woman’s framed photo | Source: Midjourney
“Hey, Christian,” my sister Florence called from the couch. She had moved in after Mom passed, and her presence helped fill the echoing emptiness of my heart.
“Remember how Mom would always say grace before dinner, even if we were just having cereal?”
I smiled, running my finger along the frame. “Yeah, and remember how she’d catch us sneaking cookies before dinner? She’d try to look stern but end up laughing instead.”
A sad woman looking at someone | Source: Midjourney
“God, the way she’d put her hands on her hips,” Florence said, wiping her eyes. “Like she was trying so hard to be mad at us.”
“‘Lord give me strength!’” we said in unison, mimicking Mom’s exasperated tone, and for a moment, it felt like she was there with us.
The front door opened, and my girlfriend Kiara walked in, her footsteps hesitant. She’d been like that since Mom died, always hovering at the edges of our grief, never quite knowing how to step in.
A woman in the hallway | Source: Midjourney
“I picked up dinner,” she said, holding up a takeout bag. “Chinese. From that place you like, Christian.”
“Thanks,” I replied coldly. Something had changed between us since Mom’s death. It was like a wall had grown where there used to be an open door.
Two weeks after the funeral, I came home early from work to find Kiara packing a suitcase. The sight stopped me cold in the doorway.
“Where are you going?” I asked, though the answer was written in every careful fold of clothing she placed in the bag.
A woman packing her clothes | Source: Pexels
She didn’t look up. “I need some time, Christian. This… all of this… it’s too much.”
“Too much? My mother died, Kiara. What did you expect?”
“I don’t know how to help you!” She finally met my eyes, her own filled with tears. “You cry every night. You spend hours staring at her pictures. You and Florence keep talking about memories I wasn’t part of, and I feel like an outsider in my own home.”
“So your solution is to leave? When I need you most?”
A sad man looking at someone | Source: Midjourney
“Please try to understand—”
“Understand what? That my girlfriend of four years can’t handle a few weeks of grief? That you’d rather run away than support me?”
“That’s not fair!” Kiara’s hands trembled as she folded another shirt. “I’m trying my best! But it looks like you’ll take forever to move on, Chris.”
“Your best?” I grabbed the shirt from her hands. “Your best is packing your bags while I’m at work? Not even having the decency to tell me to my face that you care more about yourself than me… and my grief?”
A shocked woman | Source: Midjourney
“I was going to call you—”
“Oh, that makes it so much better!” I threw the shirt across the room. “What happened to ‘I’ll always be there for you’? What happened to ‘we’re in this together’?”
“I’m not equipped for this, Christian. I can’t be what you need right now.”
“I never asked you to be anything but present, Kiara. Just to sit with me, to hold my hand, to let me know I’m not alone. But I guess that’s too much to ask, isn’t it?”
A distressed man with a woman | Source: Pexels
She picked up her suitcase, her shoulders shaking. “I’m staying with my friend Shannon for a while. I’ll text you. I just… I need space to figure this out.”
“Figure what out? How to be a decent human being? Go ahead, run away. It’s what you’re good at, isn’t it?”
Kiara left without saying anything.
Florence moved in the next day, bringing with her the comfort of shared grief and understanding. We spent evenings looking through old photo albums, crying together, and laughing at memories of Mom’s terrible dancing and amazing cooking.
A man watching a woman leave with her bag | Source: Pexels
“She would have hated this,” Florence said one night, gesturing at the takeout containers littering our coffee table. “Remember how she used to say fast food was ‘the devil’s cooking’?”
“But she’d still take us to McDonald’s after doctor appointments,” I added, smiling at the memory. “Said it was ‘medicinal French fries.’”
“Chris, did Kiara call?”
“Nope! Just texted. You know, I stayed with her through her father’s illness, her bad days, her everything. And yet here I am, alone in my own grief. I needed her, but maybe she just didn’t love me enough.”
An upset an sitting on the couch | Source: Pexels
The only way Kiara contacted me was through texts like, “Hope you’re okay.”
I typed and deleted, “I needed you, Kiara.” But sent, “I’m managing. Thanks.”
A month after Kiara left, she asked to meet at our usual coffee shop. She sat across from me, looking smaller somehow, her hands wrapped around an untouched latte.
“Shannon’s boyfriend confronted me yesterday,” she hesitantly began. “Called me selfish and cold-hearted. Said I abandoned you when you needed me most.”
A woman in a coffee shop | Source: Unsplash
I stayed silent, watching her struggle with the words.
“He was right,” Kiara continued. “I’ve started therapy, Christian. I want to be better. I want to learn how to be there for you, even when it’s hard. Especially when it’s hard.”
“How do I know you won’t leave again?” I asked, the fear raw in my voice.
“Because I love you,” she replied, reaching across the table. “And I’m learning that love means staying, even when it hurts. Even when you don’t know what to say or do. I’m sorry for being a jerk.”
A woman holding a man’s hand | Source: Unsplash
Life settled into a new pattern after that. Kiara moved back in, and three years later, we started planning our wedding.
Mom’s urn remained on its special table in the corner, surrounded by her photos and her plastic rosary — the one she’d carried everywhere, even to the grocery store.
“We should divide the ashes,” I suggested to Florence one evening. “You could have half.”
She shook her head, touching the urn gently. “No, let’s keep them together. It’s what Mom would have wanted.”
An urn on a shelf | Source: Midjourney
I nodded, tears welling up in my eyes as I thought about Mom and how much I’d miss her at my wedding. I’d already decided: the urn with her ashes would have a special spot in the front row of the church. It would make me feel like Mom was there, blessing me as I took this important step in my life.
The wedding planning consumed our days. And Kiara seemed different. She was more present and understanding.
She held me when the grief hit unexpectedly, sat through stories about Mom without fidgeting, and even asked questions about her sometimes.
Grayscale shot of bridal accessories | Source: Pexels
Then, the call from Florence came on a Tuesday evening, just three days before my wedding. “Hey, Chris? I was wondering if I could have Mom’s rosary. The plastic one? I found a photo of her holding it, and—”
“Of course,” I said, moving toward the urn. “Let me just—”
The words died in my throat as I opened it. Inside, where Mom’s ashes should have been, sat a Ziploc bag filled with… SAND? The rosary lay beside it, exactly where I’d left it three years ago.
The front door opened, and Kiara walked in carrying shopping bags. One look at my face, and hers drained of color.
“What did you do to Mom’s ashes?” I asked.
A man pointing a finger | Source: Pexels
She set the bags down slowly, her hands trembling. “Honey, it’s not what you think. I didn’t do it intentionally—”
“What did you do, Kiara?”
A long silence followed. Then she confessed, “I was cleaning while you were at work a few months ago. The apartment needed a deep clean, and—”
“And what?”
“I picked up the urn to clean the table and accidentally dropped it. It shattered. I quickly assembled the ashes into a bag. But the bag tore. The ashes spilled onto the carpet. I… I panicked. I vacuumed them up and threw the ashes into the trash outside.”
My knees buckled. “You vacuumed my mother’s ashes and threw them in the trash?”
A woman using a vacuum cleaner | Source: Pexels
“I didn’t know what to do. I got some sand from the park nearby. Found a replica of the same urn in the antique shop downtown. I filled it up with the sand. I… I thought you’d never open it again.”
“Never open it? You thought I’d never want to see my mother’s ashes again?”
“I was trying to clean the house. It was just an accident.”
“Clean?” I slammed my hand against the wall. “Those weren’t dust bunnies under the couch, Kiara! That was my mother! The only physical piece of her I had left!”
A shocked man | Source: Midjourney
“I’m sorry, Christian!” she sobbed. “I wasn’t thinking!”
“Clearly!” I picked up the urn, cradling it to my chest. “You weren’t thinking when you decided to ‘clean’ around the one thing I specifically asked you never to touch. You weren’t thinking when you vacuumed up my mother’s remains like they were dirt. And you certainly weren’t thinking when you replaced them with sand and lied to my face for months!”
“Please, Christian, we can fix this—”
“Fix this? How exactly do you propose we fix this, Kiara? Should we go dumpster diving? Should we sift through garbage bags looking for my mother’s ashes?”
An emotional, teary-eyed woman | Source: Midjourney
“I’ll do anything—”
“Did you even try, Kiara? Did you even attempt to salvage anything? Or did you just panic and run to the park for sand, like you always run away when things get hard?”
Her silence filled the room like poison.
“That’s what I thought.” I started gathering Mom’s photos from the table before dumping the sand from the urn. “You know what the worst part is? I actually believed you’d changed. I thought all that therapy and all those promises meant something. But you’re still the same person who left me when my mother died. You’re still running from the hard stuff.”
Close-up shot of an angry man yelling at a woman | Source: Pexels
“Our wedding’s in three days. Please… I’m sorry. Don’t leave me. Where are you going, Christian?”
“Away from you!” I grabbed my keys and things. “I can’t even look at you right now.”
Before stepping out, I looked back, hoping stupidly for a sign of regret. Anything to show she understood what she’d done.
But Kiara just stared at the floor, her face unreadable, and already distant. My chest tightened, and the last bit of hope drained out of me. Without another word, I turned and left, the empty urn heavy in my hands.
A man walking away with a suitcase | Source: Pexels
The hotel room I checked in felt sterile and cold. I sat on the edge of the bed, Mom’s photos spread around me. My phone buzzed continuously with messages from Kiara, but I couldn’t bring myself to read them.
How would I tell Florence? How could I explain that the last piece of our mother was likely buried in a landfill or blown away like dust because my fiancée treated her remains like dirt?
As dawn broke, I stared at the urn one last time, realizing I was left with only emptiness and betrayal.
A distressed man | Source: Pexels
Things would never be the same, and I didn’t know if I’d ever be able to forgive my fiancée. Maybe I didn’t want to. Maybe I never could. But deep down, in a corner of my heart, I hoped my mother would forgive me.
I took the rosary, feeling the familiar smooth plastic under my fingers.
“The night before your accident, you made Florence and me promise to keep it safe, Mom. Said it would help us find our way when we felt lost,” I whispered, tears brimming in my eyes.
“Maybe that’s why you wanted us to have it. Because you knew that someday, we’d need something more than your ashes to hold onto.”
A man holding a rosary | Source: Pixabay
I clutched the rosary tighter, remembering Mom’s words, “Love isn’t in the things we keep, dear. It’s in the memories we make and the forgiveness we offer.”
I don’t know if I can forgive Kiara. Every time I close my eyes, I see Mom’s ashes being sucked away into nothing. How do you forgive something like that?
I stepped out onto the seashore nearby. The city lights blurred through my tears as I clutched the empty urn and rosary to my chest. A gentle breeze stirred, reminding me of how Mom used to say the wind carried whispers from heaven.
An emotional man’s eyes | Source: Unsplash
“I’m sorry, Mom,” I said, looking up at the sky. “I’m so sorry I couldn’t protect your ashes. I had one job — to keep you safe. But I failed. But I want you to know… wherever you are… that you’re still here with me. In every breath I take, in every memory I hold, and in every prayer these beads have witnessed. I love you, Mom. I’ll love you until my last breath and beyond that. Please forgive me.”
The wind seemed to wrap around me like one of her warm embraces, and for a moment, I could almost hear her whisper, “There’s nothing to forgive, dear. Nothing at all. Love you too.”
Silhouette of a man standing on the seashore | Source: Pexels
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.
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