Richard visits his daughter to celebrate his eightieth birthday with her, but she answers the door in tears and sends him away. Richard suspects trouble and realizes he’s right after peeking through her front windows.
Richard tapped his fingers nervously against the steering wheel as he drove. Deidre used to drive down every Thanksgiving, but that stopped after his wife’s funeral four years ago. Now, there were only weekly calls.
Richard spread his arms wide as Deidre appeared in the doorway. “Surprise!” he yelled.
“Dad? What are you doing here?” she asked, tears rolling down her cheeks.
“I came to celebrate my birthday with you…it’s the big eight-o!” Richard replied, but the joy in his voice trailed off quickly. “What’s wrong, honey? Why are you crying?”
For illustration purposes only. | Source: Pexels
“It’s nothing; everything’s fine,” Deidre quickly wiped her tears and smiled a little. “I just…I wasn’t expecting you, and this isn’t really a good time. Sorry, Dad, but I, uh, need to focus. On my work. Look, I’ll call you. We’ll have dinner later, okay? Sorry.”
Deidre shut the door, leaving Richard hurt and confused. Something was terribly wrong. Was Deidre in trouble?
Richard stepped back from the front door but didn’t leave. He stepped over the short, flowering shrubs lining the path and snuck up to peek through the windows.
Two rough-looking men were in the sitting room with Deidre.
“Who was that?” One of them asked in a rough voice.
“Nobody,” Deidre lied in a shaky voice. “Just a neighbor’s kid…pulling a doorbell prank and running away.”
“Back to business then,” the second man said. “You’re now six months behind on your loan repayments, Deidre. Mr. Marco’s getting impatient.”
For illustration purposes only. | Source: Pexels
“I just need more time. Business is sure to pick up again in the winter,” she pleaded.
“Time is one thing you haven’t got, sweetie,” the man replied, pulling out his gun. “People who owe Mr. Marco money don’t have a great life expectancy and end up feeding the fishes in the lake…” He pointed the weapon at her.
Terror froze Richard in place. But soon, the man stepped back with a look of disgust and tucked the gun away in the waistband of his trousers.
“Look around this dump and see if there’s anything valuable we can take to Mr. Marco, Danny,” he ordered. “She’s a businesswoman, so there must be a computer or some kind of equipment around here.”
”But I need those things!” she cried. “I can’t make money without my equipment!”
The man patted the butt of his gun. ”Boo-Hoo. I can still change my mind, you know. Don’t be ungrateful, now.”
For illustration purposes only. | Source: Pexels
The men ransacked her home before they stormed out, leaving Deidre curled up sobbing on the floor.
Nothing made sense to Richard because Deidre’s business was doing well. At least that’s what she had told him. But now, Richard could sense something was amiss. Deidre needed his help.
The men loaded several appliances from Deidre’s home in their vehicle.
When they finally drove away, Richard followed them.
The men stopped at a two-storeyed brick building downtown that looked like a bar. While it was closed, the door was unlocked. No one on the staff stopped Richard as he entered the building.
The men had joined a large table where several other rough-looking men were seated. One of them stood and swaggered toward him.
“The club’s closed,” he growled. “Come back later.”
“I’m here to discuss Deidre’s debt,” Richard announced.
For illustration purposes only. | Source: Pexels
“Oh?” The man seated at the head of the table rose and stared at Richard. He looked like a gentleman except for a nasty scar above his left eye. Richard guessed he was Mr. Marco.
”How much does she owe you?” Richard asked.
Mr. Marco smirked. “A good samaritan, huh? Deidre took out a business loan of $80,000 from me. She was supposed to pay me back from her monthly profits, only she never made any.”
”I have around $20,000 in my savings,” Richard gulped fearfully, shaken Deidre had borrowed such a big sum.
”That’s only a quarter of what she owes us.” Mr. Marco sighed. “But there’s something you can do to make up the difference.”
Richard didn’t like the sound of that, but he had to do whatever it took to save his daughter from the mess she’d gotten herself into.
”What do you want me to do?” he asked.
For illustration purposes only. | Source: Pexels
Mr. Marco grinned at Richard and beckoned him closer to the table.
”My partner and I recently started a small business importing cars to Canada, but some of the paperwork has been delayed, so we’re having difficulties getting the…’merchandise’…across the border. A kind, innocent-looking Grandpa like you should have no trouble crossing the border in one of our cars.”
Richard had no choice but to agree. Later that night, he pulled into a gas station near the border town to use the bathroom and parked beside a patrol.
“Jesus!” he gasped as the German Shepherd in the back of the police cruiser began barking at him and pawing at the window.
Service dogs were trained not to bark at random people unless…Oh, man.
He quickly climbed back in the car, a Valiant, and started reversing as the police dog went crazy.
Two cops hurried out of the gas station store and yelled at him to stop as they glanced at him. The GPS app voiced directions, but Richard shoved it in his pocket to silence the darn thing.
He pushed the Valiant to its limits as he wove through traffic, leaving a trail of outraged drivers and narrowly avoided collisions in his wake. The sirens blared behind him.
For illustration purposes only. | Source: Pexels
Richard soon spotted a narrow, unmarked dirt road veering into the forest ahead. He sharply turned, leaving the road behind him as he raced into the forest. The muddy trails were awful to navigate, but Richard pushed on.
He turned down a narrow track leading downhill. Then, he turned up a slight rise and instantly regretted it.
The car was now stuck in a precarious position, balanced on a narrow rise above a wide river. Richard tried to reverse back the way he came, but the tires spun without getting traction.
In fact, the car was sliding closer to the water.
“No!” Richard desperately pulled up the parking brake, but it didn’t work.
The car’s nose hit the river with a loud splash, sending a wave of dark water flooding over the bonnet. Richard shoved the car door open, desperate to escape the sinking vehicle.
The pressure from the water started to push the car door shut against Richard’s legs. Richard splashed around in panic as the river filled the interior.
For illustration purposes only. | Source: Pexels
As the water level crept up his face, he tipped his head back, took one last breath, and pulled himself underwater.
Richard squeezed himself out of the opening and pushed himself up toward the surface. He took in a lungful of air and swam toward the river bank.
Reaching land made Richard realize how close he was to death. He was thankfully breathing. But he still needed to do something about the $80,000. So Richard hitchhiked home.
”I need to mortgage my house,” he told the bank assistant. ”And I need the cash in my bank account fast.”
Richard waited impatiently as the bank employee processed the paperwork. He jumped in fright when Deidre called him.
“Some thugs from a local gang were just here asking about you, Dad…what is happening?”
“Tell them I’ll be there soon. I arranged to pay off your debt for you. I don’t understand why you didn’t come to me first, Deidre, but this isn’t the time to discuss that.”
For illustration purposes only. | Source: Pexels
Richard ended the call and signed the paperwork. He didn’t want to give up the home where he had created memories with his family, but it was the only way to help Deidre.
A few hours later, he pulled into the club’s parking lot in a rented car and headed toward the entrance.
”Dad, wait!” Richard looked back as Deidre ran toward him.
”I won’t let you face those thugs alone,” she said. ”I still don’t understand how you found out about this mess or how you got the money to repay them, but the least I can do is stand by you while you save me.”
Richard studied the determined look in Deidre’s eyes and knew he couldn’t convince her to leave. As they entered the club, the thugs herded him and Deidre toward the table.
Richard placed his duffel bag, which contained the cash he’d withdrawn after the mortgage went through, and put it on the table.
”Here’s the $80,000 Deidre owed you plus another $15,000 to cover the cost of your car. I, uh, got into some trouble, and the car ended up in a river.”
For illustration purposes only. | Source: Pexels
Mr. Marco’s mouth twisted angrily, and he thumped his fist against the table.
“You have the audacity to offer me a measly $15,000? After you come in here and tell me you sank the $100,000 shipment hidden in that car? That doesn’t even BEGIN to cover what you now owe me.”
The gangster grabbed the duffel bag and threw it to one of his thugs.
”You know, Deidre, I really believed in you, but sometimes, in business, you’ve got to know when to cut your losses.”
He removed a gun from his suit jacket and pointed it straight at Deidre’s forehead.
Richard pulled Deidre behind him. “No, please! This is all my fault! Don’t punish her!”
”Well, you made a good point.” The gangster shrugged, and the next moment, Richard was staring down the gun barrel.
For illustration purposes only. | Source: Pexels
But suddenly, they heard police sirens outside.
Mr. Marco turned and ran toward the back of the club as loud gunfire boomed and shook the place.
Father and daughter crawled under the table. There was chaos in the club, and as Richard looked into his daughter’s fear-filled eyes, he knew he had to get her to safety, no matter what.
Richard and Deidre pulled one of the tables over and barricaded themselves in a corner. They hid there until the police escorted them to safety. Thankfully, Mr. Marco was apprehended.
”Are you certain you don’t have any heart-related health issues?” Richard shook his head at the paramedic while in the ambulance.
Richard swallowed hard when the police detective approached the ambulance.
For illustration purposes only. | Source: Pexels
“Sir, what were you and your daughter doing in this club today?” the detective asked sternly.
Richard explained about Deidre’s loan and how they’d come to the club that day to repay it. He hoped he might get away with not mentioning the car he sank in the river.
The detective glanced at Deidre. “If we hadn’t found a car full of contraband in the river, we wouldn’t have been here to rescue you. You shouldn’t be taking loans from such disreputable people, miss.”
“A car in the river?” Richard asked nervously.
“It was registered to Mr. Marco’s cousin, which was exactly the lede we needed to take this gang down,” replied the officer.
For illustration purposes only. | Source: Pexels
Richard sighed in relief. He was in the clear.
The cops let him and Deidre go once they provided their statements.
”I owe you a huge apology, Dad. I dragged you into this whole mess,” Deidre apologized as they walked to the front, where Richard’s car was parked.
Tears filled her eyes. “I didn’t know how to tell you. How does anyone tell their father that they’re a huge failure?”
“You are not a failure!” Richard put his hands on Deidre’s shoulders. ”Maybe your business idea didn’t work out as well as you’d hoped, but you tried, Deidre. I wish you’d felt comfortable enough to tell me what was really going on in your life. Heck, I just wish you felt you could be as close with me as you were with your mother,” he continued. ”I don’t think you’ve been ‘fine’ for quite a while now.”
Deidre burst into tears, and Richard put an arm around her. “It’s okay, honey,” he whispered soothingly. “Everything’s going to be okay.”
For illustration purposes only. | Source: Pexels
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If you enjoyed this story, you might like this one about a woman who spots her husband taking his wedding ring off before leaving for work. She decides to follow him, only to discover something shocking.
It Took Me 2 Years to Find the House from an Old Photo I Received Anonymously
A mysterious box appears on Evan’s doorstep containing a baby photo with a birthmark identical to his and a faded image of an old house shrouded in trees. Haunted by questions of family and identity, Evan becomes obsessed with finding it. Two years later, he does.
When people ask where I’m from, I always say “here and there.” It’s simpler that way. Nobody really wants to hear about foster homes and sleeping in rooms that never felt mine.
A serious man | Source: Midjourney
But truth be told, I’ve been searching for the true answer to where I came from my whole life.
I remember Mr. Bennett, my 8th-grade history teacher, better than most of the families I lived with. He was the only one who ever looked at me like I wasn’t a lost cause.
I didn’t realize it back then, but his belief in me was the start of everything. He’s the reason I clawed my way to a college grant. But college didn’t care how scrappy I was.
A college class | Source: Pexels
While other students called home for emergency cash, I worked double shifts at the campus café, microwaving three-day-old pizza for dinner. I never complained. Who would listen?
After graduation, I lucked into a job as an assistant to Richard — think Wall Street shark in a luxury suit. He was ruthless but brilliant. He didn’t care where I came from, only that I could keep up.
For five years, I followed him like a shadow, learning everything from negotiation tactics to the art of not flinching in a boardroom.
Businesspeople in a boardroom | Source: Pexels
When I walked away, it wasn’t with bitterness. It was with the blueprint for my logistics company: Cole Freight Solutions.
That company became my pride and proof that I was so much more than just a name on a file in some state database.
I thought I’d finally escaped my past in the foster system. I was 34, too old to be haunted by my mysterious origins when my future lay before me. That’s what I told myself, at any rate. But it turned out my past had more to show me.
A man in a warehouse | Source: Midjourney
I’d just come home from work and the box was sitting on my front step like it had fallen out of the sky. No postage, no address, no delivery slip.
At first, I didn’t touch it. I stood there, hands in my jacket pockets, scanning the street. No one was around. The only movement was the sway of the neighbor’s wind chimes. After a few minutes, I crouched down and ran my fingers along its edges.
It was just a plain old cardboard box, soft at the corners like it had been wet once and dried in the sun.
A slightly damaged cardboard box | Source: Midjourney
I carried it inside, kicking the door shut behind me. It sat on my kitchen table, silent but loud in its own way.
I pulled open the flaps, and I swear, for a second, I stopped breathing.
It was full of toys. Old, battered toys. A wooden car with half its wheels gone, a stuffed rabbit with one button-eye dangling from a loose thread. They smelled like time — musty and sad. Then I saw the photos.
Items in a cardboard box | Source: Midjourney
Faded images spilled out like loose puzzle pieces. The first photo I grabbed stopped me cold. A baby’s chubby face, round cheeks flushed with life. My eyes locked on a small, jagged mark on his arm. My breath hitched.
No. It couldn’t be.
I yanked up my sleeve, heart pounding hard enough to feel it in my ears. There it was — that same odd-shaped birthmark just below my elbow. My fingers hovered over it like I’d never seen it before.
A birthmark on a man’s arm | Source: Midjourney
My gaze flicked back to the table, hands moving with urgency now. Another photo lay beneath the first. This one was different. It showed an old, weathered house half-hidden behind a wall of trees. It looked like something forgotten.
Beneath the photo, faint words scratched across the bottom. I tilted it toward the kitchen light, squinting like that would sharpen the letters.
Two words floated up from the smudges: “Cedar Hollow.”
A man holding a photo | Source: Midjourney
I didn’t have time to process it before I spotted the letter. The paper had the rough texture of an old grocery bag and smelled faintly of mildew. My fingers hesitated as if the letter might burn me. But I opened it anyway.
“This box was meant for you, Evan. It was left with you as a baby at the orphanage. The staff misplaced it, and it was only recently found. We are returning it to you now.”
My legs buckled, and I sat hard on one of the kitchen chairs.
A shocked man | Source: Midjourney
My elbows pressed into the table as I gripped my head with both hands. I read it again, slower this time as if slowing down would change what it said. It didn’t.
The photo, the baby, the birthmark, the house. This box — this stupid, worn-out box — had handed me the key to a question I’d stopped asking myself years ago: “Who are you?”
That night, I sat at my desk with the photo pinned beneath my fingers. I scanned it, enlarged it, and ran it through cheap online tools that promised “enhancement” but only made it worse.
A frustrated man working on a laptop | Source: Midjourney
Every blurry line made me angrier. Every click of the mouse felt like I was pushing further from the truth.
Weeks passed. My search history turned into a rabbit hole of maps, old county registries, and forum posts full of strangers who “knew a guy” who “might know a place.”
Every lead ended in a dead end, but I couldn’t let it go. So I hired professionals. Real investigators with access to records I couldn’t touch.
A detective | Source: Pexels
I told myself it was just curiosity. Just a little unfinished business. But I knew better. I knew I wouldn’t stop.
Months passed. The investigators burned through my savings, but I didn’t care. I was chasing something bigger than logic. I stopped taking client calls and ducked out of friend meetups. People asked if I was sick. I wasn’t sick; I was consumed.
Two years later, my phone buzzed at 2:16 p.m. I answered before the second ring.
A man holding a cell phone | Source: Pexels
“You’re not gonna believe this,” said the investigator. “Cedar Hollow. It’s real, and I found it. It’s a house about 130 miles from you. I’m texting you the address.”
I hung up, hands gripping the phone so tight it squeaked.
It was real… the text with the address flashed up on my screen, followed shortly by a location pin. This was it. I was going home.
An emotional man | Source: Midjourney
I drove three hours through back roads and half-forgotten highways. No music. No distractions. Just me, the hum of the engine, and the low thump of my heartbeat in my ears.
The house wasn’t hard to spot. It sat at the end of a dirt road, surrounded by trees that twisted upward like bony fingers. The boards on the windows and doors were cracked. Vines crawled up the siding. It looked tired, like it had been holding its breath for years.
I parked the car and got out.
A neglected house | Source: Midjourney
The air smelled like damp leaves and old bark. My breath came out in puffs of white mist. I walked up to it slowly, one foot in front of the other.
My fingers dug under the edge of a loose board on the back window. It took three hard pulls before it came free, nails popping loose. I hoisted myself through, landing on creaky floorboards with a thud.
The first thing I saw was the cradle.
An old cradle | Source: Midjourney
It was exactly like the photo. The curve of the wood was identical, and the hand-carved stars on the side were the same. I reached for it, touching the edge with my fingertips.
On the small table beside it, there was a picture frame. A woman holding a baby. Her smile was soft and tired, but there was warmth there. I knew that smile.
I knew it because I’d been waiting for it my whole life.
An emotional man | Source: Midjourney
“Mom,” I whispered, lifting the picture frame.
The frame caught on something, stirring up the dust. There was a letter on the table, folded neatly like someone had taken great care. My fingers shook as I opened it.
“Someday you will come here, son, and you will find all this.”
I sank onto the floor, my back to the wall.
A man reading a letter | Source: Midjourney
My eyes ran over every word, etching them into my mind.
“I am very sick. Your father left me, and I have no relatives. Just like you will not have any, since there’s no way I can keep you now. I’m so sorry, my angel. Be strong and know that I had no other choice. I love you.”
My tears hit the paper.
A letter | Source: Pexels
I tried to wipe them away, but they left faint stains on the ink. I read it again. Then again.
“I love you.” I wiped the dust off the picture and stared at my mother’s face. I had her eyes and her chin, her letter, and her love, but it wasn’t enough.
Grief only drowns you if you stay under too long. I stayed under for a week, maybe two. Then I did something I never thought I’d do.
A determined man | Source: Midjourney
I called a construction crew.
The first day, they thought I was nuts. The place was a wreck, a “tear-down” as one guy put it. But I shook my head.
“We rebuild it. Everything.”
So, they put in new walls, new windows, and new floors. I took out a loan and worked like a man possessed to make it happen, but it was worth it.
A house | Source: Midjourney
One year later, I stood on the front porch, hands on my hips. The air smelled like fresh pine and clean paint.
But not everything was new.
I kept the cradle. I cleaned it by hand, sanding the rough edges, and staining it until it gleamed. I also kept the photo of her and me and put it on the mantel.
A mantel | Source: Pexels
It took me a lifetime to find it, but I was finally home.
Here’s another story: When Lucy moves into her childhood home, she hopes for a fresh start after her painful divorce. But cryptic comments from her neighbors about the attic stir her unease. The devastating betrayal she discovers up there forces her to flee the house.
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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