For Nancy her son Henry was everything, she never imagined her life without him. It had been 23 years since the horrible accident that took Henry’s life. Every year on that day, she took his favorite pie to his grave to honor his memory. But this year, everything was about to change.
For 23 years, Nancy, now 61, never missed a single day on this date. She baked her late son’s favorite pie and took it to his grave every year since.
The pie, a simple yet delicious apple and cinnamon creation, had been Henry’s favorite since childhood.
The scent of apples and cinnamon brought back memories of when Henry was little, running into the kitchen, his eyes lighting up at the sight of the pie.
For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney
It was his favorite dessert, and baking it had become a tradition they both cherished.
Since Henry’s tragic accident at 17, this ritual had been Nancy’s way of keeping his memory alive.
It gave her a sense of connection to him, like she was still doing something special for her boy. Losing him had been the hardest thing she had ever gone through. The pain of that day never left her.
Even though the years had passed, her grief remained, only softened by time and the small comfort this tradition brought her.
For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney
On this particular day, just like every year before, Nancy carefully carried the freshly baked pie to the graveyard.
The weight of the dish felt heavier, as it always did when she walked toward Henry’s resting place. The grave was neat and covered in flowers, a sign of how much he was still loved.
The stone had become smoother over the years, as she had often run her fingers over it, lost in her memories.
Nancy knelt, placing the pie gently on the gravestone. Her heart ached as she began to speak, her voice quiet, as though Henry might somehow hear her.
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“Henry, I hope you’re at peace, my love. I miss you every day. I baked your favorite pie again. Remember how we used to bake it together? You’d always sneak a taste before it was done.”
She smiled, but her eyes were misty with tears. “I wish we could do that one more time.”
The familiar sorrow welled up inside her, but Nancy had learned over the years to push through the tears.
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She wiped her eyes quickly and managed a small smile. After a few more moments of silence, she kissed her fingers and touched the top of the gravestone as she said her quiet goodbye.
Then, with a heavy but comforted heart, she turned and walked away, knowing she’d be back next year, just like always.
The next day, as part of her routine, Nancy made her way back to Henry’s grave to clean up the remains of the pie.
For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney
Usually, by the time she returned, the pie was either untouched or spoiled by the weather, a quiet reminder of her son’s absence.
She had always found it a bittersweet comfort, knowing the pie stayed where she left it as if waiting for him.
But today, as she approached the grave, something felt different. Nancy’s heart skipped a beat when she saw that the plate was clean—completely empty. For a moment, she stood frozen in disbelief.
Then, she noticed something else. Resting on the plate was a small piece of paper, folded in half.
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Nancy’s hands trembled as she picked up the note. Her breath caught in her throat as she unfolded it.
The handwriting was shaky, as though whoever had written it had struggled to form the letters. The simple words read: “Thank you.”
Her heart pounded with confusion and anger.
“Who would take Henry’s pie?” she muttered under her breath, clutching the note tightly. “This was for my son. No one had the right to touch it!”
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Her private ritual, her way of honoring and remembering her son, had been invaded by a stranger.
She felt violated, as if someone had stolen a piece of her grief.
With her emotions swirling—part outrage, part confusion—Nancy left the cemetery, her mind set on finding the person who had taken her son’s pie. She had to know who had done this, and why.
Determined to catch the culprit, Nancy decided she would take matters into her own hands. She couldn’t let someone continue to disturb the way she honored Henry. So, she devised a plan.
For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney
That night, she baked another of Henry’s favorite pies, the same apple and cinnamon recipe she had been making for over two decades.
The next morning, with renewed resolve, she placed the freshly baked pie on Henry’s grave, just like before, but this time she wasn’t leaving.
She found a large oak tree nearby and hid behind it, close enough to see the grave but far enough to not be noticed.
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The warm aroma of the pie drifted through the air, filling the quiet cemetery.
Time passed slowly as Nancy watched and waited, her heart racing in anticipation.
An hour later, she spotted movement. A small figure cautiously approached the grave. Nancy squinted, leaning forward to get a better look.
It wasn’t the greedy thief she had imagined. No, this was something entirely different.
For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney
A young boy, no older than 9, with ragged clothes and dirt smudged on his face, moved toward the pie with hesitant steps.
Nancy’s heart tightened as she watched him. The boy didn’t immediately take the pie.
Instead, he knelt by the grave and reached into his pocket, pulling out a small scrap of paper and a dull pencil. His hand trembled as he carefully scribbled something on the paper, his brow furrowed with concentration.
It was clear the boy struggled with writing, but he took his time, making sure each word was legible.
For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney
Nancy’s heart softened as she saw him write “Thank you” on the paper, just like before. He wasn’t a thief. He wasn’t someone disrespecting Henry’s memory. He was just a hungry child, grateful for the kindness of a pie left behind.
The anger that had once consumed Nancy melted away in an instant. She realized this boy wasn’t stealing; he was surviving. He was in need, and her son’s favorite pie had somehow brought him comfort.
As the boy began to pick up the pie, his small hands shaking, Nancy stepped out from her hiding spot.
For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney
The rustle of leaves under her feet made him freeze, wide-eyed. Startled, he dropped the pie, and it tumbled onto the grass. His face paled, and he backed away, looking terrified.
“I’m sorry, I’m really sorry!” the boy cried, his voice trembling with panic. “I was just so hungry, and the pie was so good. Please don’t be mad.”
Nancy’s heart softened instantly. The sight of him—thin, dirty, and scared—erased any trace of anger she had felt before.
For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney
She knelt beside him, speaking gently, her voice as comforting as she could make it. “It’s alright, sweetheart. I’m not mad at you, Where are your parents?” she said, her tone soothing. The boy stayed silent and shook his head. “What’s your name?” Nancy asked another question understanding that the boy had nowhere to go.
“Jimmy,” he muttered, still avoiding her eyes, ashamed of what he had done.
“Well, Jimmy,” Nancy smiled softly, trying to reassure him, “it’s okay. You don’t have to steal pies. If you’re hungry, all you had to do was ask.”
For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney
Jimmy looked up at her, his lips quivering as he tried to speak. “I didn’t mean to steal,” he said, his voice small and shaky. “I just… I don’t get to eat much, and that pie was the best thing I’ve ever had.”
Nancy’s heart ached for him, her mind flooded with thoughts of how different this boy’s life must be.
The hunger in his eyes reminded her of her own son, Henry, when he would eagerly wait for that first bite of her freshly baked pie.
But Henry never had to worry about where his next meal would come from. Jimmy, on the other hand, looked like he had been living with hunger for a long time.
For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney
“Come with me,” Nancy said after a moment of thought. She stood up and reached out her hand to him. “I’ll bake you a fresh pie, just for you.”
Jimmy’s eyes widened in disbelief, as if he couldn’t trust his own ears. “Really?” he asked, his voice filled with a mix of hope and doubt.
Nancy nodded, her heart filled with a strange but comforting warmth. “Yes, really. You don’t have to be afraid.”
Slowly, Jimmy reached out and took Nancy’s hand.
For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney
She led him back to her home, the boy walking beside her in silence, his eyes darting around as if he wasn’t sure if this was all real. Nancy’s heart swelled with the thought of what she was about to do.
Baking had always been her way of expressing love, and now, after years of baking for a son she could no longer see, she was about to bake for someone who truly needed it.
When they reached her cozy kitchen, Nancy set to work, rolling out the dough, slicing the apples, and adding the perfect amount of cinnamon—just as she had done so many times before.
For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney
Jimmy watched her quietly from the corner of the kitchen, his eyes wide as he followed every move she made.
The smell of the pie began to fill the room, warm and comforting, like a hug from a long-lost friend.
Once the pie was baked, Nancy placed it in front of Jimmy. “Here you go, sweetheart,” she said softly.
“This one’s all for you.”
Jimmy hesitated for a moment, as if he couldn’t believe what was happening. But then he grabbed a slice and took a bite. His face lit up with joy, his eyes sparkling as he chewed.
For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney
“This is the best pie I’ve ever had,” he said, his mouth still full. He ate with such happiness that it brought tears to Nancy’s eyes.
She watched him in silence, thinking about how something as simple as a pie could bring so much comfort to someone.
As Jimmy devoured the warm slices with obvious delight, Nancy couldn’t help but think of Henry.
She had always dreamed of seeing her son eat his favorite pie again, of watching him enjoy it the way he used to when he was a child.
For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney
But now, in some strange and unexpected way, she was sharing it with another boy who needed it just as much.
Watching Jimmy eat, Nancy felt a deep sense of peace wash over her. Perhaps this was how it was meant to be.
Maybe fate had brought Jimmy into her life for a reason. By feeding him, by offering him kindness when he needed it most, she was honoring Henry’s memory in a way she had never imagined.
For the first time in years, Nancy felt that her grief had led her to something beautiful—a connection, a purpose that gave new meaning to her life.
For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney
Maybe, just maybe, this was Henry’s way of sending her a message—that love and kindness should always find their way back to those in need.
Nancy smiled as she watched Jimmy finish the last slice of pie, her heart full of warmth and gratitude.
She had found an unexpected connection in the most unlikely place, and it filled her soul in a way that nothing else had in years.
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If you enjoyed this story, read this one: Martha was always quiet and smiling. No matter how hard or small the task, she was always ready to help. One of her colleagues, Chelsea, often took advantage of Martha’s kind nature by asking her to do her work for her. But this time, Chelsea unintentionally did Martha a favor.
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I RETURNED HOME TO FIND MY FURNITURE ON THE CURB — MY EX’S REVENGE WAS A TOTAL FLOP
When Gina and her husband Brendan decided to separate, she took a break from the drama by staying with her parents for the weekend. But when she came back home, she was shocked to find all her things spread out on the lawn.
To her surprise, Gina discovered a valuable item that belonged to Brendan among the scattered items. This turn of events gave her a chance for some well-deserved revenge.
After deciding to split up, Brendan changed completely. The man she had shared her life with was now replaced by someone who was bitter and resentful.
“You’re complaining about how I act? How I talk?” Brendan shouted.
“I’m just saying you need to calm down. Yelling won’t help you get your point across,” I said, holding my head.
“Oh, come on, Gina,” he yelled even louder. “You made me this way! With all your demands and constant complaints. Just go live your life.”
So, I did.
As the divorce moved forward, Brendan and I tried to organize our things and make a clean break.
“Just let me pack up these items, Gina,” Brendan said one day, rummaging through my bookshelf.
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“You’ll just end up taking my things with you,” I replied. “I need to sort out my own stuff first.”
“Fine,” he said.
But things only got worse. The emotional stress left me feeling constantly nauseous and uneasy. So, I decided to spend the weekend at my parents’ house to clear my head.
“Yeah, run away to your parents,” Brendan sneered as I packed an overnight bag.
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“They’re better than you,” I said, walking out the door.
And honestly? It was the right choice. I needed space to process everything, especially the fact that I was going to be on my own for the first time in twelve years. Even though Brendan and I needed to be apart, I couldn’t see my future clearly.
I also just wanted my parents to take care of me for the weekend.
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“Oh, Gina,” my mother said as she took out a tray of delicious roast lamb. “All you need to do is eat and rest. Whatever you want to eat, just tell me and I’ll make it. And if you need anything from the store, just tell Dad. He’ll make a quick run for you.”
I took a deep breath. I was exactly where I needed to be.
“Are you sure a divorce is the right choice?” my father asked me during dinner.
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“Yes,” I said with a heavy heart. “If there was ever a chance for us to fix things, it was a long time ago. We’ve missed that chance. Brendan and I just don’t see things the same way anymore. I don’t think there’s any love left between us.”
“You do what you need to do, honey,” my mother said. “If your mental health is telling you that you need a fresh start, then that’s what you should go for.”
I took her advice to heart and spent my time taking long walks with Pippy, my parents’ dog. I needed to clear my head and give myself the space to breathe.
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“You’re making the right choice,” I reassured myself. “There’s nothing wrong with starting over.”
When I got home on Monday morning, expecting to find Brendan and his things gone, I was met with a shock.
My entire collection of furniture, from before and during our marriage, was spread all over the lawn. A huge hand-painted sign that said “Free Stuff!” was proudly displayed, inviting anyone passing by to take whatever they wanted.
“What on earth is this?” I muttered, slamming the car door.
I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. My coffee table, the flea market couch, and even my grandmother’s old rocking chair were all out on the lawn, baking in the sun and waiting to be taken by anyone who passed by.
I kicked the sign down so it lay flat and pulled out my phone, my hands shaking as I dialed Brendan. After three rings, he finally answered.
“Hey, what’s up, Gina?” he answered, sounding casual, almost smug.
“What’s up?” I echoed. “What’s up?”
“Yeah, that’s what I asked,” he said.
“Are you kidding me? Why is all my furniture on the lawn? Are you absolutely out of your mind?”
There was a pause before he replied.
“You were going to sue for all my money anyway,” he said. “I heard you on the phone with someone. I know you wanted everything, or at least half of it! So you might as well know how it feels to lose what’s yours.”
I was speechless.
Sure, I had thought about taking him for a ride and getting my share of his money, but the weekend away with my parents had taught me to let it go.
“You’re absolutely unbelievable,” I finally managed to say. “You think this is going to solve anything? You’re just making things worse for yourself.”
He scoffed loudly.
“Whatever. It’s your problem now. Maybe you should charge people for your things instead of letting them take it for free.”
I wanted to scream, but I knew it wouldn’t help. Brendan had made up his mind, and like any dog with a bone, there was no reasoning with him.
I crouched down and opened the drawer, where I found a small, velvet pouch. As I opened it, my heart raced. Inside was a stunning gold necklace with a large diamond pendant—one that Brendan had always bragged about but claimed was lost.
I couldn’t believe my luck. Brendan’s petty move had actually handed me a priceless item. I smiled despite everything.
I took a deep breath, feeling a spark of satisfaction. This necklace, once a symbol of Brendan’s arrogance, was now mine. I packed it away carefully, deciding it would be my little piece of revenge.
Seeing the family heirloom tucked away in the drawer, a smirk crept onto my face despite my anger. Brendan’s father’s watch, a cherished piece that he rarely wore, was now in my hands.
“Stupid Brendan,” I muttered under my breath. He’d clearly overlooked this valuable item in his hasty revenge.
I carefully wrapped the watch and tucked it into my bag alongside the necklace. As much as the whole situation had been frustrating, it felt good to have something of value—something Brendan truly cared about—as a small victory in this mess.
As I slipped Brendan’s watch into my pocket, I couldn’t help but feel a sense of triumph. “Checkmate,” I said to myself, a small smile on my face. He had left it out there for anyone to take, and I wasn’t about to let this opportunity go to waste.
Next, I quickly texted my friends, asking for help to move everything back into the house. Their support would be crucial in getting my belongings back inside safely.
“Brendan is the worst, Gina,” my friend Jenny said, carrying a lamp. “This is a new low.”
“Yeah, I agree with you there,” I replied. “But don’t worry, I’ve got a way to get back at him.”
I explained to Jenny about the watch and how I had it safely tucked away in my car. I was sure Brendan would eventually notice it was missing, and I was ready to use it as a bargaining chip.
“Look, the neighbors came over and took a few things. The bedside tables are gone too. But if you’re polite enough, I’m sure Cathy will sell them back to you.”
There was a long pause on the other end of the line.
“Gina, it’s my dad’s watch. My granddad’s watch. I really need it back.”
I let the silence stretch for a moment before responding.
“I see. Well, like I said, it’s with Cathy. But I’m sure she’ll be reasonable. You know, for the right price.”
I nodded and said, “Thanks. You can leave now.”
“I’ll get in touch with you about the divorce. My lawyer has some things to discuss with us,” he replied.
“Cool,” I said simply.
Brendan did a double-take, then took the watch from me and walked away slowly, as if he wanted to say something but couldn’t find the words.
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