Margaret left her home behind years ago, believing it would always be there waiting for her. But when the 78-year-old finally returned, her small house had vanished, replaced by a grand mansion with locked doors and a shocking secret inside.
I sat by the window, watching the garden outside. The roses were in bloom, swaying gently in the breeze. I liked to watch them.
A sad elderly woman | Source: Pexels
I didn’t go outside much anymore—too cold some days, too hot on others. But the garden reminded me of something. Of home. Of the house I left behind.
I had a garden there once. A small one, just a patch of flowers by the porch. I didn’t know why I thought about it so much these days. Maybe because there wasn’t much else to think about.
An elderly woman in her garden | Source: Pexels
The nursing home was quiet. Too quiet. The nurses came and went, always smiling, always polite. The other residents shuffled past my door, some talking to themselves, some staring blankly at the floor.
My children left me long ago. First my daughter, who moved across the country. She sent letters at first, then holiday cards, then nothing at all.
An elderly woman reading a letter | Source: Pexels
My son, David, left next. He got married, started a family, and never looked back. I used to wonder what I did wrong. I didn’t wonder anymore.
I made my choice years ago to leave the house and move here. It was easier than living alone. I still had the key, though. It sat in my bedside drawer. Sometimes, I held it in my palm, feeling its weight. It was warm, even though it shouldn’t have been.
A key in a hand | Source: Pexels
One afternoon, as I sat staring out the window, a nurse tapped my shoulder.
“Margaret, you have a visitor.”
I blinked. “A visitor?”
She nodded, smiling. I didn’t get visitors. Not anymore. My hands trembled as I pushed myself up from the chair.
And then I saw him.
A shocked woman covering her face | Source: Pexels
David.
He stood in the doorway, hands in his pockets, looking older than I remembered. His hair had grayed at the edges, his face lined in ways it hadn’t been before. But it was him. After 30 years, it was him.
“Mom,” he said softly.
I didn’t know what to say.
A serious man on the porch | Source: Midjourney
“I—I hope it’s okay that I came,” he continued. “I just… I wanted to see you.”
I gripped the arms of my chair. My heart pounded, but my voice came out steady. “Why now?”
He sighed, looking down. “My wife left me. Took the kids. I—” He rubbed a hand over his face. “I spent years building a life with her, and now it’s gone. And it made me think about you. About how I left you.”
A sad man sitting in a chair | Source: Pexels
I swallowed hard. “That was a long time ago.”
“I know,” he said. “And I’m sorry, Mom. I should’ve come back sooner.”
Silence stretched between us. I wasn’t sure what to feel. Anger? Sadness? Relief?
“I don’t know what to say to you,” I admitted.
“I don’t expect you to say anything,” he said quickly. “I just… I want to make things right.”
A happy woman touching her face | Source: Pexels
I didn’t answer.
After a moment, he pulled something from behind his back—a bouquet of daisies. My favorite.
“I remembered,” he said, offering a small, uncertain smile.
I took them, brushing my fingers over the petals.
“Thank you,” I whispered.
An elderly woman holding a bouquet of daisies | Source: Midjourney
He started visiting after that. Not every day, but often. Sometimes he brought flowers. Other times, books he thought I might like. We sat together and talked a little. At first, our words were careful, like stepping over broken glass. But over time, it got easier.
One day, he took me to the park. We sat on a bench and watched the ducks in the pond.
“Do you remember the old house?” I asked, glancing at him.
An elderly woman with her son | Source: Pexels
He hesitated. “Yeah. I remember.”
“I’d like to see it again,” I said. “Just once.”
He shook his head. “No, Mom.”
I frowned. “Why not?”
“It’s just… it’s not the same anymore.”
An unsure man in a chair | Source: Midjourney
That was all he said. And no matter how many times I asked, he always gave the same answer.
No, Mom.
I didn’t understand. But one way or another, I intended to find out.
One afternoon, after David left, I decided I wouldn’t wait any longer. I put on my best coat, slipped my old house key into my pocket, and left the nursing home without telling anyone.
An elderly woman on the street | Source: Pexels
At the bus stop, I counted my change carefully. I hadn’t taken a bus in years. The ride felt longer than I remembered, every stop stretching time. My hands gripped my purse tightly as I watched the familiar streets pass by. Houses I used to know looked different—some painted with new colors, some with fresh gardens, some completely unrecognizable.
Finally, the bus stopped near my old neighborhood. I stepped off, my heart pounding.
A smiling woman in the street | Source: Pexels
As I walked down the street, memories flooded my mind—playing children, barking dogs, the sound of a lawnmower in the distance. My feet knew the way, leading me to the place I had left behind.
But when I arrived, I froze.
My house was gone.
A shocked woman on the street | Source: Midjourney
In its place stood a grand mansion—tall, beautiful, and nothing like what I had left behind. The porch was bigger, the windows gleamed, and a lush, flowering garden surrounded the entire property.
I stared, my breath caught in my throat.
This couldn’t be right.
A mansion with palm trees | Source: Pexels
With trembling fingers, I pulled out my key and stepped onto the porch. My hands shook as I tried to fit the key into the lock. It didn’t fit. I jiggled it, tried again. Nothing.
Someone had changed the locks.
Panic rose in my chest.
I pounded on the door. “Hello?” My voice was weak, swallowed by the quiet street. “Who’s in there? This is my house!”
A woman knocking on a mansion’s door | Source: Midjourney
No answer.
I stumbled back, heart racing. Someone had stolen my home. I pulled my phone from my purse and dialed 911.
“Emergency services. What’s your emergency?”
“My house,” I gasped. “Someone took my house. I—I came home, and it’s gone. It’s different. The locks are changed. Someone’s inside.”
A woman talking on her phone | Source: Midjourney
The operator asked me questions I barely registered. My hands shook as I explained, over and over, that this was my home, that something was wrong.
Minutes later, a police car pulled up. Two officers stepped out, their expressions calm, careful.
“What seems to be the problem, ma’am?”
Before I could answer, the front door of the mansion opened.
A man standing in a mansion’s doorway | Source: Midjourney
David stepped outside.
I stared at him, my chest tightening.
He looked startled, then sighed, rubbing his forehead.
“Mom?”
The officers turned to him. “Sir, do you live here?”
A police officer with his arms crossed | Source: Pexels
He nodded. “Yes. This is my home.”
I gasped, stepping back. “What does this mean? You—you took my house?” My voice cracked, shaking with anger and confusion. “You stole it from me! Changed it! Sold it?”
David’s face fell. “Mom, no, I didn’t sell it.” He let out a deep breath. “You… ruined the surprise.”
I blinked. “What?”
A shocked elderly woman | Source: Freepik
He walked toward me, hands outstretched. “I wasn’t going to tell you until it was done. I—I rebuilt the house, Mom. I kept the foundation, but I expanded it. I made it bigger, stronger. I restored it. And the garden—” He gestured to the flowers. “I planted all your favorites. The same ones you used to have.”
I couldn’t speak. My chest ached, too full of emotions I couldn’t name.
A shocked woman in front of a mansion | Source: Midjourney
“I wanted to bring you back when everything was perfect,” he said. “I wanted it to be a gift.”
I stared at the house—at my home, changed yet still standing, and tears blurred my vision.
David took a step closer. His face was filled with regret.
“I’m sorry, Mom,” he said softly. “For leaving you. For waiting so long to come back. For not telling you sooner.” His voice broke. “I never should’ve stayed away.”
An apologetic man in front of a mansion | Source: Midjourney
I swallowed hard. The anger inside me faded, replaced by something else—something heavier.
“I thought you forgot about me,” I whispered.
He shook his head. “I never forgot. I just didn’t know how to come back.” He glanced at the house. “But I wanted to give you this. A home. Our home.” He hesitated, then added, “Come back, Mom. Live here. You don’t have to stay in that nursing home anymore.”
A serious man in his garden | Source: Midjourney
I looked at the house, really looked at it this time. The walls were new, but the bones were the same. The porch where I used to sit, the windows that once held my curtains, the steps that led to the front door—it was different, but it was still mine. And the garden… oh, the garden. Roses, daisies, lavender, and lilacs. Everything I had ever loved, blooming in the sunlight.
Tears slipped down my cheeks. “You did all this for me?”
A crying elderly woman | Source: Pexels
David nodded. “I wanted you to have everything you dreamed of.”
I let out a shaky breath. “Then I suppose I should see what the inside looks like.”
His face lit up. “I’ll make us some tea.”
A little while later, we sat together on the porch, steaming cups in our hands. The scent of flowers filled the air, and for the first time in years, I felt home.
A woman with a cup of tea | Source: Pexels
David smiled at me. “You happy, Mom?”
I looked at him, at my son, my house, my garden.
“Yes,” I said. “I am.”
My Teenage Son Spent Grandma’s Funeral Savings on a Game — The Family Taught Him a Lesson
When Judy discovers that her teenage son has been stealing and using his grandmother’s money to satisfy his gaming addiction, she has no choice but to teach him a lesson that he will never forget.
I’ve always heard about there being one child in every family who just goes overboard and does stupid things.
I didn’t expect my son to be that child in our family.
A smiling teenage boy | Source: Midjourney
My teenage son, Brandon, like most teenage boys his age, had gotten into gaming. And whenever a new game came out, he would get obsessed over it and watch the trailers, begging me to buy it.
“It’s ridiculous, Brandon,” I would say firmly. “I’m not giving you money for stupid games.”
But he was as persistent as they came. And when the latest version of his favorite game came out, he would whine and plead daily.
A teenage boy playing on a computer | Source: Midjourney
“Please, Mom,” he would ask at every opportunity. “Please, just this game and I won’t ask for anything else.”
“Brandon, I’ve already said no,” I would say. “Please, stop nagging. This discussion is over.”
Then, a week ago, the whining stopped. Brandon retreated to his room and was stuck behind his computer again, talk of the game long forgotten.
I was relieved, thinking that he had finally moved past this phase.
A smiling woman | Source: Midjourney
“I don’t know how else to tell him that we cannot spend money on video games,” I told my husband, Liam.
“I know,” he agreed. “It’s time that Brandon realizes that there’s more to life than just sitting behind a computer. And if he insists on it, then it’s time to get a part-time job to pay for his games.”
A smiling man | Source: Midjourney
Everything seemed fine as we settled back into our routine.
Until I received a panicked call from my mom.
“My savings for the funeral! They disappeared!” Her voice trembled with fear and confusion. “Judy, they’re gone!”
A shocked old woman | Source: Midjourney
Now, I should probably explain this part:
My mother is as eccentric as they come. And for the past three years, she has gotten it into her head that she needs to save up for her funeral. She’s healthy as can be, but it’s something that she does as a comfort.
“It’s not my fault, Judy,” she would say. “Some of my friends are passing away now, and I have to be prepared, too.”
An urn on a stool | Source: Midjourney
She would pick up her paintbrushes and splash wet paint all over her studio as she spoke.
“And it’s okay if you think I’m crazy, darling,” she would continue. “But at the end of the day, I have to do what gives me peace of mind.”
Since then, my mother had been putting away money each month.
A person holding a paintbrush | Source: Midjourney
“Where are you storing it, Mom?” I asked her one day. “Please tell me that you have a separate bank account.”
“No, Judy,” she replied, her eyes wide. “Then we definitely won’t get it out in time for you to use for my funeral. No, it’s in a little wooden box under my bed.”
“That’s not safe, Mom,” I replied. “Anyone could get to it!”
A little wooden box | Source: Midjourney
“My neighborhood is safe, darling,” she said. “Don’t you worry about that. I just need you to know where it is when you need it. You know, when the time comes.”
Little did I know, my son had heard this entire conversation.
“Calm down, Mom. I’m sure that there’s an explanation for this,” I said, trying to soothe her.
A woman on the phone | Source: Midjourney
It took hours to calm her down, and every time I thought she was okay, she would burst into tears all over again.
“I should have listened to you, Judy,” she cried. “Keeping the money lying around was a very stupid thing to do.”
But as I hung up, I knew two things: who was at fault and what I was going to do.
A sad old woman | Source: Midjourney
A week earlier, Liam and I had gone away for the weekend to celebrate our anniversary, and we had left Brandon with my mother.
He had been present when my mother and I had the conversation about her savings and the little wooden box that held it.
I could remember him sitting at her kitchen table, eating the cookies she had made for him, and listening intently to the conversation.
Cookies on a plate | Source: Midjourney
“Gran is really worried about dying?” he asked me in the car.
“It’s normal for her to be worried,” I replied.
Now, I pieced together the story quickly. Brandon must have thought that my mother wouldn’t notice the missing money. Or maybe he did, but he didn’t care about the consequences.
A woman driving | Source: Midjourney
All he had wanted was to satisfy his gaming obsession.
“Brandon, do you know anything about Grandma’s missing money?” I asked him later that evening as we cooked dinner together.
My son’s face paled in front of me.
A shocked teenage boy | Source: Midjourney
“No, why would I know anything about that?” he replied, a little too quickly. “Gran didn’t tell me.”
By that point, I was certain that it was him. His tone was all off, and I had offered him a chance to confess.
The following weekend, he begged to spend the night at my mother’s house.
A smiling teenage boy | Source: Midjourney
“Please, Mom,” he said. “I’m sure Gran isn’t feeling too safe at the moment.”
I allowed it, thinking that he’d try to sneak the money back.
And sure enough, when I went to pick him up, my mother opened the door beaming.
“You’ll never guess what!” she said, pulling me into a tight hug.
A smiling older woman | Source: Midjourney
“What happened?” I asked, curiosity taking over me.
“Last night, after Brandon and I had dinner, he asked me about the money and said that he wanted to check my room,” she said.
“Oh, he said that, huh?” I asked.
A stack of dollars | Source: Midjourney
“Yes! And he found it! He said that I must have misplaced it, and I guess that maybe I did. Most of it is there, except for about $100, but I could have used that on my nails last week for all I know.”
“I’m glad you found it, Mom,” I said earnestly, but inside, I was seething.
The plan was simple. I texted Liam and told him everything, asking him to call for a family meeting later that evening. We needed to teach Brandon a lesson that he wouldn’t forget any time soon.
A person using their phone | Source: Midjourney
After dinner, Liam stood up.
“We need to have a family meeting now,” he said. “It’s important. Don’t worry about the dishes, love, we can do it later.”
Brandon and I followed Liam into the living room and we sat down.
A teenager sitting on a couch | Source: Midjourney
“Brandon, Gran told me about you finding her money last night. Her memory seems to be going, doesn’t it? Maybe we should consider a nursing home?”
Liam nodded his head slowly.
“Look, Judy, I know that it’s painful to think about. But maybe that will be the best thing, if she’s worried about her memory.”
A close-up of a man | Source: Midjourney
“What? No! She’s fine!” Brandon protested, his eyes wide with panic.
“Well, she’s lost her money once. What if it’s her keys or she forgets to take her medication or put the stove off?” my husband added, playing his part perfectly.
My son’s face turned a deep shade of red.
A close-up of a teenage boy | Source: Midjourney
“She didn’t lose the money! It was there all along!” he said.
“So, you’re saying that Grandma’s lying?” I asked, raising an eyebrow.
“No, I’m saying that maybe she’s just confused,” he said, squirming in his seat.
“If she’s that confused, then maybe a nursing home is best,” I replied.
An old woman at a nursing home | Source: Midjourney
“I’ll make some calls tomorrow,” my husband said.
Finally, Brandon’s façade crumbled.
“Okay, okay! I took the money! I’m sorry! But I just wanted to buy my game. I didn’t think that it would cause so much trouble.”
We let him sit in silence for a moment, the weight of his confession hanging in the air.
An upset teenage boy | Source: Midjourney
“Brandon, stealing is wrong. And lying about it makes it worse,” I said softly. “You’re going to have to make this right.”
“I know,” he said. “I’m sorry. I’ll get a summer job and pay Grandma back. I promise.”
“That’s a start,” I said. “But you also need to apologize to Grandma. And you’re going to tell her the truth. Not me. And you’re grounded from using your computer until you’ve paid back every cent. Do you understand?”
A close-up of a stern woman | Source: Midjourney
Brandon nodded, tears streaming down his face.
“I will, I promise. I’ll get a job at the ice cream place and I’ll make everything right.”
Of course, he had no other choice.
An ice cream store | Source: Midjourney
What would you have done?
If you enjoyed this story, here’s another one for you.
My Kids Listed My House on Airbnb While I Was in the Hospital — I Found a Way to Teach Them a Lesson
Mariah had been feeling less than healthy lately, causing her to admit herself to the hospital so that she could have a check-up. But in her absence, her children decided to rent out her house as an Airbnb, ready to pocket the money for themselves. When Mariah found out, she decided to teach them a lesson.
“I want you to tell Denise to book it,” I said. “But they’ll recognize that it’s her, so she’s probably going to need to create a new account. Do you think she’ll be okay with that?”
A phone opened to an Airbnb app | Source: Pexels
“Of course, she will!” Liz said. “Anything for you. But then what?”
“I’m getting discharged tomorrow,” I said. “But the kids think that I’ll be here until the end of the week. So, let them think that they’re going to make some money off the place.”
A close-up of a woman’s IV and hospital band | Source: Midjourney
“You want Denise to rent the place, but you want to mess it up?” Liz chuckled. “That’s devious.”
“No, my children are devious,” I said.
I hung up the call, and the nurse brought my lunch to me, ready to leave me alone to eat while she did her rounds.
Read the full story here.
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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