My mom always left my dad, swearing it was for good, only to return after his apologies and gifts. It became a pattern I was used to, a cycle that never broke. But this time, when she showed up at my door with a suitcase, she had news that changed everything.
I sat across from my friend Sandy in my kitchen, enjoying a rare moment of free time together. Life got busy, and it felt like we never saw each other anymore.
For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney
“It’s nice to finally catch up,” Sandy said with a smile.
“Yeah, it is,” I agreed, pouring her a glass of wine.
After a pause, she looked at me curiously. “Is your mom living with you now?”
“No, why would she?” Sandy’s eyebrows furrowed.
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“I thought she left your dad again?”
“Oh, you know how it goes with them. Every two years, same story. He messes up, she gets mad, packs her bags, and swears she’s done for good. Then he buys her something fancy, and suddenly all is forgiven. They act like they’re in love again, like nothing ever happened.” Sandy sighed.
“Have you tried talking some sense into her?”
“I did,” I said, feeling the old frustration return.
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“I told her she deserves better. But then she goes back to him, and she’d get mad at me, saying I wasn’t supporting her.”
Sandy frowned and took a sip of her wine. “I’m sorry, Amalia. That sounds hard.”
My eyes landed on the corner of the kitchen table, where my mom had left a note the last time she left my dad. I could still picture her then—standing in my doorway, suitcase in hand, her face full of hope.
“I’ve left him for good this time, Amalia,” she said with a determined smile.
For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney
I wanted to believe her, but deep down, I doubted it. Still, a tiny hope stirred inside me, whispering that maybe this time would be different.
We went to a café nearby for breakfast, sitting across from each other. I took a deep breath, trying to steady my nerves, and finally said what I’d been too scared to say before.
“Mom, you know you can’t keep going back to him, right?” I asked, my voice steady.
For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney
She looked down at her coffee, then back up at me with a weak smile. “Of course, I’m not planning to. I’ve made up my mind.”
I sighed and leaned closer. “He’s awful, Mom. He treated you terribly. He doesn’t change.”
“I know,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. I reached out and took her hand.
“I just want you to be happy. You deserve that, you know?”
For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney
She squeezed my hand, her eyes watering. “Thank you, dear. It means a lot.”
I thought maybe my words got through to her. Maybe this time would be different. But when I came back from work that evening, the house was quiet. I called for her, but no answer.
Instead, a note sat on the table: “Your father apologized and bought me a new car. I realized I overreacted and went back. XX Mom.” I crumpled the note, tossing it into the trash. How foolish I’d been to hope.
For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney
Sandy’s words pulled me out of my thoughts. “You should understand your mom better than anyone,” she said. “You left Robert, and that was hard. But you did it.”
I shrugged. “Yeah, it was hard. But I knew I had to.” She lifted her glass, her eyes warm.
“Well, I think you’re strong as hell. Cheers to that.”
I laughed and raised my glass. “Cheers.”
For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney
The next morning, I woke up late. My alarm didn’t go off, or maybe I just slept through it. Either way, I was rushing around, trying to get dressed, find my keys, and grab my bag all at once.
My hair was a mess, and I could barely think straight. I could already tell it was going to be one of those days where nothing goes right. As I tried to slip on my shoes, I heard the doorbell. I glanced at the clock.
I didn’t have time for this. “Damn it,” I muttered, frustrated. I opened the door and froze. There stood my mom, holding a suitcase, her face serious.
For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney
I didn’t mean to sound harsh, but the words slipped out. “What did Dad do this time?!”
She didn’t flinch. She didn’t look away. Her eyes stayed locked on mine, and she said, “He died.”
For a moment, everything around me just stopped. I couldn’t breathe or think. My mind went completely blank, like a switch had been turned off. I tried to say something, anything, but no words came out.
For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney
After hearing the news, I called my boss and said I needed the day off. There wasn’t much I could explain, so I just told him there was a family emergency. My mom and I got in the car and drove back to my childhood home.
When we arrived, I walked into my old bedroom and felt a rush of memories. Everything was the same—the posters on the wall, the faded bedspread, even the little figurines on the shelf. It was like stepping back in time, and for a moment, I felt like I was a teenager again.
On the morning of the funeral, I woke up to loud music blasting through the house. I groaned, pulled the pillow over my head, but Mom just turned it up louder, filling every corner of the house.
For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney
“Mom! Turn it off!” I shouted, my voice barely cutting through the blaring music.
“What?!” she yelled back from somewhere down the hall. “Hold on, I can’t hear you!”
A moment later, the music stopped, and I heard her footsteps. She appeared in my doorway, looking calm, like it was just a regular morning. “What were you saying?” she asked, tilting her head.
“Why is the music so loud?” I asked, trying to keep my voice steady. “It’s too early for this.”
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She shrugged, a small smile on her face. “This song makes me happy,” she said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.
I stared at her. “You’re not supposed to feel happy today. It’s the funeral.”
She looked at me, still smiling. “Why not? You should feel happy every day, no matter what’s happening.”
I sighed, rubbing my temples. “Besides, this song is like 20 years old. Nobody listens to it anymore.”
For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney
She raised an eyebrow. “You used to love it,” she said. “I remember you dancing around your room, singing every word.”
“Yeah,” I replied, “and then I got sick of it, like everyone else.”
She paused for a moment. “I don’t know. When I love something, I love it forever,” she said softly, then turned and walked out. A few seconds later, the music started up again, just as loud.
After greeting everyone at the church, shaking hands, and hearing the same phrases—”I’m so sorry for your loss,” “He was a good man”—I felt drained. It was like I was on autopilot, just nodding and thanking people without really thinking.
For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney
I needed a break, so I slipped away to a small, quiet room at the back of the church. I was hoping to be alone for a minute, but when I walked in, Mom was already there, sitting by the window. She looked up and smiled, her eyes tired but calm.
“I don’t like funerals either,” Mom said, staring out the window.
I just scoffed, feeling a bitter laugh rise in my throat. “Yeah, well, we’re stuck here.”
She turned back to me. “Did you prepare your speech?” she asked, her tone gentle.
For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney
I shook my head. “I’m not saying anything. I don’t have anything good to say about him.”
Mom’s face softened, like she was trying to understand. “Why not? He was a good father and a wonderful husband.”
I stared at her, stunned. “You’ve got to be kidding me. Are we talking about the same person?”
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She looked confused. “Why do you hate him so much?” she asked, almost like she truly didn’t understand. “I never got it.”
“Why? Do you really want to know?” I felt something snap inside, and the words just came pouring out. “When I was 13, you went on a business trip, and my friend stayed over. We heard noises from your bedroom. We thought someone was hurt, so we went to check…”
“…And there he was, in bed with Mrs. Brown, our neighbor. I just screamed and ran out of the house. And when I came back, he didn’t say a word to me. He pretended like it never happened, like I didn’t see it. That’s why I hated him. And I still hate him,” I said, my voice trembling.
For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney
Mom’s eyes softened. “I know.”
“You don’t know how I feel!” I shouted, tears welling up.
“I mean, I know about the affairs,” she said, her voice calm.
“You knew?” I asked, shocked. “And you did nothing?”
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“Of course I knew,” she said softly.
“Then I hate you too,” I said, my voice cold. I turned to leave, but her voice stopped me.
“I’m sorry, Amalia,” Mom said. “I’m sorry I wasn’t strong like you. I was scared to leave him. I didn’t know how to do it for good.”
“You think I wasn’t scared when I left Robert? I was terrified,” I said, my voice shaking a little. “But I did it because I knew I had to. And you know what? It was hard, but eventually, it felt… freeing.”
For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney
“I’m glad to hear that. I never liked Robert, you know. When you left him, I was so proud. You knew you deserved better. But it wasn’t the same for me. When I love something, I love it forever. And I loved your father.” I stared at her, confused.
“Even after he treated you that way?”
She nodded. “He wasn’t perfect. I never needed him to be. He had flaws, and some were really big ones. But he always came back.”
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I frowned, trying to understand.
She sighed, her eyes meeting mine. “Honestly, I’m glad to hear you hate me. Because all this time, I thought you didn’t care. And between hate and indifference, I’d rather have your hate.”
I didn’t expect those words to hit me the way they did, but they did. For some reason, I found myself smiling a little. I glanced at the clock. “We need to go. People will be waiting.”
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Mom gently placed her hand on my back. “You know, your father loved two things most in life: expensive liquor and making you laugh. Maybe you can mention that in your speech, but… skip the first part,” she said, a small smile tugging at her lips.
I couldn’t help but laugh, a real, honest laugh, and for a moment, the tension lifted. We left the small room together, side by side, and I felt something shift inside me.
I glanced at Mom and realized she wasn’t just my mom—she was a person, with her own fears, flaws, and regrets. I had always seen her as someone who should be stronger, someone who should have known better. But in that moment, I understood she was just trying her best, like I was.
For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney
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If you enjoyed this story, read this one: While helping her mother, Sarah, move into a new house, Natalie stumbles upon an old photograph hidden in a box. It shows a young Sarah holding a newborn baby with a distinctive birthmark on its cheek. But Natalie never had a birthmark. Confused and unsettled, she realizes there’s a secret her mother has been hiding.
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My Foster Dad Gave Me One Dollar on My 5th Birthday — Years Later It Radically Changed My Life When I Was at My Lowest
Clichés about small things having big impacts usually roll off your ears, right? But for me, a single birthday gift, a dollar bill no less, became the unlikely lifeline that transformed my life as a homeless kid. This is the story of how that crumpled dollar bill not only carried me through the toughest times but also steered me on a path to success I never dared to dream of.
A white couple with their black foster son | Source: Midjourney
I was two years old when Steve and Linda, my foster parents, took me in. They were a white couple with big hearts and already had eight Black foster kids like me. They treated us all like their own children.
I didn’t even know what my biological parents looked like, and honestly, I didn’t care much because Steve and Linda were everything I could ever hope for in my parents.
Being the youngest, I was always shy and thought everyone else was better than me. But Steve, my foster dad, had a way of making me feel special.
A white father laughing with his black foster son | Source: Midjourney
I remember how he’d kneel down, look me straight in the eyes, and say, “Dylan, you’re just as good as anyone else. You’ve got a spark in you, kid.”
My fifth birthday was a turning point in my life, though not in the way most birthdays are. That was the day my biological parents showed up out of nowhere. They wanted me back, and for reasons I couldn’t understand, the authorities decided I should go with them.
A grayscale photo of a white father comforting his sad black son | Source: Midjourney
I remember the day I had to leave like it was yesterday. I was crying my heart out as I hugged Steve one last time. “Dad, I’ll never be anything,” I sobbed. “I’m just a loser.”
Steve hugged me tighter and whispered, “Happy birthday, Dylan. Here’s something for you.” He handed me a one-dollar bill and added, “There’s a special message for you written on this bill. Never lose it.”
At the time, I couldn’t read or write, so I didn’t pay much attention to those words. I just shoved the bill into my pocket and held onto Steve, not wanting to let go.
A one-dollar bill lying on a table | Source: Midjourney
Leaving my foster family was the hardest thing I had ever done. My biological parents took me to Europe, where we lived together. But it didn’t take long for their true colors to show. They weren’t doing well financially or emotionally, and two years later, they abandoned me in a park.
I was seven years old then, alone, and scared. I remember sitting on a park bench, clutching the dollar bill Steve had given me. It was the only piece of my past that I had left.
A black boy sitting alone on a bench in a park | Source: Midjourney
That day, I made a promise to myself. “No more orphanages and no more foster families, Dylan. You’re going to make it on your own.”
And so, for the next nine years, I lived on the streets, begging for money and doing odd jobs just to get by. Life was tough, and many nights I went to bed hungry. I learned to be resourceful and always kept that dollar bill close to me. It was a reminder of better times and the love I once knew.
A homeless black boy on the streets | Source: Midjourney
One day, I met a homeless man named Jacob. He was older, with a kind face and a worn-out look. We struck up a friendship, and he took me under his wing.
“Hey, kid,” Jacob said one evening as we sat under a streetlight. “Got something for you.” He pulled out an old, tattered book he had found in the trash. “We’re gonna learn to read and write.”
Every evening, we’d sit together with that book. Jacob would patiently point at the words and say, “Dylan, you’ve got to learn this. It’s your way out of here.”
A black man on the street teaches a homeless black boy to read a book | Source: Midjourney
I soaked up everything he taught me, and slowly, I started to read and write. It felt like a small spark of hope in an otherwise bleak existence. I never told Jacob about the dollar bill or the message written on it.
It was my little secret, a connection to my past that I wasn’t ready to share. Life on the streets was tough, but Jacob and I managed to find small joys in the little things. We shared stories about our pasts, laughed about the absurdity of life, and dreamed about a better future.
A homeless black boy looks at the starry sky at night | Source: Midjourney
“Jacob, do you think we’ll ever get out of here?” I asked one night, staring up at the stars.
Jacob smiled softly, his eyes filled with a mix of hope and reality. “Maybe, Dylan. But no matter what, we have to keep believing we can. That’s what keeps us going.”
Over time, Jacob became the closest thing to family I had, and his friendship kept me going through the darkest times. His belief in me was unwavering, and it was that belief that fueled my determination to survive and succeed.
A homeless black boy lying underneath a bridge | Source: Midjourney
One day, while lying under a bridge, I accidentally pulled out that same dollar bill my foster dad Steve had given me years ago. It was crumpled and faded, but the memory of Steve’s comforting words came rushing back.
I remembered there was supposed to be a message for me on it. So, with trembling hands, I unfolded it. Here’s what it said: “You are my son and always will be, no matter what. I always believed in you and always will. This dollar is lucky. With it, you will succeed, but you have to believe in yourself!”
A closeup shot of a black teenager holding an old and crumpled one-dollar bill | Source: Midjourney
Those words hit me hard. They reignited a spark inside me that had long been smothered by years of hardship. I read the message over and over, letting Steve’s belief in me sink in. Little did I know that this very message would radically change my life.
From that day on, I was determined to turn my life around. I started working harder than ever, taking on any job I could find. Mornings were spent cleaning up at a local diner.
A teenage black boy is washing dishes in a restaurant | Source: Midjourney
In the afternoons, I helped an old man named Mr. Johnson with his garden, and in the evenings, I worked as a dishwasher at a small restaurant. I barely had time to rest, but I didn’t care. I was on a mission.
One day, while I was scrubbing dishes in the back of the restaurant, an elderly man walked in. He had a distinguished air about him, and everyone seemed to know and respect him. He watched me work for a while, then approached me. “You’re quite the hard worker, aren’t you?” he said, his eyes twinkling with curiosity.
An elderly man talks to a black guy in a restaurant | Source: Midjourney
I wiped my hands on my apron and nodded. “I have to be. I don’t have much of a choice.”
He smiled. “What’s your name, son?”
“Dylan, sir.”
“Well, Dylan, I’m Mr. Brown. I’ve been watching you for a few days now, and I’m impressed by your dedication. How would you like to work for me?”
I was stunned. “Work for you? Doing what?”
“I need a driver. Someone reliable and hardworking. You fit the bill. I’ll help you get the necessary documents, a passport, and anything else you need.”
A black man driving a car | Source: Midjourney
I couldn’t believe my ears. “Why me?”
Mr. Brown chuckled. “Because you remind me of myself when I was your age. Determined, hardworking, and willing to do whatever it takes. So, what do you say?”
I didn’t hesitate. “Yes, sir. I’d be honored.”
Working for Mr. Brown was the break I needed. He taught me everything he knew about business, and over the years, he became like a mentor to me. He showed me the ropes, and I soaked up every bit of knowledge he shared.
A black man flying in an airplane | Source: Midjourney
After a few years, he trusted me enough to appoint me as the manager of his company’s branch in the USA.
When I flew to the USA, the first thing I did was visit my foster parents’ house. They were older now, and when I knocked on the door, it took a moment for them to recognize me. But once I explained who I was, they hugged me in tears.
Steve, my foster dad, looked at me with pride in his eyes. “Dylan, is it really you?”
A black man hugging his white foster dad | Source: Midjourney
I nodded, tears streaming down my face. “It’s me, Dad. I made it.”
I pulled out that same dollar bill, which I had kept safe all these years, and handed it to him. “It really works! This dollar is lucky!”
Steve smiled, a tear rolling down his cheek. “When you didn’t know it was lucky, you were homeless. As soon as you knew it was lucky, you succeeded. Maybe it’s not the dollar but you?”
I laughed through my tears and hugged him tight. “Maybe you’re right, Dad.”
A black man smiling while holding a crumpled one-dollar bill | Source: Midjourney
He chuckled. “Besides, I pulled it out of my wallet just five minutes before I handed it to you all those years ago. I was deciding between a five-dollar bill and a one-dollar bill. I chose the one-dollar!”
We both laughed, holding each other close. It felt like coming home after a long, hard journey. I realized then that the true luck wasn’t in the dollar bill but in the love and belief Steve had always had in me.
A white elderly man is laughing with his black son at home | Source: Midjourney
Reuniting with my foster family felt like a full-circle moment. Despite all the hardships, I made it through, thanks to the love and support of my foster parents and the lessons learned from friends like Jacob.
Life had thrown many challenges my way, but with resilience, hard work, and a bit of luck, I had overcome them. And through it all, I learned that the most important thing was to believe in yourself, just as Steve had believed in me.
A happy black man standing in his office | Source: Midjourney
Want to explore more heartwarming stories? Click here to read another one: Imagine losing your everything, then defying the world to honor their memory. That’s where this story starts. My son, a dream tragically shattered, and a trip to Europe that took an unexpected turn: one that revealed the true depths of grief and love. Let me tell you about it.
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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