I went to check on my boyfriend, worried he was too sick to even text me back. But what I found shattered my trust and sent my world spinning. Days later, the last person I ever expected showed up at my door, and together, we started something that changed my life forever.
One crisp autumn day, I sat alone in my small, cozy apartment, the sunlight streaming weakly through the windows.
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The orange and red leaves outside seemed to mock my restlessness as I stared at my phone, waiting for my boyfriend, Jace, to finally show up.
He hadn’t visited in days, claiming he was just tired, but something about his excuses didn’t sit right with me.
I fiddled with the hem of my sweater, tapping my foot anxiously against the hardwood floor. Finally, I gave up and dialed his number. The phone rang a few times before he answered.
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“Hello?” Jace answered, his voice low and groggy, like he’d just woken up.
“Are you sleeping?” I asked, trying to hide the edge in my voice.
“Yeah,” he said, pausing for a second. “Sorry I didn’t text you. I just fell asleep. I’m not feeling great—might have a fever or something.”
“Oh…” I said softly, not sure what else to say.
He coughed hard into the phone, making me wince. “Look, I’ll text you later,” he muttered, his words rushed.
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“Feel bet—” I started, but the line went dead before I could finish.
Frustration bubbled up as I tapped my fingers on the table, my thoughts racing. If Jace was really sick, I couldn’t just sit there doing nothing. I’d take care of him, whether he liked it or not. That’s what girlfriends do, right?
Grabbing my coat, I headed out into the crisp autumn air, determined. The walk to the store was brisk, the kind that makes your cheeks tingle.
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Inside, I picked up fresh fruit, tea, and a box of throat lozenges, imagining how grateful Jace would be when I showed up.
Back at his building, I pressed the elevator button, adjusting the heavy bag on my arm. Usually, I took the stairs, but not today.
The elevator hummed softly as it descended, and I distracted myself by humming along to a tune stuck in my head.
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When the doors slid open, my heart stopped. There he was—Jace—with his arms around a woman I didn’t recognize.
Her face pressed against his chest, and they were so close it made my stomach churn. This wasn’t just a hug. It was something more.
“Looks like you’re feeling better,” I said, my voice louder than I intended, cutting through the quiet hallway.
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Jace’s head whipped toward me, his face draining of color. “Kate…” he stammered, his arms falling away from the woman. He stepped toward me, his hand reaching out like that would somehow fix things. “I can explain.”
His mouth opened, but I held up a hand to stop him. “Don’t. Just don’t. If you take one more step or say one more word, I swear I’ll make you regret it.” I hurled the bag of groceries at him, the fruit spilling across the floor.
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Without waiting for his reaction, I turned and walked away, my heart pounding with anger and disgust.
He didn’t call after me, didn’t try to stop me, and for that, I was glad. He wasn’t worth it. Not anymore.
A few days had dragged by since I’d caught Jace in the elevator with another woman. He hadn’t bothered to call, text, or even send a pathetic apology.
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Not even a simple “I’m sorry, I’m a jerk, and I don’t deserve you.” Was that too much to ask?
It gnawed at me, this unfinished business. I couldn’t move on, couldn’t let go, because it felt like he was still lurking in my life, like a shadow I couldn’t shake.
I decided I needed closure, even if it meant facing him. So, I texted him, my fingers trembling with anger. After a few minutes, he replied.
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@Jace:
Let’s meet tonight at 6 p.m., at our café.
Our café. The place where we had our first date. The nerve. Still, I agreed.
At 6 p.m., I sat in the corner booth, the one we always chose. The warm smell of coffee and pastries surrounded me, but it brought no comfort.
Every time the door opened, I glanced up, expecting to see him. But Jace didn’t show.
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By 7 p.m., I was tapping my foot under the table, staring at the cold tea I hadn’t touched. By 8 p.m., I was furious. Finally, my phone buzzed.
@Jace:
I can’t come. I can’t stand seeing you so sad like this.
I stared at the screen, stunned by his cowardice. What did that even mean? He couldn’t stand seeing me?
He was the one who had cheated, yet he was acting like the victim. My anger boiled over.
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When I finally got home, the fury still burned in my chest. I stomped up the stairs, muttering under my breath.
Then, as I turned the corner, I froze. Standing outside my apartment was her. The woman from the elevator. She looked nervous, like she’d been waiting for me.
“What the hell are you doing here?!” I shouted, my voice echoing in the hallway. I couldn’t believe she had the nerve to show up.
“I want to talk to you,” she said, her tone calm but uneasy. “I feel like I owe you… more than just a conversation.”
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I folded my arms tightly, glaring at her. “You’re a few hours late,” I snapped. “I don’t want anything to do with that jerk. You can have him.” Turning away, I fumbled with my keys, determined to shut this conversation down.
“That’s the thing—I don’t want him either,” she said, her voice firmer this time. It stopped me cold. “I finally realized what he’s really like, and I wanted to talk to someone who understands.”
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I hesitated, my hand still on the doorknob. This was absurd, completely insane. But a part of me was curious.
With a deep sigh, I turned back to her. “Fine. Come in,” I said, pushing the door open and stepping aside.
As she entered, I asked, “What’s your name, anyway?”
“Ashley,” she said softly, her eyes darting to the floor.
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“Kate,” I said, introducing myself reluctantly.
“I know,” she admitted, guilt written all over her face.
I walked to the kitchen, motioning for her to follow. “Come on,” I said. “I’d offer you tea, but I think this calls for something stronger.” I grabbed a bottle of wine from the counter and set it down.
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Ashley sat at the table, folding her hands nervously. “You didn’t know about me,” she began. “But I knew you existed. Jace told me he had a girlfriend, but he said you were awful to him. He claimed you ignored him, flirted with other men, made him feel worthless.”
“What the—?! That’s exactly what he did to me!” I burst out, anger flaring.
Ashley nodded slowly. “I see that now, after what happened when you caught us. But back then, I believed him. I thought he was going to leave you and be with me.”
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“Looks like the jerk fooled both of us,” I said bitterly, pouring the wine.
“That’s why I’m here. I don’t want him to get away with it,” she said, her voice steady.
“What are you suggesting?” I asked, narrowing my eyes.
Ashley smiled, a sly, mischievous grin. “Revenge,” she said simply. “You know how much of a homophobe Jace is?”
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Her words made me pause, curiosity sparking despite my anger. And that was how it all began.
Ashley and I wasted no time setting our plan into motion. We created several profiles for Jace on popular dating sites, carefully crafting his “interests” and uploading photos we had saved from his social media.
We sent flirty messages to men who seemed eager to connect, pretending to be Jace himself.
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“I’m looking for someone special,” we wrote, ending with a winking emoji. We even set up meetups at his apartment, choosing times when we knew he’d be home.
The thought of him opening his door to confused strangers made us laugh until our sides hurt.
On another site, we posted his phone number with the tagline: “Night owl? Call me between 2 and 4 a.m. for some fun.”
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Though we couldn’t track the exact number of calls, the texts we received from Jace told us everything we needed to know. “Who are these people?” “Why won’t my phone stop ringing?” His desperation fueled us to keep going.
The billboard idea was the final touch. We found ad space in the busiest parts of town and designed a bright, eye-catching poster featuring Jace’s smiling face with the caption: “Looking for a man to support and cherish.”
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Seeing the first billboard go up was priceless. We high-fived in the car, imagining his face when he spotted it.
Our phones buzzed nonstop with texts and calls from Jace. “You have to stop this,” he wrote. “Please, I’m begging you!”
Eventually, we responded.
@Me:
We can stop, but there’s one condition.
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@Jace:
I’ll do anything. Just stop.
I sent him the amount—enough for a two-week vacation to Spain. When the transfer hit my account, I sent him one last text.
@Me:
Oops, we forgot the passwords to the accounts, and the billboards are prepaid for two months 🙂
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After sending that final text to Jace, Ashley and I blocked his number. There was nothing more to say. The moment felt oddly triumphant, like closing the chapter of a bad book I’d been stuck reading for far too long.
We immediately turned our focus to planning the trip. A few days later, Ashley and I landed in Spain.
The sun was bright, the air warm, and the sound of waves crashing against the shore was the perfect soundtrack to our newfound freedom.
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We found a spot on the beach, stretched out on lounge chairs, and ordered cold sangria.
Ashley turned to me with a grin. “Best team effort ever,” she said, raising her glass of sangria. I smiled, knowing she was right.
I’d lost a terrible boyfriend but gained one hell of a friend. Revenge never tasted so sweet.
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If you enjoyed this story, read this one: When a grouchy old man slams the door on a persistent teen, he thinks he’s rid of her for good. But when a hurricane traps them together, the storm outside reveals the truth about her shocking connection to his past.
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Music Teacher Offers Free Lessons to ‘Poor’ Boy, Then Discovers His Father’s True Identity — Story of the Day
A former pianist turned school teacher, Lily begins teaching piano to Jay, a talented boy she believes comes from a poor family. Her efforts to nurture his gift take an unexpected turn when she learns the truth about his father’s identity—a revelation that threatens to unravel everything.
Lily sat by the piano, her fingers lightly pressing random keys, filling the room with soft, disconnected notes. She sighed, her mind spinning with worry.
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The orchestra had been her life, her dream since she was a child. Now, that dream was gone, and with it, her sense of security. The director had dismissed her without a second thought, choosing his daughter over her.
She had a small job teaching music to a few adults, but it barely covered her rent, let alone food and other expenses. Frustrated, she planted her hands firmly on the keys and began to play one of her favorite melodies, pouring her emotions into every note.
The tune started softly, but as thoughts of her situation flooded her mind, she played harder, her fingers striking the keys with increasing force.
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When the song ended, the room fell into a thick, profound silence, as if absorbing her pain. Her hands dropped limply to her lap, and she gently closed the piano lid, resting her forehead against it. The stillness was comforting, but it didn’t solve her problem.
Over the next few weeks, she scoured job listings, applying to anything remotely related to music. Finally, she found a position as a school music teacher. She didn’t mind teaching—she respected teachers deeply.
Yet, part of her longed to create her own music, to pour her soul into her art, not just guide others in theirs.
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But with no other options, she accepted the job. The school was eager to have her; they’d been searching for someone for months.
The first few days were tough. She wasn’t used to working with kids, and they seemed indifferent to her quiet, gentle way of teaching. She tried everything—she played soundtracks from popular movies, catchy pop songs—anything to spark their interest. But nothing seemed to stick.
Then, one afternoon after class, as she wandered down the hallway, a soft melody caught her attention. She followed the sound to her classroom, peeking inside. There, at the piano, was Jay, one of her students. He was playing the exact piece she’d practiced earlier in the day.
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“Do you play piano?” Lily asked, walking into the room.
Jay flinched, startled. “No… not really. I haven’t played much,” he mumbled, looking down at the keys.
“But you were just playing,” Lily replied, a warm smile spreading across her face. “And very well, especially for someone your age.”
Jay shrugged. “I just remembered how you played it.”
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Lily blinked, surprised. She knew that even many trained musicians couldn’t play by memory like that. “Would you like to learn?” she asked.
Jay’s eyes brightened, and a small smile appeared on his face. “Really? You’d teach me?”
Lily nodded. But she noticed his face fall as quickly as his excitement had come. “What’s wrong?”
“I… I can’t. I mean, thank you, but… we can’t afford it,” he said quietly.
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Lily looked at him thoughtfully. She recalled noticing that he rarely ate lunch with the other kids. He seemed to keep to himself. “You don’t have to worry about paying,” she said gently. “I’ll teach you for free.”
Jay’s face lit up with a huge grin, and without warning, he threw his arms around her. “Thank you!” he said.
Over the next few weeks, Lily and Jay met in the empty classroom after school, their shared enthusiasm filling the room. Lily watched in amazement as Jay played each new piece she showed him, his fingers moving across the keys with surprising ease.
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Every note, every chord, every melody seemed to come naturally to him. She taught him music notation, guiding him through each symbol and rhythm.
Yet each time, she marveled—did he even need these lessons? His talent was raw, instinctive, as if he was born to play.
As Jay worked through a new melody one day, Lily smiled and leaned forward. “Have you ever thought about performing?” she asked.
Jay looked up, surprised. “Performing? Like, in front of people?”
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“Yes!” Lily replied. “The school festival is coming up. You could play a piece there. You’re talented enough.”
Jay hesitated, glancing at the piano keys. “I don’t know… What if I mess up?”
“You won’t,” Lily said warmly. “You’re ready, and I’ll help you. We’ll pick a song together, something you feel good about. You could even choose the piece.”
Jay bit his lip, still unsure, but nodded slowly. “All right, I guess I could try.”
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Lily’s heart soared. She hadn’t felt this excited in a long time. Teaching him, watching his confidence grow—it filled her with a sense of purpose she hadn’t known she needed.
On the day of the performance, Lily moved through the crowded school hallways, searching everywhere for Jay. Her eyes scanned each room, her heart beating a little faster with worry each time she didn’t find him.
He was supposed to close the show, and time was running out. Other teachers stopped her, asking, “Have you seen Jay? Is he ready?”
She shook her head, feeling more anxious with each question. Suddenly, just as she turned toward the stage, Jay rushed in backstage, looking flustered and out of breath.
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“Quick, I need to go on now, before he sees me,” Jay whispered urgently, glancing toward the stage.
Lily placed a gentle hand on his shoulder, sensing his distress. “Hold on, Jay. Another act is on. Who are you hiding from? Why are you so scared?”
Jay’s face crumpled, his eyes filling with tears. “He won’t let me perform. And if he finds out, he’ll get you fired. I don’t want that to happen,” he said, his voice breaking.
Lily knelt down to his level, speaking calmly. “Jay, slow down. No one is going to fire me. Who doesn’t want you to perform?”
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Jay wiped his eyes and looked down. “My dad,” he murmured.
“Your dad?” Lily echoed, surprised. “Is he… does he hurt you?”
Jay shook his head quickly. “No, he just… he doesn’t want me to play the piano.”
“Why not?” Lily asked softly, puzzled. “I’m not charging you for lessons.”
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“It’s not about the money. It’s just that—” Jay started to explain but froze as a stern voice called out.
“Jay!” a man shouted sharply. Lily turned, shocked to see Ryan standing there.
Lily recognized him instantly. Ryan—her old classmate from high school. Memories of those days rushed back. Back then, they had been friends, maybe even close friends.
Both had dreamed of a future in music, hoping for the same scholarship to attend the top music university. They’d spent hours practicing together, studying, pushing each other to improve.
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Ryan’s family had never approved of his dreams. His parents thought music was pointless, unworthy of their son’s time. But Ryan had continued, driven by his love for it, keeping his ambitions a secret from them.
The day she won the grant was the day everything changed. Ryan had looked at her, hurt and angry, and said she had ruined his life. His words, “I hate you,” had haunted her ever since.
Now, standing before her, she saw that same resentment in his eyes, as if all those years hadn’t passed.
“Jay!” Ryan’s voice rang out sharply. “I told you not to play music. I forbade it!”
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Jay looked down, his voice barely a whisper. “Dad, I can explain…”
Lily, sensing Jay’s fear, turned to him. “You’re not from a poor family?” she asked gently, though she knew the truth. Ryan had inherited his father’s company and was far from struggling.
Ryan scoffed. “Poor family? He probably made that story up so I wouldn’t find out about these lessons. He even stopped eating at school, hoping I’d never suspect it.”
Lily took a steady breath. “But why are you stopping him from playing music?” she asked, looking Ryan in the eye.
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“Because it’s not something a real man does,” Ryan replied firmly.
Lily felt her heart sink. “Ryan, that’s not your belief—that’s your father’s. The Ryan I knew loved music, loved playing the piano.”
Jay’s eyes widened, surprised. “Dad, you used to play?”
Ryan’s gaze hardened. “The Ryan you knew is gone. I was young and foolish. Now I understand. Music isn’t profitable, and it isn’t masculine.” He reached for Jay’s hand, pulling him away from the stage without another word.
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Lily watched Ryan and Jay walk away, her heart pounding. She couldn’t let this end like that. Without hesitating, she hurried through the halls and out to the parking lot. She saw them approaching Ryan’s car, Jay looking down, defeated.
“Wait! Ryan, wait!” Lily called, her voice urgent. “You can’t do this!”
Ryan stopped but didn’t turn. “This is my son,” he said loudly. “I have every right to decide what’s best for him.”
Lily took a breath, stepping forward. “You don’t have the right to take this from him. Jay is talented, Ryan. You know it, and I know it. He deserves this chance.”
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Ryan turned to face her, his expression hard. “I was talented once, too. I had that chance, but you took it from me. Now, I see it was all nonsense.”
“That’s not true,” Lily said, her voice steady. “You don’t believe that, Ryan. And it wasn’t me who took it away. Your parents refused to support you. They never saw your dreams. I know that hurt, but don’t let it hurt Jay.”
Ryan’s eyes flickered, but he shook his head. “It’s my decision. Jay will not play music.”
Lily’s voice rose with emotion. “Stop this, Ryan! It isn’t fair! You’re denying him something he loves because of your own anger—anger at me, anger at your parents. Jay deserves a chance to be who he is. I could find him another teacher, but he needs this. You can’t crush this dream.”
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Jay’s voice was a whisper, but his words were clear. “Please, Dad. Just listen to me. Let me play.”
Ryan looked at Jay, something softening in his expression. After a long pause, he nodded slowly. “One time,” he said quietly. “You can play once.”
Lily let out a sigh of relief. She led Jay back into the school and guided him onto the stage. He took his place at the piano, his fingers finding the keys. As he played, the room grew silent, captivated by the beauty of his music. Lily glanced at Ryan, and for the first time, she saw tears in his eyes.
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“That was my favorite sonata,” he said to Lily, his voice low. “I never had the skill to play it.”
Lily smiled softly. “So, does that mean…” she started, but he nodded, giving his quiet approval. Lily’s heart swelled with pride as she looked at Jay, feeling that he might be her greatest accomplishment.
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