A woman who was kicked out by her rich father at sixteen for taking up with a poor man ends up living on the streets with her four children after her husband died.
Steve Walton was far from thrilled when his butler told him that Pastor Morris was waiting to see him. He was tired after a long flight from Singapore and in no mood for the man’s lectures or pleas for support for the community.
He had the pastor shown in and waved an impatient hand at his greeting. “Get on with it, man!” he snapped. “What is it that you want this time?”
“Mr. Walton, I saw Susan,” the pastor said quietly, and Steve’s heart nearly stopped. His only daughter had left his house nearly fifteen years before, never to be seen again…
“Susan?” Steve cried anxiously. “Where? When? How is she?”
“I was in Los Angeles, helping out a friend who has a mission among the homeless and that’s where I saw her,” the pastor said.
“She was a volunteer? Did you tell her I’ve been looking for her?” asked Steve.
“No,” Pastor Morris said gently. “She wasn’t a volunteer, Mr. Walton. She’s homeless. She and her children are living in a car.”
Steve found himself so dizzy he had to sit down. “Homeless? My Susan? Children?” he gasped.
“I’m afraid so,” the pastor said. “And she wouldn’t even listen to me when I told her to come home.”
“But why?” asked Steve angrily. “She’s not with that loser anymore, is she?”
“Her husband passed away three years ago, Mr. Walton,” the pastor explained. “And she told me she wouldn’t bring her children into a house where their father is despised.”
Steve Walton felt that old familiar wave of rage sweep through him. Fifteen years later, Susan was still defying him! He remembered the scene in his study, and Susan’s steady eyes looking into his as he ranted.
“Pregnant at sixteen, and by the GARDNER!” he’d screamed. “Well, we are going to have THAT taken care of, and HE’S fired! You will never see that man again!”
“THAT is my baby, daddy,” Susan had said in a tremulous voice. “And HE is the man I love. I’m going to marry him.”
“You marry that man and you’re on your own, Susan, do you hear?” Steve shouted furiously. “No more money, nothing! You marry him and you get out of my house!”
Susan had looked at him with tears in her eyes. “I love you, daddy,” she’d said. Then she turned around and walked away. Even though Steve had set detectives to find her, no one had been able to trace her.
“How many children?” he asked Pastor Morris.
“Four,” the pastor said. “Three girls and a boy. Beautiful children.”
Steve picked up his phone and spat out orders for his plane to be readied. “Pastor, would you come with me to Los Angeles, take me to my little girl?” he asked quietly.
The pastor nodded, and within two hours, the two men were on board Steve’s private jet winging their way south. There was a limo waiting for them, and the pastor directed them to a parking lot outside a large mall.
At the furthest end of the lot, a pickup truck was parked, with a tent set up at the back. Pastor Morris had told Steve that when Susan’s husband died in a work accident, the insurance company had refused to pay out and the bank foreclosed on the mortgage.
Susan had piled the children and their few belongings into the old pickup. She worked at the mall as a cleaner. She and the children used the mall’s facilities and bought whatever was leftover at the restaurants at the end of the night.
Still, she had managed to keep the four children fed, clean, and in school. As the two men approached the truck, they heard cheerful voices and laughter. Then two children tumbled out of the back.
The biggest girl, about fourteen, was laughing as she tickled a boy of about seven. The children stopped and gaped at Steve and Pastor Morris. “Mom!” the girl yelled. “That old preacher friend of yours is here!”
A well-remembered voice asked from inside the tent, “Preacher Morris?” Then Susan climbed out and Steve could see the shock in her face when she saw him standing next to the pastor.
“Daddy?” she asked, and her eyes filled with tears.
Steve was shocked. His daughter was barely thirty-one, but she looked much older. Her face was worn and lined with worry and suffering, her hands coarsened by hard work.
“Susan,” Steve cried. “Look at you! Look at what HE did to my princess! I wanted so much for you! And you married that loser! What could he give you? Poverty?”
Susan shook her head and said, “He loved me, daddy, and he gave me 4 beautiful children. He died, and I had nowhere to go, but I’ve done what I can for my children. I will always love the father of my children, daddy, just like I’ve always loved you.”
Steve found that he had tears running down his face. “Forgive me, Susan,” he sobbed. “Please forgive me. Come home, I want you all to come home with me. Let me help you take care of the children!”
Steve found himself holding his weeping daughter and knew that everything was going to be alright. Susan introduced him to his three granddaughters, then she placed her hand on the boy’s shoulder. “And this,” she smiled, “is little Stevie!”
“You named him after me?” Steve asked, astounded. “After what I did?”
“I love you, daddy,” she said softly. “Don’t you know that?”
That afternoon, they all flew home to Texas. It was the beginning of a better life for all of them.
What can we learn from this story?
Love and accept your children unconditionally. Steve was furious with Susan for loving a poor man and made the biggest mistake of his life by losing his daughter.
Don’t judge people for their wealth or influence. Steve hated his son-in-law because he was poor, but he was a loving husband to Susan and a dedicated dad.
Share this story with your friends. It might brighten their day and inspire them.
My Mom Put My Car Into Her Storage Unit to Punish Me – When I Saw What Else She Was Hiding There, I Went Pale
I craved adventure and freedom, but it came at the cost of my mother’s tears. One day, she put my car in her storage unit to punish me for coming home late. I did what any 17-year-old boy would do. I stole the keys to the unit to retrieve my car, but what I found hidden there shattered my heart like glass.
Do you love your mother? What a silly question to ask! I often dreaded coming home, you know. Mom’s questions fired at me the moment I walked in. “Where were you, Eddie? Why are you late? Bla bla bla!” I couldn’t understand why she was suffocating me with her constant concern. If only I’d known then what I know now, I would’ve given anything to hear her scold me again.
Portrait of a sad teenage boy | Source: Midjourney
It was the autumn of 2021. I was 17, craving adventure and independence. Every day, it was the same routine. I’d barely get my key in the lock before my mom Charlotte’s voice would ring out from inside.
“Eddie? Is that you?”
I’d brace myself, knowing what was coming next. The moment I stepped through that door, she’d be there, arms crossed, eyes narrowed, brimming with tears.
God, not again! I’d roll my eyes.
A teary-eyed woman | Source: Midjourney
“I was worried sick, and you don’t even care. How could you be so irresponsible?”
The questions came rapid-fire, each one making me feel smaller, more suffocated. I’d try to answer, but my words always seemed to fall short.
“I was just out with friends, Mom. We lost track of time.”
“Lost track of time? Eddie, you know better than that. This is unacceptable. You need to start taking me seriously.”
An annoyed teenage boy frowning | Source: Midjourney
“I’m 17, Mom. You don’t need to worry about me every second.”
But she did worry. Every. Single. Second. A lot lately. Weird. And it was driving me crazy.
I didn’t understand then. How could I?
I was too caught up in my own world, too eager for freedom to see what was really happening. But looking back now, I wish I’d paid more attention. I wish I’d seen the fear behind her questions, the love behind her worry.
Because soon enough, I’d understand why she held on so tight. And when I did, it broke my heart.
A worried woman | Source: Midjourney
The day everything changed started like any other. I came home late, way past curfew. Mom was waiting in the living room, the dim light casting shadows across her face.
“Eddie, we need to talk about this.”
I sighed, dropping my backpack by the door. “Mom, please. Not tonight. I’m tired.”
“You’re tired? I’ve been up for hours, wondering where you were and if you were safe. I haven’t eaten a thing because I was so worried about you.”
“I’m fine, okay?” I snapped. “Why do you always have to make such a big deal out of everything?”
A frustrated teenage boy frowning | Source: Midjourney
She flinched, and for a moment, I saw something in her eyes. Hurt, maybe, or disappointment. But it was gone in an instant, replaced by anger.
“You’re grounded,” she sternly said. “And I’m taking your car keys.”
“What? Mom, you can’t do that!” I protested, but she had already turned away.
“We’ll talk about this in the morning.”
I stomped up to my room, slamming the door behind me. I didn’t know it then, but that would be the last time I’d slam a door in her face.
A boy gaping in shock | Source: Midjourney
The next morning, my car was gone. Just gone. I ran back inside, panic rising in my throat.
“Mom! My car’s missing!”
She looked up from her coffee, her face calm. “I moved it, Eddie. You’ll get it back when you start showing some responsibility.”
I couldn’t believe it. “You can’t just take my car! Grandma gave it to me! You have no right—”
“I’m your mother. I’m doing what’s best for you.”
I stormed back to my room, furious and determined to get my car back. That’s when I hatched my plan. I knew she had a storage unit. It had to be there.
A boy storming upstairs | Source: Midjourney
I waited until she left for a doctor’s appointment, then snuck into her room to find the keys. It felt wrong, but my anger overshadowed my guilt.
I had to get my freedom back. My car was my pride and love. It was my everything.
When I reached the storage unit, I felt a surge of triumph. I’d show her. I’d get my car and prove I could be responsible.
But when I opened that door, I FROZE.
A startled teenage boy | Source: Midjourney
Boxes. Dozens of them. Gift-wrapped. All neatly labeled with my name and future dates?
My stomach dropped as I read the labels: “18th birthday,” “Graduation,” “First job,” “Wedding,” and “Baby Shower?”
With shaking hands, I opened the box marked for my 18th birthday. Inside was a brown leather jacket, the exact one I’d been eyeing for months. How did she know?
I reached for another box, this one labeled “Graduation.” It was full of letters, all addressed to me, all in her handwriting.
A pile of gift-wrapped boxes | Source: Midjourney
The truth hit me hard as I sat there on the cold concrete floor, surrounded by pieces of a future Mom had carefully planned for me.
The doctor’s appointments. The exhaustion. The way she’d been holding on so tight.
Mom was sick. Really sick.
My eyes welled up as I pieced it all together. She wasn’t punishing me. She was PREPARING. Preparing for a time when she wouldn’t be here to see these milestones.
A teary-eyed teenage boy | Source: Midjourney
I don’t know how long I sat there, crying among the boxes of my future. All I know is that when I finally left that storage unit, I wasn’t the same person who had entered it.
I hurried home in a daze, my anger replaced by a crushing guilt. How could I have been so blind? So selfish?
I slipped quietly into the house, returning her keys as if I’d never touched them.
The anger that had consumed me for weeks was gone, replaced by guilt. I’d been so wrapped up in my own problems that I’d completely missed what was happening right in front of me.
A key hung on a holder | Source: Midjourney
Later that night, Mom was in the kitchen, stirring something on the stove. She looked up, surprise flickering across her face.
“Eddie? I thought you’d be out with friends.”
I crossed the room in three strides and wrapped my arms around her, hugging her tighter than I had in years.
“Eddie? What’s wrong?”
I pulled back, looking into her eyes. “Nothing’s wrong, Mom. I just… I love you. You know that, right? After Dad left us, you were my rock.”
A teary-eyed woman in the kitchen | Source: Midjourney
She cupped my face in her hands, her eyes searching mine. “Awwww, of course, I know that, sweetie. I love you too. And I’ll always be your rock, okay?”
I helped her finish dinner that night, and we ate together at the table for the first time in months. We talked about everything and nothing, and I soaked up every word, every laugh, and every moment.
As I was clearing the dishes, I turned to her. “Hey, Mom? I’m sorry. For everything.”
She smiled a sad, beautiful smile, one that I’ll never forget. “Oh, Eddie. You have nothing to be sorry for.”
But I did. And I was determined to make it right. Without letting her know that I knew her secret.
A teary-eyed boy smiling | Source: Midjourney
The next few months were different.
I stopped going out late and stopped fighting her on every little thing. Instead, we spent our evenings watching old movies, looking through photo albums, cooking, and just being together.
One night, as we sat on the porch swing, watching the sunset, she turned to me.
“Eddie, there’s something I need to tell you.”
I knew what was coming, but it still felt like a punch to the gut when she said the words.
“I’m sick, honey. And it’s not getting better.”
A sad woman sitting on a swing | Source: Midjourney
I took her hand, squeezing it gently. I didn’t want to know what it was that was going to steal her away from me.
“I know, Mom. How long have you known?”
She sighed, looking out at the fading light. “A while now. I wanted to tell you, but I didn’t know how. I didn’t want to burden you.”
“Mom, You could never be a burden. Never.”
We sat there in silence, watching the stars come out one by one. And for the first time in a long time, I felt at peace.
The last few months with Mom were the best we’d ever had. We didn’t waste time on arguments or petty disagreements. Every moment was precious, and we both knew it.
Silhouette of a boy with his mother on the beach | Source: Midjourney
She told me stories from her childhood, taught me how to cook her famous lasagna, and showed me old home videos I’d never seen before.
And through it all, she never complained, never showed fear. She was so strong, right until the end. And then, the day I dreaded came.
Mom slipped away in her sleep, a small smile on her face. And though I thought I was prepared, the loss hit me harder than I could have imagined.
A cemetery | Source: Midjourney
Months passed.
On my 18th birthday, I opened the box she’d left for me for this day. I put on the brown leather jacket, feeling closer to her somehow. And I read the first of many letters she’d written, her words bringing both tears and comfort.
“My dearest Eddie,” it began. “If you’re reading this, it means I’m not there to celebrate this day with you. But know that I’m with you, always. I’m so proud of the man you’ve become.”
I read those words repeatedly, hearing her voice in every sentence.
A boy wearing a brown leather jacket | Source: Midjourney
It’s been two years now, but I still have those boxes.
Some days, I think about opening another one, but then I stop myself. It’s like I’m saving Mom for later, piece by piece because even though she’s gone, she’s still somehow with me.
I’ve learned that love doesn’t end with death. It lives on in memories, in the lessons we’ve learned, and in the person we’ve become because of that love.
Mom taught me that. She taught me so much, right up until the end. And maybe, when the time is right, I’ll open the next box, and she’ll teach me something new all over again.
A pile of gift boxes on a bed | Source: Midjourney
But for now, I’m holding onto the memories we made in those last precious months. The laughter, the quiet moments, and the love that filled every second. Because in the end, that’s what matters most.
Love. Family. The time we had together.
And I’ll cherish every moment, just like she taught me to.
A thoughtful boy smiling | Source: Midjourney
To those who’ve just finished reading my story, I have one request: go and hug your mother. Right now. There’s no force more powerful, more pure than a mother’s love. Cherish it while you can. Never take her for granted, and please, never hurt her with harsh words or thoughtless actions.
You see, God doesn’t walk down from the heavens. He’s already sent us angels in the form of our mothers. Hold onto yours tight, and never let go. Because one day, like me, you might find yourself wishing for just one more hug, one more scolding… and one more chance to say “I love you.”
Love you, Mom. Forever & Ever.
A woman’s tomb | Source: Midjourney
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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