Mary discovers that her grandson Timmy hasn’t received the $300 she sends each month through her daughter-in-law, Susan. Feeling suspicious, Mary decides to investigate the situation.
Mary had been sending money to Timmy to help him learn about financial responsibility, believing Susan would pass it on to him. However, when Timmy called asking for money for a toy, Mary became concerned. Timmy mentioned he hadn’t received any pocket money from Susan, despite asking multiple times. This revelation left Mary feeling that something was wrong.
Determined to get to the bottom of the issue, Mary devised a plan. She invited Susan for a friendly outing, suggesting they go to an antique store owned by an old friend, Helen. Unbeknownst to Susan, Mary had informed Helen about her suspicions, and they agreed to work together.
While browsing, Susan expressed interest in a beautiful necklace that was too expensive for her budget. Seizing the opportunity, Mary mentioned wanting to send Timmy more money to buy a toy. Susan’s excitement was evident as she eagerly agreed, revealing her intentions to use the money for herself.
That evening, Mary prepared an envelope with fake money, using realistic-looking bills from a board game. She sent it to Timmy with a note, knowing Susan would likely try to use it. Helen called Mary when Susan arrived at the store and attempted to buy the necklace with the counterfeit bills.
When Helen confronted Susan about the fake money, panic ensued. Mary stepped in, revealing the truth about the money and expressing her disappointment in Susan. As Susan begged for mercy, Mary stood firm, insisting that her daughter-in-law had crossed a line.
After a tense moment, Helen decided not to call the police but warned Susan of the seriousness of her actions. Mary then declared she would manage Timmy’s money directly from now on, requiring Susan to earn back her trust. In the end, Mary succeeded in teaching Susan a lesson about honesty and responsibility.
I Allowed a Homeless Woman to Stay in My Garage—One Day I Walked in Unannounced and Was Shocked by What I Saw
I tapped the steering wheel, trying to shake the weight on my chest, when I spotted a disheveled woman digging through a trash can. I slowed down, drawn in by her grim determination.
She looked fragile yet fierce, fighting for survival. Without thinking, I pulled over, rolled down my window, and asked, “Do you need help?”
Her response was sharp but tired: “You offering?”
“I just saw you there,” I admitted, stepping out. “It didn’t seem right.”
“What’s not right is life,” she scoffed, crossing her arms. “You don’t strike me as someone who knows much about that.”
“Maybe not,” I replied, then asked if she had a place to stay.
“No,” she said, and I felt compelled to offer my garage as a temporary home. To my surprise, she accepted, albeit reluctantly.
Over the next few days, we shared meals and conversations. Lexi’s sharp wit broke through my loneliness, but I could sense her hidden pain.
One afternoon, I barged into the garage and froze. There, sprawled across the floor, were grotesque paintings of me—chains, blood, a casket. Nausea hit me.
That night, I confronted her. “What are those paintings?”
Her face went pale. “I didn’t mean for you to see them. I was just… angry.”
“So you painted me as a monster?” I demanded.
She nodded, shame in her eyes. “I’m sorry.”
I struggled to forgive her. “I think it’s time for you to go.”
The next morning, I helped her pack and drove her to a shelter, giving her some money. Weeks passed, and I felt the loss of our connection.
Then, a package arrived—another painting. This one was serene, capturing a peace I hadn’t known. Inside was a note with Lexi’s name and number.
My heart raced as I called her. “I got your painting… it’s beautiful.”
“Thank you. I didn’t know if you’d like it,” she replied.
“You didn’t owe me anything,” I said, reflecting on my own unfairness.
“I’m sorry for what I painted,” she admitted. “You were just… there.”
“I forgave you the moment I saw that painting. Maybe we could start over.”
“I’d like that,” she said, a smile evident in her voice.
We made plans to meet again, and I felt a flicker of hope for what could be.
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