
Sue was left in a cardboard box as a small child. Luckily, a store clerk took her home and changed the course of her entire life. Now, in the form of an unexpected knock at the door, Sue has to face her past and the disappointment that comes with it. Is this a grand reunion or the biggest disappointment of Sue’s life?
I was left in a cardboard box in a supermarket twenty years ago. I was just a few months old, and all I had to my name were a few photos of my mother and a note.
The note read: I will always love you, Sue.
Nobody knew my surname or whether I had a middle name. Nobody seemed to know my mother or what had happened to my father. I was all alone in a world that didn’t know anything about me.
But even then, at a few months old, I seemed to be fortune’s fool. I was found by a kind store clerk, Ruby, who took me in.
“I couldn’t leave you there, Sue,” she would say whenever the story came up. “I became your guardian shortly after and raised you as my own. You became my little bug.”
Ruby was everything to me. And as I grew, the closer we became.

I was forever grateful that she gave me everything I needed. But still, I never stopped wondering why my mother left me and if she would ever come back.
“I know that it bothers you, darling,” Ruby told me one day as she made lasagna for dinner. “But she’s an enigma now. We have nothing that could lead us to her.”
“I know,” I said, grating more cheese for when the dish was ready. “It’s just frustrating when I start thinking about it.”
“You love the internet, you love social media, Sue. Use it, share your story, maybe it will resonate with people, and you can connect with others just like you.”
She opened the oven and put the tray of lasagna inside.
So I did just that, and I became a well-known video blogger, sharing my story with the world.
“You’ve created a safe platform for people to share their stories, too,” Ruby told me when I read comments from my latest video to her.
“It means something to me,” I said, helping myself to the eclairs on the table.
Fast forward to the present. I am successful and able to provide for myself and my guardian.
“So much for being an abandoned baby,” I said to myself as I washed my face one night.
But imagine my surprise when an unexpected knock on my door changed everything.
I opened the door to find a frail, older woman standing there, her eyes filled with regret and desperation.
“Sue, darling,” she said. “I am your mother, and I need your help!”
I just looked at her, unable to blink for fear of missing the moment.
“Do you still have the note I left with you when I left you safely in the store?”
Safely? I thought to myself. I stood there, paralyzed by the flood of emotions that had come in when she entered my home.
“Yes, I have it,” I said, my voice barely above a whisper. “I kept it.”
“I know I have no right to ask for your help after what I did, but I need you to believe me when I say I had no choice back then. I was running from a dangerous situation. And I thought leaving you in a safe place was the only way to protect you. I needed to disappear.”
My Granddaughter Kicked Me Out Because I Got Married at 80

When my granddaughter Ashley threw me out after I got married at 80, I decided I couldn’t condone the disrespect. With my new husband, Harold, we devised a daring plan to teach her a lesson she’d never forget, leading to a confrontation that would change our family forever.
I never thought I’d be telling this story, but here we are. My name is Margaret. I lived with Ashley, who I raised after her parents died. But when I told her I was marrying Harold, she said, “You’re too old for a wedding dress,” and kicked me out. After everything I had done for her, I felt so betrayed.
Harold welcomed me into his home, and we got married in a small ceremony. We decided to teach Ashley about respect. Knowing she loved photography, Harold anonymously sent her a ticket to a local photography gathering where he would present his award-winning photos.
At the event, Harold showcased our wedding photos, saying, “I found love at 79, proving age is just a number.” I addressed the audience, “When Ashley’s parents died, I sold my house to pay for her education. I raised her as my own. But recently, she forgot that love and respect.”
Ashley approached us, tears streaming, “I’m so sorry. Can you ever forgive me?” We hugged, and she invited us to a family dinner, promising never to take me for granted again. As we left that night, I felt a renewed sense of belonging and hope for a new beginning.
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