Family secrets often hide beneath the surface, shaping relationships in unexpected ways. Unraveling these mysteries can lead to profound revelations and emotional journeys. In this collection, we explore three compelling stories where hidden truths come to light, forever altering the lives of those involved.
From a newfound friend that changes River’s routine at school to a pair of blue shoes Paige notices in the background of her husband’s photo, and a secret box Emma discovered in her father’s drawer, these tales highlight the enduring power of love, the sting of betrayal, and the unbreakable ties that bind families together.
My 4-Year-Old Daughter Started Drawing Dark Pictures after Accidentally Discovering Her Dad’s Secret
When her daughter exhibits unusual behavior, Jennifer questions everything. Eventually, Emma tells her the truth — that she found a box of her father’s secrets.
My daughter, Emma, has always been the rainbow child, wearing the brightest colors and drawing unicorns and butterflies.
But recently, there has been a change in her behavior. She’s been withdrawn, hasn’t been eating properly, and always wants to sit outside.
At first, I didn’t think much about it because Emma constantly goes through phases. But then, her teacher, Mrs Silverton, called me in for a parent-teacher meeting. She was just in kindergarten, but the school prided itself on checking in with parents.
“I didn’t want to alarm you, Jennifer, but there’s something concerning going on with Emma.”
She pulled out a yellow file and showed me a series of drawings by Emma — all dark and shadowy, menacing even.
I drove home from the school in silence. I knew that something was different with Emma, but I didn’t think it was that bad.
Later, while I made noodles for our dinner, I decided to talk to Emma about it.
“Sweetheart,” I said. “I went in to see Mrs Silverton today.”
“Really? Why?” she asked curiously.
“She spoke about the new drawings you’ve been doing and how different they are from the usual ones.”
She looked at her bowl of noodles, twirling her fork through it — her response was silence.
Finally, she spilled the beans.
“I found Daddy’s secret,” she said quietly.
“What secret, honey?” I asked her.
“Come, I’ll show you, Momma,” she said, jumping up from the table.
William, my husband, lives with Emma and me only part-time because of his job. Sometimes, he must work away from home, and traveling always gets to him. So, he decided to rent an apartment for when he worked away.
When Emma led me to William’s home office, I wondered what my daughter had discovered.
I watched as she went to William’s desk and opened the top drawer, taking out an old box.
“I saw this when I came looking for crayons,” she said.
Emma gave me the box before bolting to her room.
The moment I glimpsed inside, my entire world crumbled.
Inside were photos — images of William hugging another woman and a set of three beautiful children, aged between two and seven years old.
My emotions somersaulted from shock to betrayal to raw heartbreak.
Beneath the photos was a little notebook with numbers scribbled in them. It seemed like a replica of my notebook in my handbag with all the emergency numbers ready.
I knew that I needed to confront William but I didn’t know how to deal with the entirety of the situation. I just knew that Emma needed some stability. It was affecting her already.
I returned everything to the box and stored it on the desk.
As I left the room, I found Emma standing in the hallway, her eyes wide with worry and confusion.
“Let’s get you to bed,” I said. “I promise you, everything is going to be just fine.”
I dropped Emma off at school and then went back home. I took another look at the small book and called Mia, the woman in the photographs. I pretended to be their son’s teacher.
As betrayed as I felt, everything was seamless, thanks to William’s little notebook.
“Hang on,” Mia told me. “Speak to husband, William.”
I heard William’s voice on the phone, confirming my worst fears. I hung up immediately.
As the hours dragged on and the time to pick Emma up edged closer, I needed to do something. I needed some answers before I looked at Emma’s precious little face.
I picked up the phone again, called Mia, and told her everything.
She was just as shocked as I was and revealed that she didn’t know about Emma and me.
Next, I called my lawyer — I needed to end my marriage to William. Emma deserved better. Mia deserved better, and so did her children. I deserved better, too.
A few weeks passed, and Mia came over — we sat and spoke for hours and uncovered the truth — William had just used the both of us, keeping our families in different towns to keep us from finding out about each other.
My lawyer took over for Mia and me, ensuring we would get justice. We also wanted the four kids to get to know each other as siblings — because the children were siblings regardless of what was happening.
Ultimately, we united against a man who manipulated our lives, unveiling a story more convoluted than any soap opera plot.
Our lawyer ensured that we got alimony from William — although we could never figure out how William had managed to marry both of us — and kept the lie going for so many years.
I’ve also gotten Emma into therapy to ensure that my daughter was healing from this traumatic experience. But if I’m being honest, I think the best therapy was Emma getting to know her half-siblings.
My Daughter Kept Taking an Extremely Heavy Backpack to School – I Realized Why When I Finally Met Her Bus Driver
Life as a single mom in the suburbs is a tightrope walk between joy, coffee, and juggling acts. I’m Juliet, a financial advisor, striving to build a career robust enough to secure a bright future for my nine-year-old daughter, River.
Since my husband deserted us and fled to a new state when River was only a toddler, the brunt of parenting fell solely on my shoulders. “At least this way,” my mother said, feeding River, “you don’t have to worry about your daughter learning Richard’s lying and cheating ways. She’s all yours, and you can mold her in the way you want.”
A few weeks ago, we were sitting down to dinner together, and River began telling me all about the latest news at school. She went into a whole explanation of after-school clubs and felt that she should join.
“Okay,” I said, pleased by her growing interest in school activities. “What are you thinking about? Drama? Art?”
River sat and thought about it for a minute, picking at her broccoli.
“I think Art club,” she said.
“We’ll go out and buy art supplies tomorrow,” I promised.
“I’m so excited about this!” River gushed.
I couldn’t mask my relief that River would have something constructive to occupy her time while I was still at work.
One morning, River, brimming with newfound responsibility, declared that she wanted to pack her own lunches to foster her independence. I was standing at the counter sorting out River’s breakfast of cereal and juice while starting her lunch for the day.
“Mom, I think I should start packing my own lunches,” she stated firmly, watching me add her things to her sandwich.
“That’s a great idea, River. I’m so proud of you for taking this step,” I said, encouraging her self-reliance. “But you’ll have to ask me for help when it comes to knife things.”
Our routine continued like clockwork. We had breakfast together, and I walked River to the front of our yard, where the yellow school bus picked her up.
But a few days ago, something changed.
As we got to the bench my father had installed in our yard, I asked River to put her backpack down so I could help her into her jacket.
Moments later, as I pulled the jacket closed, a slight wince escaped her when I tapped her back.
“What’s wrong?” I asked immediately.
River shrugged her shoulders and dismissed it as the weight of her schoolbooks causing discomfort, but the mother in me stirred with worry.
“Are you sure you’re okay? That seemed like it hurt,” I probed, concern lacing my tone.
“It’s just the books, Mom,” my nine-year-old said. “They’ve been really heavy this week,” she brushed off, avoiding my gaze.
“Do you want me to take you to school, then?” I asked her as I checked my watch for the time.
“No, thank you,” River said, as the bus honked around the corner.
Driven by concern and curiosity, I got to my office and called the school.
“No, Juliet,” the secretary said. “We don’t allow the kids to take textbooks home because of how heavy they are. So, they use them at school only.”
Then what was River taking to school?
I decided to leave work early. I wanted to pick River up and talk with her about whatever was going on.
River was a responsible child, and I knew that she wouldn’t be doing anything wrong. But if she was hurting herself in some way, I needed to understand why and what was going on with her.
I parked next to a school bus and waited to see River run out. I followed her to the school bus that did our route and caught a snippet of conversation between River and the bus driver.
“Did she like everything?” River asked the driver.
“She loved it!” the driver said. “Are you sure that it’s okay that you’re bringing things for my Rebecca?”
“Yes,” River said. “As long as Rebecca is happy.”
Who is Rebecca? I wondered to myself.
“River!” I called as other students started to get on the bus.
“Mom!” she exclaimed when she saw me. “What are you doing here?”
“I left work early,” I told her, ready to take the immovable boulder that had been her backpack on her shoulders, which was now suddenly light as air.
“Honey, where are all your things?” I asked.
River hesitated as we walked to the car.
“I’ll tell you at home,” she said.
Taking her hands in mine, I knelt to her level.
“Tell me what’s going on. You can tell me anything, River. And you can trust me,” I encouraged her, trying to soothe her distress.
Through tears, River told me everything.
The new bus driver with whom she had made fast friends had a daughter who was battling leukemia.
“I saw her photo next to the steering wheel, Mom,” River said. “Mr. Williams makes me sit on the seat behind him because I’m so small. So when I saw the photo, I asked him who the girl was.”
I sat back and let River continue. She needed to let the story out—and feel seen and heard.
“Mr. Williams said that Rebecca is only two years younger than me, and that she hasn’t been in school at all. Because she’s stuck in the hospital.”
I nodded.
“So, when we got the art supplies for school, I took two of everything so that I could make a pack for Rebecca, too. And even the clothes, because she said that the hospital is so cold.”
“You’ve spoken to Rebecca?” I asked.
“Yes,” River said, tears streaming down her face again. “Mr. Williams has been taking me. I don’t go to any after-school clubs.”
River sucked in her breath and held it until I spoke.
“Oh, baby,” I said. “You should have told me.”
I was torn between admiration and fear for her safety. We agreed to meet Mr. Williams at the hospital later in the evening. And upon meeting him, his sincerity and gratitude washed away my fears.
“Thank you for allowing and supporting River in this,” Mr. Williams thanked me, assuming that I had been aware of River’s actions.
“Your daughter is wonderful, Juliet,” he said.
“Thank you,” I said. “I would love to do more.”
Mr. Williams smiled at me and led us down a hallway to Rebecca’s room. The rest of the day was spent in laughter and shared stories as River and Rebecca played in the hospital room, their joy echoing off the walls.
Watching them, I realized that my daughter had taught me a valuable lesson in compassion, one that I would cherish and nurture as she continued to grow.
I Overheard My Husband Asking Our 4-Year-Old Son Not to Tell Me What He Saw – Days Later, I Uncovered the Shocking Truth Myself
Paige loves her career, even if it means being away from home a lot. However, when she returns from a business trip, she overhears a cryptic conversation between her husband and her four-year-old son. Little does she know — the thread of her marriage is about to unravel.
When I think about the foundations of my life, there were three that always stood out: my husband, Victor, my son, Mason, and my career. Despite the storms that Victor and I weathered together, including four heart-wrenching miscarriages, we emerged stronger than before the storm.
But then, a pregnancy test came back positive. And three months later, our baby was still thriving in my womb.
So, when Mason came into our lives, it felt like our shattered dreams had finally pieced themselves back together. Mason became the one thing that we focused on unconditionally. Whenever our son needed us, we dropped everything.
“I don’t want a babysitter or a nanny taking care of our son,” Victor said one day when he was cooking us dinner.
“If you can handle the days, then the evening shifts are all mine,” I compromised.
But little did I know, it was during my absence that the fabric of our family began to unravel.
The day that changed everything was like any other. I took a cab from the airport and eagerly awaited to see my husband and son.
When I walked in, the house was oddly quiet, with shuffling upstairs.
Victor’s voice was hushed but urgent — the same urgency that Mason associated with bad behavior and bedtime.
“Buddy, you’ve got to promise me one thing, okay?” Victor said.
“Okay,” Mason muttered innocently. “What is it?”
“You’ve got to promise me that you won’t tell Mom what you saw.”
“But I don’t like secrets,” Mason said. “Why can’t I tell Mommy?”
“It’s not a secret, Mason,” he said. “But if we tell Mommy, it’s going to make her sad. Do you want Mommy to be sad, buddy?”
“No, I don’t,” he said.
I walked into Mason’s room and found Victor sitting on his bed, while our son sat on the floor surrounded by his toys.
“What’s going on?” I asked, Mason leaping into my arms.
“Nothing, honey,” Victor said, winking. “Just a boys’ chat. Welcome home.”
The week-long business trip that followed was torture. I loved my job, and I loved working on the new campaign we were running. But I hated being away from Mason for so long. Victor’s daily photos of Mason were my only solace until one of the photos brought about more questions than answers.
Victor had sent a series of photos to me — in each of them, my son was playing with a new toy. But in one of the photos, there was a pair of blue shoes in the background. They were not mine. And yet, there they were, in my living room.
I knew that the moment I entered my home, everything was going to change. Either, my husband would confess that there was someone else in his life — or that there was a nanny looking after our son.
A nanny with expensive shoes, I thought.
walked into my son’s room first. He was just waking up, rubbing the sleep from his eyes.
“Hi, baby,” I said, kissing his head. “Dad’s not downstairs?”
Mason looked at me for a moment too long.
“Mommy, don’t go in there. You’ll be sad,” he warned, his words echoing the secret pact I had overheard.
Fueled by a mix of dread and anger, I approached my bedroom. The muffled sounds from inside were enough confirmation. I braced myself and opened the door.
Victor swore.
The woman untangled herself from my husband and my bedding.
“Paige!” he exclaimed, sitting up in bed. “It’s not what you think!”
I laughed.
“Do I look that stupid?” I asked him before I felt the tears well in my eyes.
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The woman picked up her clothes and locked herself in our bathroom.
I felt sick to my stomach.
How many women had there been?
How much had Mason seen?
In the aftermath, as I recounted the ordeal to my family, their embrace was a sliver of comfort. My parents encouraged me to get Victor to move out.
“Let him leave,” my father said. “You and Mason need to stay comfortable.”
In the end, Victor moved his things out. But he still denied the affair — apparently I didn’t know what I had seen.
At least he didn’t contest the divorce.
“He’s trying to save whatever dignity he has left,” my mother said on the phone.
Reflecting on the secret conversation that had set everything in motion, I realized that the signs were always there. I had chosen to see only the best in Victor — constantly ignoring the whispers of doubt.
Menino decora a casa de uma senhora idosa solitária para o Halloween para convencê-la de que o feriado vale a pena comemorar – História do dia
Kevin já tinha feito uma fantasia com sua mãe, ajudado seu pai a decorar sua casa e estava imaginando todos os doces que ele iria colecionar. Mas uma casa sem decoração em sua rua continuava o incomodando. Ele não conseguia entender por que alguém deixaria de comemorar, então ele decidiu que eles poderiam precisar de ajuda.
Era quase Halloween, e a vizinhança inteira estava agitada de excitação. Cada quintal parecia estar competindo pelo título de “mais assustador do quarteirão”.
Abóboras com sorrisos irregulares enfeitavam as calçadas, esqueletos de plástico pendiam das árvores e teias de aranha felpudas se agarravam às varandas.
O ar cheirava a folhas secas e doces, e Kevin, de onze anos, respirou tudo isso, com o coração batendo forte de excitação.
Apenas para fins ilustrativos. | Fonte: Midjourney
O Halloween era seu dia favorito do ano, um dia em que você podia ser quem quisesse, e Kevin adorava como o mundo inteiro parecia se transformar em uma noite mágica.
Enquanto ele caminhava pela calçada, seus olhos disparavam de uma casa para a outra, cada uma enfeitada com abóboras brilhantes ou fantasmas assustadores. Kevin não conseguiu evitar sorrir.
Algumas casas até tinham efeitos sonoros assustadores, como bruxas cacarejando ou portas rangendo.
Apenas para fins ilustrativos. | Fonte: Midjourney
Mas enquanto ele caminhava mais pela rua, algo chamou sua atenção — algo que não se encaixava.
Uma casa estava escura e vazia, o completo oposto das casas festivas ao redor. Nenhuma abóbora. Nenhuma teia de aranha. Nenhum esqueleto.
Nem mesmo uma pequena decoração. Kevin franziu a testa ao perceber de quem era a casa — a da Sra. Kimbly.
Apenas para fins ilustrativos. | Fonte: Midjourney
Ele parou no meio do caminho, olhando para a varanda da frente vazia. Ele se lembrava bem da Sra. Kimbly. Ela era uma senhora mais velha que vivia sozinha e ficava sozinha a maior parte do tempo.
Kevin já a tinha ajudado antes, cortando a grama dela no verão e tirando a neve no inverno. Ela nunca falava muito, apenas pagava antes de voltar para dentro.
Mas hoje, sua casa parecia deslocada, como se não pertencesse ao mesmo bairro alegre.
Apenas para fins ilustrativos. | Fonte: Midjourney
Por que a Sra. Kimbly não tinha decorado para o Halloween? Todos os outros tinham. Kevin não conseguia se livrar da sensação de que algo não estava certo.
Afinal, o Halloween era uma época de diversão, e não parecia justo que ninguém perdesse essa oportunidade, principalmente alguém que vivia sozinha como a Sra. Kimbly.
O coração de Kevin apertou um pouco. Talvez ela só precisasse de ajuda, ele pensou. Talvez ela não conseguisse decorar sozinha.
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Determinado, Kevin se virou e correu pela rua em direção à casa dela. As folhas estalavam sob seus tênis enquanto ele subia os degraus até a porta da frente dela.
Ele hesitou por um momento, então bateu. O som ecoou no silêncio, e Kevin se mexeu nervosamente. Depois do que pareceu uma eternidade, a porta rangeu ao abrir.
Lá estava a Sra. Kimbly, com o rosto profundamente franzido e os olhos semicerrados atrás de óculos grossos.
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Ela parecia ter sido interrompida de algo importante.
“O que você quer, Kevin?”, ela perguntou bruscamente, com a voz baixa e rouca.
Kevin engoliu em seco.
“Oi, Sra. Kimbly. Acabei de notar… bem, sua casa não tem nenhuma decoração de Halloween, e pensei que talvez você tenha esquecido. Posso ajudar a colocar algumas, se quiser.”
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Os olhos da Sra. Kimbly se estreitaram ainda mais, se é que isso era possível.
“Eu não esqueci”, ela retrucou. “Não preciso de decorações e não preciso de ajuda. Agora, vá embora.” Ela se moveu para fechar a porta.
“Eu poderia fazer isso de graça!”, ele deixou escapar rapidamente.
“Você nem precisaria levantar um dedo.”
A Sra. Kimbly fez uma careta. “Não!” ela gritou antes de bater a porta com um estrondo.
Apenas para fins ilustrativos. | Fonte: Midjourney
Kevin não conseguia acreditar. Como alguém pode odiar tanto o Halloween?
Ele sabia que se a casa dela ficasse sem decoração, as outras crianças poderiam fazer brincadeiras ali, como jogar papel higiênico no quintal dela.
Kevin suspirou e se virou para ir embora, mas enquanto se afastava, um plano começou a se formar em sua mente.
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Quando Kevin chegou em casa, ele encontrou sua mãe, Sarah, na cozinha, ocupada mexendo uma panela de sopa. O cheiro reconfortante de caldo de galinha enchia o ar, mas Kevin mal notou.
Sua mente ainda estava fervilhando de pensamentos sobre a casa escura e sem decoração da Sra. Kimbly.
“Mãe, aconteceu uma coisa estranha”, Kevin disse, sentado à mesa da cozinha. Sarah se virou para ele, enxugando as mãos em uma toalha.
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“O que foi, querido?” ela perguntou, dando-lhe toda a atenção.
Kevin explicou rapidamente como a casa da Sra. Kimbly era a única na rua sem decorações de Halloween e como ela bateu a porta na cara dele quando ele se ofereceu para ajudar.
Mas quando ele mencionou o nome da Sra. Kimbly, a expressão de Sarah mudou. Seu rosto se suavizou, e um olhar distante nublou seus olhos.
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“Talvez seja melhor deixá-la em paz”, Sarah sugeriu gentilmente.
“Ela provavelmente está passando por algo que não entendemos. As pessoas podem ter razões para fazer coisas que talvez não saibamos.”
Kevin franziu a testa e balançou a cabeça.
“Mas, mãe, ela precisa de ajuda. Não acho que ela esteja realmente brava… Acho que ela está apenas triste. O Halloween é para ser divertido. Ela não deveria ter que passá-lo se sentindo mal.”
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Os lábios de Sarah se curvaram em um sorriso suave, mas seus olhos mostraram preocupação.
“Você tem um bom coração, Kevin. Só tome cuidado, ok? Às vezes as pessoas não estão prontas para ajuda, mesmo quando precisam.”
As palavras dela permaneceram na mente de Kevin enquanto ele subia as escadas para seu quarto. Mas ele não conseguia se livrar do pensamento de que a Sra. Kimbly não odiava o Halloween — ela estava apenas solitária.
Apenas para fins ilustrativos. | Fonte: Midjourney
Com determinação renovada, Kevin reuniu todas as decorações de Halloween que conseguiu encontrar: luzes coloridas, aranhas de plástico, alguns de seus brinquedos e até sua abóbora favorita, aquela que ele passou horas esculpindo.
Kevin colocou tudo em uma pequena carroça e correu de volta para a casa da Sra. Kimbly.
O vento agitava as árvores enquanto ele trabalhava, pendurando cuidadosamente as luzes e organizando as abóboras ao longo da varanda dela.
Apenas para fins ilustrativos. | Fonte: Midjourney
A casa começou a se transformar, assim como as outras na rua. Mas enquanto Kevin estava dando os toques finais, a porta da frente rangeu ao abrir.
A Sra. Kimbly saiu furiosa, com o rosto contorcido de raiva.
“Eu disse para você não decorar minha casa!” A voz da Sra. Kimbly ecoou pela varanda, aguda e irritada, fazendo Kevin pular.
Apenas para fins ilustrativos. | Fonte: Midjourney
Seu coração batia forte no peito enquanto ele permanecia congelado no lugar, olhando para ela.
“O que você fez?!” ela continuou, com os olhos arregalados de raiva.
Kevin engoliu em seco, sua voz quase um sussurro. “Eu só queria ajudar”, ele disse, tentando explicar. “É Halloween…”
Mas antes que ele pudesse terminar, a Sra. Kimbly o interrompeu.
Apenas para fins ilustrativos. | Fonte: Midjourney
“Eu odeio o Halloween!” ela gritou, com a voz trêmula de frustração.
Os olhos de Kevin se arregalaram quando ela deu um passo à frente, sua mão alcançando a abóbora mais próxima — aquela que ele mesmo havia esculpido. Aquela que ele havia passado horas aperfeiçoando, dando a ela cuidadosamente um sorriso cheio de dentes.
Sem nem hesitar, a Sra. Kimbly levantou a abóbora e a jogou no chão com um barulho alto .
Kevin observou em choque a abóbora se partir em pedaços, pedaços laranja se espalhando pela varanda. Seu estômago se revirou enquanto ele olhava para as ruínas de sua abóbora favorita.
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Ela estava ali, respirando pesadamente, seu rosto ainda cheio de raiva, mas havia algo mais — algo mais profundo — escondido por trás de sua expressão furiosa.
“Sinto muito”, Kevin sussurrou, sua voz quase inaudível.
Ele se virou e correu antes que a Sra. Kimbly pudesse dizer mais alguma coisa, seus pés batendo no chão enquanto ele se dirigia para casa.
Apenas para fins ilustrativos. | Fonte: Midjourney
Naquela noite, Kevin vestiu sua fantasia de vampiro, mas não conseguiu entrar no espírito do Halloween.
Enquanto ele vagava de casa em casa com seus amigos, coletando doces, sua mente continuava voltando para a casa escura e sem decoração da Sra. Kimbly. Ele sabia o que estava por vir.
As outras crianças não entenderiam. Sem doces ou decorações, eles atacariam a casa dela, jogando papel higiênico ou pior, e Kevin não conseguia parar de se preocupar com isso.
Determinado a não deixar ninguém estragar a noite da Sra. Kimbly, Kevin voltou para a casa dela, com sua capa de vampiro esvoaçando atrás dele.
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O ar estava fresco, e as ruas estavam cheias de crianças fantasiadas, risadas e o som de folhas sendo esmagadas sob os pés.
Mas Kevin não estava mais interessado em doces ou travessuras. Tudo o que ele conseguia pensar era na Sra. Kimbly sentada sozinha em sua casa escura, sem decorações e sem doces para distribuir.
Quando ele chegou, sentou-se nos degraus da varanda da frente, segurando o saco meio cheio de doces que havia coletado até então.
Apenas para fins ilustrativos. | Fonte: Midjourney
As abóboras que ele havia colocado antes ainda brilhavam fracamente no crepúsculo, mas a cena festiva não parecia certa sem a participação dela.
Sempre que um grupo de crianças subia o caminho, ansiosas por doces, Kevin se levantava e entregava a elas pedaços de sua própria sacola.
“A Sra. Kimbly não está em casa”, ele explicou, tentando parecer alegre, embora seu estoque de doces estivesse desaparecendo rapidamente.
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Algumas crianças pareciam confusas, outras apenas deram de ombros e alegremente pegaram o doce. Kevin não se importou. Ele sabia que era melhor do que deixá-los bagunçar a casa.
Depois de um tempo, enquanto Kevin estava sentado sozinho na varanda, observando a vizinhança agitada com a diversão do Halloween, a porta atrás dele se abriu com um rangido.
Assustado, ele se virou para ver a Sra. Kimbly parada ali, seu rosto não mais contorcido de raiva. Ela olhou para ele, sua expressão mais suave, seus ombros menos tensos.
Apenas para fins ilustrativos. | Fonte: Midjourney
“O que você está fazendo aqui, Kevin?” ela perguntou, sua voz mais baixa do que antes.
Kevin se mexeu nervosamente. “Eu não queria que ninguém mexesse na sua casa,” ele disse simplesmente, olhando para ela.
“Eu sei que você não gosta do Halloween, mas pensei que talvez pudesse ajudar.”
A Sra. Kimbly hesitou, então suspirou profundamente e sentou-se ao lado dele nos degraus.
Ela ficou quieta por um momento, olhando para a rua, observando as crianças correndo de casa em casa.
Apenas para fins ilustrativos. | Fonte: Midjourney
Sua expressão severa habitual suavizou-se ainda mais e, quando ela finalmente falou, sua voz tinha um toque de tristeza.
“Desculpe por mais cedo”, ela disse. “Eu não estava brava com você, Kevin. É que… o Halloween é difícil para mim. Eu não tenho filhos ou netos, e ver todo mundo comemorando só me lembra o quão sozinha eu sou.”
O coração de Kevin afundou. Ele nunca tinha pensado nisso dessa forma antes. “Mas você não precisa ficar sozinha,” ele disse, virando-se para encará-la.
“Você ainda pode aproveitar com o resto de nós. Ficaremos felizes em tê-lo conosco.”
Apenas para fins ilustrativos. | Fonte: Midjourney
A Sra. Kimbly deu um pequeno sorriso triste, seus olhos brilhando de emoção.
“Você está certo, Kevin. Deixei minha solidão tomar conta de mim por muito tempo.” Ela estendeu a mão e gentilmente deu um tapinha na mão dele, um raro gesto de gentileza dela.
“Obrigado pelo que você fez hoje. E sinto muito pela sua abóbora. Eu não deveria tê-la esmagado.”
Apenas para fins ilustrativos. | Fonte: Midjourney
Kevin sorriu, seu coração se aquecendo com as palavras dela. “Está tudo bem”, ele disse. “Tenho outro em casa. Vou levar, e podemos esculpir juntos.”
A Sra. Kimbly riu baixinho, algo que Kevin nunca tinha ouvido antes. Enquanto ela o observava sair correndo para pegar a abóbora, pela primeira vez em anos, ela sentiu o calor do Halloween novamente, tudo graças à gentileza de um garoto determinado.
Diga-nos o que você acha dessa história e compartilhe com seus amigos. Pode inspirá-los e alegrar o dia deles.
Se você gostou desta história, leia esta: Para Nancy, seu filho Henry era tudo, ela nunca imaginou sua vida sem ele. Já se passaram 23 anos desde o terrível acidente que tirou a vida de Henry. Todo ano, naquele dia, ela levava sua torta favorita para o túmulo para homenagear sua memória. Mas este ano, tudo estava prestes a mudar
Este artigo é inspirado em histórias da vida cotidiana de nossos leitores e escrito por um escritor profissional. Qualquer semelhança com nomes ou locais reais é mera coincidência. Todas as imagens são apenas para fins ilustrativos. Compartilhe sua história conosco; talvez ela mude a vida de alguém. Se você gostaria de compartilhar sua história
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