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.
Frank had lived alone for many years. The quiet suited him, and he’d long accepted the absence of friends or family in his life. So, when he heard a knock at the door one Saturday morning, he was startled but more annoyed than curious.
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With a heavy groan, he pushed himself out of his recliner. When he opened the door, he saw a teenage girl standing on the porch, no older than sixteen.
Before she could speak, Frank snapped, “I don’t want to buy anything, I don’t want to join any church, I don’t support homeless kids or kittens, and I’m not interested in environmental issues.” Without waiting for a response, he slammed the door shut.
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He turned to leave but froze when the doorbell rang again. With a sigh, he shuffled back to his chair, grabbed the remote, and turned up the TV volume.
The weather report showed a hurricane warning for the city. Frank glanced at it briefly, then shook his head.
“Doesn’t matter to me,” he mumbled. His basement was built to withstand anything.
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The doorbell didn’t stop. It kept ringing, over and over. Five minutes passed, then ten, then fifteen. Each ring grated on Frank’s nerves. Finally, he stomped back to the door, muttering to himself. He flung it open with a scowl.
“What?! What do you want?!” he barked, his voice echoing down the quiet street.
The girl stood there, calm, her eyes fixed on him. “You’re Frank, right? I need to talk to you,” she said.
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Frank narrowed his eyes. “Let’s say I am. Who are you, and why are you on my porch? Where are your parents?”
“My name is Zoe. My mom died recently. I don’t have any parents now,” she said, her voice steady.
“I couldn’t care less,” Frank snapped. He grabbed the edge of the door and started to push it closed.
Before it could shut, Zoe pressed her hand against it. “Aren’t you curious why I’m here?” she asked, her tone unwavering.
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“The only thing I’m curious about,” Frank growled, “is how long it’ll take you to leave my property and never come back!” He shoved her hand off the door and slammed it so hard the frame rattled.
The doorbell stopped. Frank peered through the curtains, checking the yard. It was empty.
With a deep sigh, he turned away, feeling victorious. Little did he know, this was only the beginning of his nightmare.
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The next morning, Frank woke up, grumbling as he dragged himself to the front door to grab his newspaper.
His jaw dropped when he saw the state of his house. Smashed eggs dripped down the walls, their sticky residue glinting in the sunlight.
Large, crude words were scrawled across the paint in messy black letters, making his blood boil.
“What in the world?!” he shouted, looking around the street, but it was empty.
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Grinding his teeth, he stormed back inside, grabbed his cleaning supplies, and spent the entire day scrubbing.
His hands ached, his back throbbed, and he swore under his breath with every stroke.
By evening, exhausted but relieved to see the walls clean, he stepped onto his porch with a cup of tea.
But his relief was short-lived. Garbage was scattered across his yard—cans, old food, and torn papers littered the lawn.
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“Stupid girl!” he shouted at no one in particular, his voice echoing through the quiet neighborhood.
He stomped down the steps, grabbed some trash bags, and began cleaning. As he bent to pick up a rotten tomato, his eyes caught a note taped to his mailbox.
He yanked it off and read aloud, “Just listen to me, and I’ll stop bothering you. —Zoe.” At the bottom, scrawled in bold numbers, was a phone number.
Frank crumpled the note and hurled it into the trash.
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The next morning, loud shouting woke him. He looked outside to see a group of people waving signs.
“Who the hell are you?!” he yelled, opening the window.
“We’re here for the environment! Thanks for letting us use your yard!” a hippie-looking woman called.
Fuming, Frank grabbed a broom and chased them off. Once they were gone, he noticed a caricature of himself drawn on the driveway with the caption, “I hate everyone.”
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On his front door was another note:
“Just listen to me, or I’ll come up with more ways to annoy you.
—Zoe.
P.S. The paint doesn’t wash off.”
And again at the bottom was a phone number.
Frank stormed inside, slamming the door behind him. He grabbed the phone and dialed Zoe’s number with shaking hands. “Come to my house. Now,” he barked and hung up before she could respond.
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When Zoe arrived, her jaw dropped. Two police officers stood on the porch beside Frank, their expressions serious.
“What the—? Are you kidding me?!” Zoe shouted, glaring at him.
Frank folded his arms and smirked. “You think you’re so clever, don’t you? Guess what? You’re not.”
The officers cuffed Zoe. “You old jerk!” she yelled as they led her to the car. Frank watched, smug, believing this was the end of his troubles.
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The next day, the city issued a hurricane warning. The winds howled, bending trees and tossing debris down the empty streets.
Frank looked out the window as he prepared to head for his basement. His eyes widened when he spotted Zoe outside, clutching her backpack and stumbling against the wind.
“What are you doing out there?!” Frank shouted, flinging open the door. The wind nearly tore it from his hand.
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Zoe turned, her hair whipping around her face. “What does it look like?! I’m looking for shelter!” she yelled, her voice barely audible over the roar of the storm. “I have nowhere else to go!”
“Then come inside!” Frank barked, stepping onto the porch.
“No way!” Zoe snapped. “I’d rather face this hurricane than go in your house!”
Frank gritted his teeth. “You were desperate to talk to me yesterday. What changed now?”
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“I realized you’re a selfish, grumpy idiot!” Zoe shot back.
Frank had enough. He stomped down the steps, grabbed her backpack, and hauled her toward the door.
“Let me go!” Zoe screamed, twisting against his grip. “I’m not going with you! Let me go!”
“Are you out of your mind?!” Frank bellowed, slamming the door behind them. “Stay out there, and you’ll die!”
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“Maybe that’s fine! I have nothing left anyway! ” Zoe yelled, her face red. “And do you think your stupid house is some kind of fortress?!”
“My basement is fortified,” Frank growled. “It’s survived worse than this. Follow me.”
Zoe glared at him but hesitated. After a moment, she sighed and trudged after him toward the basement.
The basement was surprisingly cozy. It looked like a small, well-used living room. A single bed sat tucked in one corner, with shelves of old books lining the walls.
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A pile of paintings leaned against the far side, their colors muted by age. Zoe glanced around, unimpressed, then dropped onto the couch with a loud sigh.
“You wanted to say something? Now’s your chance,” Frank said, standing stiffly near the stairs.
“Now you’re ready to listen?” Zoe asked, raising an eyebrow.
“We’re stuck here for who knows how long. Might as well get it over with,” Frank replied, leaning against a shelf and folding his arms.
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“Fine,” Zoe said. She reached into her backpack, pulled out some folded papers, and handed them to him.
Frank frowned as he took them. “What’s this?”
“My emancipation papers,” Zoe said, her tone matter-of-fact.
Frank blinked. “What?”
“It’s so I can live on my own,” Zoe explained. “Without parents. Without guardians.”
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“How old are you?” Frank asked, squinting at the documents.
“Sixteen… almost,” Zoe replied, her voice firm.
“And why do you need my signature?” Frank asked, looking at her sharply.
Zoe met his eyes without hesitation. “Because you’re my only living relative. I’m your granddaughter. Remember your wife? Your daughter?”
Frank’s face paled. “That’s impossible.”
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“It’s very possible,” Zoe said with a cold laugh. “Social services gave me your address. When Grandma talked about you, I thought she was exaggerating. Now I see she didn’t tell me half of it.”
“I’m not signing this. You’re still a child. The system can take care of you.”
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“You’re joking, right?” Zoe snapped. “You were a terrible father and husband! You left Grandma and Mom to chase some fantasy about painting. Your art isn’t even good—I was better at five! And now, after all that, you won’t even sign a piece of paper to help me?”
Frank’s hands clenched. “It was my dream to be an artist!” he shouted.
“It was my dream too!” Zoe shot back. “But Grandma’s gone. Mom’s gone. And you’re the only family I have. You’re also the worst person I’ve ever met!”
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They sat in silence after that, the tension heavy in the room. Frank knew Zoe was right. He had been selfish. Back then, he had seen only his art, blind to everything else.
After two hours, Frank finally spoke. “Do you even have a place to stay?”
“I’m working on it,” Zoe muttered. “I’ve got a job. I still have Mom’s car. I can manage.”
“You should be in school, not figuring out how to survive,” Frank said.
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“Life doesn’t work out the way we want,” Zoe replied, her voice soft but firm.
For the next few hours, Frank sat silently, watching Zoe sketch in her notebook. Her pencil moved with confidence, every stroke purposeful.
He hated to admit it, but her art was bold, creative, and alive. It was far better than anything he had ever painted.
The radio crackled to life, its monotone voice announcing the hurricane had passed. The storm was over.
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Frank stood, his joints stiff, and gestured toward the stairs. “Let’s go up,” he said. Once upstairs, he glanced at Zoe and handed her the signed documents without a word.
“You were right,” he said, his voice low. “I was a terrible husband. A lousy father too. I can’t change any of that. But maybe I can help change someone’s future.”
Zoe stared at the papers for a moment, then slipped them into her backpack. “Thanks,” she said quietly.
Frank looked at her and nodded. “Don’t stop painting. You’ve got talent.”
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Zoe slung the bag over her shoulder. “Life decided otherwise,” she said, heading for the door.
“You can stay here,” Frank said suddenly.
Zoe froze. “What?”
“You can live here,” Frank said. “I can’t undo my mistakes, but I also can’t throw my own granddaughter out on the street.”
“Do you really want me to stay?” Zoe asked.
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“Not exactly,” Frank admitted. “But I think we might both learn something.”
Zoe smirked. “Fine. Thanks. But I’m taking all your art supplies. I’m way better than you.”
She turned toward the basement. Frank shook his head. “Stubborn and arrogant. You get that from me.”
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Nurse Gives Woman the Wrong Baby, Then New Mother Turns Pale — Story of the Day
The nurse examined Lucy’s twins before discharge, but Lucy was shocked when she returned them. The nurse had brought two baby girls after the examination, and Lucy had given birth to one boy and one girl.
Lucy and her husband Ross had been trying to conceive for a long time, and when they discovered they were expecting twins, they were over the moon.
The ultrasound had revealed they would be having a boy and a girl, and the couple was eagerly awaiting the arrival of the twins. However, when the nurse brought the children post-examination, they were both girls. Lucy’s face turned pale.
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“Where has my son gone? What exactly did you do to him? And whose baby is this other girl?” she screamed, gazing at the nurse who had just brought the kids in.
“They are your daughters, ma’am,” the nurse, Savannah, said, her eyes fixated on the documents. “I double-checked the reports and I’m confident there is no error.”
“Have you lost your senses?” Lucy snapped. “I have all the reports with me as proof that I was supposed to deliver a boy and a girl. And I was informed about the same after delivery. There’s no way they’re both girls!”
Lucy noticed the fear in the nurse’s eyes when she looked up from her reports. She was about to say something to her when Dr. Linda Carter walked in. “Would you please keep quiet, ma’am? This is a hospital, and there are other patients,” she explained to Lucy.
“Quiet? Seriously?” Lucy glared at her. “Your nurse brings me a random child, then tells me she’s not wrong! Is that how your hospital administration operates? Should I contact the chief doctor and inform him of the situation?”
“I agree with my wife, doctor. We don’t want to create a scene either,” Ross intervened. “But your nurse is lying. We don’t know why she’s doing that, but if we don’t get our son back, we’ll have to call the police!”
“Please, sir, calm down,” Dr. Carter said. “I’m sure there’s just some misunderstanding. Savannah has been working at this hospital for several years. Perhaps she brought the wrong documents. Savannah, may I have a look at the papers?” Dr. Carter inquired. But Savannah didn’t give it to her and instead started stammering, “There’s no need, ma’am…I mean, I checked it, and they’re fine.”
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Dr. Carter sensed something was wrong and softly told her, “It’s fine. Let me quickly check the reports.” However, when she read through them, she realized Lucy was correct.
“Please give me a minute, ma’am,” she said as she flipped through the pages. “I assume Savannah brought the incorrect paperwork. There was another patient named Lucy Matthews, and Savannah got confused.”
“I’m glad you noticed your mistake,” Lucy said, glaring at her. “I would recommend that you hire responsible people as members of the staff the next time!”
“I’m sorry, ma’am,” Dr. Carter apologized again as she turned to face Savannah. “Would you mind accompanying me, Savannah? I need you to find the correct reports for me.”
Savannah swiftly followed Dr. Carter, but Lucy spotted the tears in her eyes as she walked away. She got a strange feeling Dr. Carter and Savannah were up to something, so she decided to follow them.
She watched them both enter Dr. Carter’s clinic and then heard someone crying. It had to be Savannah, she reasoned. Fortunately, the door was slightly ajar, so Lucy sat on one of the chairs just outside the room and listened to what they were saying.
“What were you thinking, Savannah?” Dr. Carter spoke in a firm tone. “Lucy Matthews delivered twins: a boy and a girl at 10:30 a.m. today. Even the reports said that. Why are you lying to them? Be honest!”
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“I didn’t have a choice, ma’am,” Savannah sobbed. “That other newborn girl belongs to my sister. Her spouse had abandoned her after he learned about the pregnancy, and unfortunately, she didn’t make it post-delivery. I could have adopted her, but my husband refused.”
“Why don’t you place her in a nursing home?” Dr. Carter proposed. “She’d be well taken care of there.”
“I’m afraid I can’t, ma’am. It was my sister’s last wish for her daughter to grow up in a loving home,” Savannah sobbed.
“When I saw Mrs. Matthews this morning and how she and her husband were supporting each other, I thought they would be a beautiful family for her. So I decided to swap Mrs. Matthew’s son with my sister’s daughter and place him in a nursing home instead.”
“But that’s not right, Savannah,” Dr. Carter pointed out. “We can’t let that happen. Get Mrs. Matthews’ son right now. And, yes, this should stay confidential between us. Let me see what I can do for you.”
Lucy’s eyes had welled up when she heard the story. There wasn’t a nefarious intention behind exchanging the kids. A helpless woman wanted her niece to end up in a lovely family. I feel sorry for the child, honestly. Lucy pondered as she returned to her room.
A few minutes later, Dr. Carter returned to Lucy’s room and handed over her newborn son. “Sorry about the mixup, ma’am. I apologize on behalf of my staff,” Dr. Carter said.
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Having overheard the whole story earlier, Lucy, decided not to file a complaint against her. But every time she tried to sleep at home that night, her thoughts returned to the poor child, and her innocent face flashed straight in front of her eyes.
“I can’t forget about her, Ross,” Lucy told her husband at breakfast the next day. “I had a dream yesterday in which I saw a girl who had come to our house by mistake and was living peacefully with us. I know it doesn’t make sense, but I can’t get that out of my head.”
“It’s because of what happened yesterday, honey,” Ross explained. “Try to distract yourself with something else. How about we go somewhere? You’ll feel better.”
“No, Ross,” Lucy looked at him. “I don’t feel like leaving that child alone. I want to adopt her.”
“But honey!” Ross cried. “Are you sure? We already have two children to look after, and a third would be far too much! Don’t make emotional decisions! We need to be practical.”
“I understand, Ross, but please. I can’t persuade myself. I pondered it all night and decided to adopt her. Can we please go to the hospital today?”
“Well, honey. I am there with you in all your decisions, but I’m worried it’ll be too much work for you.”
“I can manage that, Ross. Please?” Lucy insisted.
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Ross initially opposed the adoption, but his feelings changed when he held the child in his arms. She had brown eyes with a slight green tinge, and she kept staring at him. Ross was moved by her innocent looks, to say the least.
“I’m delighted you considered adopting her, Mr. and Mrs. Matthews. She is indeed lucky,” the doctor told them.
“Well, doctor, we tried a lot for kids, and now, when a child wants to come to us, we can’t just let it go. Just let me know when we can take her home,” Lucy said.
“It’ll take some time, but for now, I’ll submit the documents to expedite the process.”
As the doctor had said, it took some time, but Lucy and Ross had no regrets about their decision. When they brought the child home, they felt as if their family was finally complete. They named the baby girl Amelia.
Savannah visited them after learning Lucy and Ross had adopted the child and couldn’t stop thanking them. Since then, she’s become a regular at the Matthews’, and she mostly spends the weekends with Lucy’s kids: the twins Sia and Mark and Amelia.
What can we learn from this story?
- Relationships are formed through love and care, not necessarily by blood. Lucy and Ross’s adoption of Amelia as their kid is a beautiful example of this.
- Some accidents are beautiful. Savannah brought Amelia to Lucy simply because she wanted her to be adopted by a good family, and in the end, the poor child was blessed with a lovely family.
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