Teenage boy Charlie struggles to understand why his peers receive expensive presents while he is left listening to his mother’s excuses. He discovers that his mother has prepared 15 gifts for his future birthdays. But after learning the reason behind it, he finally realizes what he truly wants.
Charlie, a 15-year-old with a backpack slung lazily over one shoulder, trudged out of school alongside his classmate Mark.
The late afternoon sun cast long shadows across the parking lot, where students chattered and cars honked in a chaotic symphony.
“Did you hear? We’ve got another test on Friday,” Mark said, breaking the silence.
Charlie groaned, his shoulders slumping.
For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney
“Oh no, not again! Is this the fourth test this week? School is exhausting…”
Mark smirked. “Don’t be so dramatic. It’s just studying. You always stress out before tests, but in the end, it all works out fine.”
“Yeah, yeah, whatever,” Charlie muttered, his eyes scanning the parking lot. His expression darkened as he frowned.
“My mom’s late again! How much longer do I have to wait?”
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“Maybe something came up. Don’t be mad at her—she’s picking you up. You should be grateful,” Mark said with a shrug.
Charlie shot him a sideways glare.
“Yeah? I don’t see your mom’s car either. Are you super grateful that she’s late too?”
Mark chuckled softly and shook his head. “She won’t be picking me up anymore. My parents bought me a car for my birthday.”
Charlie stopped in his tracks, his jaw dropping.
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“What!? A car!? I’d be grateful too if someone got me a car!” he snapped, his voice laced with jealousy.
Mark shrugged again, calm as ever. “You should be grateful no matter what. She’s your mom. Anyway, see you tomorrow.”
“Yeah… bye,” Charlie mumbled, watching Mark stroll off toward the student lot.
As he stood there, stewing in frustration, a car horn blared from across the lot. Charlie spun around and saw his mom’s familiar car pulling up.
For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney
With a sigh, he slung his backpack higher on his shoulder and jogged toward it, muttering under his breath. He opened the car door and slid into the passenger seat, his face already setting in a frown.
Alice, his mom, glanced over at him, her hands gripping the steering wheel.
“Sorry, sweetheart, I’m late again. I had to finish up a few things,” she said apologetically.
“You’re always late these days…” Charlie muttered, avoiding her gaze as he slumped further into his seat.
Alice sighed, keeping her voice calm.
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“I said I’m sorry. Now, tell me—how was your day?”
“Not great,” he replied shortly, his eyes fixed on the cars passing outside.
She glanced at him again, concern flickering across her face. “What happened?”
“Mark’s parents bought him a car for his birthday,” Charlie said flatly.
Alice smiled slightly, trying to lighten the mood.
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“That’s wonderful! Did he give you a ride?”
Charlie turned to her, his expression incredulous.
“No. Mom, my birthday’s coming up soon. Can you get me a car?”
Alice’s hands tightened briefly on the wheel before she answered. “Sweetheart, I already have your gift planned. Maybe I can get you a car in a few years…”
“A few years!?” Charlie’s voice rose with frustration.
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“So I have to wait while all my classmates drive around, and I look like an idiot?”
Alice exhaled and tried to keep her tone gentle as she said, “I know it’s hard, but I just can’t afford a gift like that right now.”
Charlie crossed his arms, his voice sharp. “Then return whatever gift you got and buy me a car!”
“I can’t do that, Charlie. I’m sorry,” she said firmly, though her voice was tinged with sadness.
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He turned away, pressing his forehead against the window.
The hum of the engine filled the silence as Alice drove, glancing occasionally at her son, his disappointment weighing heavily on them both.
As she pulled into the driveway, the car came to a slow stop. She turned to Charlie, her face softening.
“Dinner’s in the fridge if you’re hungry. I have a few errands to run, but I won’t be long. Love you, sweetheart!”
“Yeah…” Charlie mumbled without meeting her eyes. He swung the car door open and headed into the house.
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The door clicked shut behind him, and the silence of the empty house wrapped around him.
He dropped his backpack by the couch but didn’t bother to sit down. Something gnawed at the back of his mind—an itch he couldn’t ignore.
His mom had seemed calm, too calm, especially after their earlier argument. Why couldn’t she just tell him what she was up to?
His curiosity got the better of him. Quietly, he tiptoed into her bedroom, the air feeling heavier as if he were crossing an invisible line.
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Sitting at her desk, he opened her laptop.
The screen glowed to life, and he hesitated for a moment before clicking on her email.
Most of it was unimportant—work notices, receipts, newsletters.
Then he spotted something unusual: an email confirming a delivery scheduled for his upcoming birthday.
His brow furrowed as he clicked it open.
His eyes widened. The delivery wasn’t a one-time thing. There were 14 more planned—one every year for the next 15 years.
For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney
“What the…?” he muttered, his heart racing.
Confused and uneasy, he dug deeper, scrolling through her emails until he found an address for a storage unit.
Beneath a pile of papers in her drawer, he found a small key labeled with the same address.
His pulse quickened as he grabbed the key and headed out the door.
The storage unit loomed ahead, its metal door glinting faintly under the dull light of the parking lot.
Charlie unlocked it with trembling hands. As the door creaked open, he froze.
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Inside, more than a dozen neatly wrapped gifts were arranged in a row.
They were all different sizes, some small enough to fit in his palm, others big enough to hold a bike.
Each was topped with a handwritten note in his mom’s familiar, looping script.
He stepped inside, the scent of cardboard and faint perfume hanging in the air. He picked up one note and read:
“Happy 17th birthday, sweetheart. I love you more than anything in the world. I hope you like this computer. Study hard!”
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His throat tightened as he set the note back. Why had she done this?
He moved to the first gift, a small box with two notes attached. Pulling off the first, his breath caught as he began to read:
“My dear son, if you’re reading this, I may no longer be with you. For years, I’ve known I had cancer, and no treatment has worked. My time is limited, but I didn’t want your birthdays to feel empty after I’m gone.”
The words blurred as tears filled his eyes. He wiped his face, but the tears kept coming, spilling onto the paper.
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“That’s why I prepared these gifts ahead of time. They may not always be exactly what you want, but please open one each birthday and know I love you. Always.”
Charlie let out a shaky breath as he clutched the note. His chest ached in a way he’d never felt before.
He looked around the storage unit, the gifts that suddenly felt so much more than just objects.
They were pieces of her love, her effort to stay with him even when she couldn’t.
He gently placed the note back, closed the door, and leaned against it for a moment.
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His heart was heavy, but it was full of something else too—a deeper understanding of what his mom had done for him.
The drive home was quiet. The world outside blurred, but his mind raced with emotions. He didn’t care about a car anymore.
What mattered now was something far greater.
Charlie stepped quietly into the living room, his shoes scuffing softly against the wooden floor.
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His mom, Alice, was perched on the couch, a book resting in her lap.
She was smiling faintly, her eyes scanning the pages, completely unaware of the emotional storm that had just swept over her son.
Charlie hesitated in the doorway, his chest rising and falling with uneven breaths. His eyes were red, swollen from crying, and his face held a mix of fear and heartbreak.
Alice looked up, her smile fading as she took in his expression. Alarm spread across her face.
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“Charlie! What’s wrong? Where were you?” she asked, setting the book aside and leaning forward.
“Mom!” he choked out, his voice breaking as he rushed across the room. He threw his arms around her, clinging to her tightly.
“Sweetheart, tell me what’s going on,” she said, her voice soft but urgent. She stroked his back gently, trying to calm him. “How can I help?”
Charlie pulled back slightly, his hands trembling as he wiped at his face.
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“I know, Mom. I went to the storage unit,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper.
Alice stiffened, her eyes widening.
“What? Why? What were you doing there?” she asked, a hint of panic creeping into her tone.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” Charlie cried, his voice breaking again.
“Isn’t there anything we can do?”
Alice took a deep breath, her lips quivering.
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“There’s nothing, Charlie. I’m so sorry,” she said, tears brimming in her eyes.
“No, Mom, I’m sorry,” he said quickly, shaking his head.
“I’ve been such a terrible son. I don’t need a car or any gifts. None of that matters. I just want you to be with me.”
“Charlie…” she whispered, her voice thick with emotion.
“Please, Mom,” he begged, his voice desperate.
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“I want to spend as much time with you as I can. I love you!”
Alice pulled him close again, her own tears spilling over now.
“I love you too, sweetheart,” she said, her voice breaking as she held him tightly.
The room was quiet except for their soft cries, their embrace a fragile but powerful moment of love and understanding.
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If you enjoyed this story, read this one: Every man reaches a moment when he wants to settle down and have a loving family. But not Henry—he was convinced he would stay single forever, believing it was the better life for him. However, a day spent with his nine-year-old niece makes him realize the true reason behind his life choices.
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Neighbor Asked My Son to Shovel Snow for $10 a Day but Refused to Pay — So I Taught Him a Lesson He’ll Never Forget
When my 12-year-old son Ben took up our wealthy neighbor’s offer to shovel snow for $10 a day, he couldn’t wait to buy gifts for the family. But when that man refused to pay, calling it a “lesson about contracts,” Ben was heartbroken. That’s when I decided to teach him a lesson he’d never forget.
I’d always known my son Ben had a bigger heart than the world seemed to deserve. He was only 12 but carried a determination that could humble men twice his age.
A boy carrying many books | Source: Midjourney
Even so, I never imagined I’d be standing in the icy driveway next to my husband, exacting revenge against the man who thought cheating a child was just another business move.
It all began on a snowy morning early in December. Ben was buzzing with excitement after shoveling the driveway while I made breakfast. He burst into the kitchen, cheeks flushed from the cold.
“Mom, Mr. Dickinson said he’ll pay me $10 every time I shovel his driveway!” His grin stretched ear to ear.
A smiling boy | Source: Midjourney
Mr. Dickinson, our neighbor, was as insufferable as he was wealthy. He always bragged about his business ventures and showed off his luxury toys.
It wasn’t hard to guess he thought he was doing us all a favor by letting Ben “earn” his money. Still, Ben’s excitement was contagious, and I wasn’t about to crush his enthusiasm.
“That’s wonderful, sweetheart,” I said, ruffling his hair. “What’s the plan for all this cash?”
A smiling woman | Source: Midjourney
“I’m buying you a scarf,” he said with the seriousness only a 12-year-old could muster. “And a dollhouse for Annie.”
His eyes sparkled as he described every detail of the red scarf with tiny snowflakes, and the dollhouse with working lights that Annie had been obsessed with since she saw it in the toy store’s window display.
My heart swelled. “You’ve got it all planned out, huh?”
A happy woman | Source: Midjourney
He nodded, bouncing on the balls of his feet. “And I’m saving what’s left for a telescope.”
Over the next few weeks, Ben became a blur of determination. Every morning before school, he bundled up in his oversized coat and boots, a knit hat pulled low over his ears. From the kitchen window, I watched him disappear into the frosty air, shovel in hand.
The muffled scrape of metal on the pavement echoed through the stillness.
A boy shoveling snow | Source: Midjourney
Sometimes he’d stop to catch his breath, leaning on the shovel, his breath forming little clouds in the freezing air. When he came inside, his cheeks were red, his fingers stiff, but his smile always shone through.
“How was it today?” I’d ask, handing him a cup of hot chocolate.
“Good! I’m getting faster,” he’d reply, his grin lighting up the room. He’d shake snow off his coat like a dog shedding water, sending damp clumps onto the rug.
A rug in an entrance hall | Source: Pexels
Each evening, Ben would sit at the kitchen table, tallying his earnings. The notepad he used was dog-eared and smudged with ink, but he treated it like a sacred ledger.
“Only 20 more dollars, Mom,” he said one night. “Then I can get the dollhouse and the telescope!”
His excitement made the hard work seem worth it, at least to him.
By December 23rd, Ben was a well-oiled machine of winter labor.
A person shoveling snow | Source: Pexels
That morning, he left the house humming a Christmas carol. I went about my day, expecting him to return as usual, tired but triumphant.
But when the door slammed open an hour later, I knew something was wrong.
“Ben?” I called out, rushing from the kitchen.
He stood by the door, his boots half-on, his gloves still clenched in his trembling hands. His shoulders heaved, and tears clung to the corners of his wide, panicked eyes.
A sad boy | Source: Midjourney
I kneeled beside him, gripping his arms. “Sweetheart, what happened?”
He wouldn’t talk at first, but eventually, he told me everything.
“Mr. Dickinson… he said he’s not paying me a single cent.”
The words hung in the air, heavy as a stone.
“What do you mean, he’s not paying you?” I asked, though I already knew the answer.
Ben sniffled, his face crumpling.
A boy sobbing | Source: Midjourney
“He said it’s a lesson. That I should never accept a job without a contract.” His voice cracked, and the tears spilled over. “Mom, I worked so hard. I just don’t understand. Why would he do this?”
Anger surged through me, sharp and blinding. What kind of person cheats a child as a “business lesson”? I pulled Ben into a hug, pressing my hand against his damp hat.
“Oh, baby,” I murmured. “It’s not your fault. You did everything right. This is on him, not you.” I pulled back, brushing his hair from his face. “You don’t worry about this, okay? I’ll take care of it.”
A determined woman | Source: Midjourney
I stood, grabbed my coat, and stormed across the lawn. The sight of Dickinson’s house, glowing with holiday cheer, only stoked my fury. Laughter and music spilled into the cold night as I rang the doorbell.
He appeared moments later, wine glass in hand, his tailored suit making him look like a villain straight out of a bad movie.
“Mrs. Carter,” he said, his voice oozing false charm. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”
A man raising one eyebrow | Source: Midjourney
“I think you know why I’m here,” I said evenly. “Ben earned that money. You owe him $80. Pay him.”
He chuckled, shaking his head. “No contract, no payment. That’s how the real world works.”
I clenched my fists, willing myself to stay calm. I opened my mouth to argue about fairness and the cruelty of his supposed lesson, but the look in his eyes told me none of that would persuade him to do the right thing.
A man staring ahead | Source: Midjourney
No… there was only one way to deal with the Mr. Dickinsons of the world.
“You’re absolutely right, Mr. Dickinson. The real world is about holding people accountable.” My smile was so sweet it could’ve rotted teeth. “Enjoy your evening.”
As I walked away, an idea began to form. By the time I stepped back into our house, I knew exactly what had to be done.
A furious woman | Source: Midjourney
The next morning, while Dickinson and his guests still slept, I woke the household with a determined clap of my hands.
“Time to go, team,” I said.
Ben groaned as he crawled out of bed, but caught the determined gleam in my eye. “What are we doing, Mom?”
“We’re righting a wrong.”
A determined woman | Source: Midjourney
Outside, the air was bitter and still. My husband started the snowblower, the rumble cutting through the early quiet. Ben grabbed his shovel, gripping it like a sword. Even Annie, too small for the heavy work, bounced along in her boots, ready to “help.”
We began with our driveway, then moved to the sidewalk, clearing paths for the neighbors. The pile of snow grew steadily as we pushed it all toward Dickinson’s pristine driveway.
The cold bit at my fingers, but the satisfaction of each shovelful fueled me.
A person shoveling snow | Source: Pexels
Ben paused to catch his breath, leaning on his shovel. “This is a lot of snow, Mom,” he said, a smile creeping onto his face.
“That’s the point, honey,” I said, piling another scoop onto the growing mountain. “Think of it as a reverse Christmas miracle.”
Annie giggled as she pushed tiny mounds of snow with her toy shovel. “Mr. Grumpy’s not going to like this,” she chirped.
By mid-morning, Dickinson’s driveway was buried under a fortress of snow.
A huge pile of snow in a driveway | Source: Midjourney
It was higher than the hood of Dickinson’s sleek black car. I dusted off my gloves, stepping back to admire our handiwork.
“That,” I said, “is a job well done.”
It wasn’t long before he noticed. Soon, Dickinson stormed over, his face as red as the Christmas lights on his roof.
“What the hell have you done to my driveway?” he bellowed.
A man shouting at someone | Source: Midjourney
I stepped outside, brushing off my gloves like I had all the time in the world. “Oh, Mr. Dickinson, this is a little something called quantum meruit.”
“Quantum what?” His eyes narrowed, his confusion almost comical.
“It’s a legal concept,” I explained with a smile. “It means if you refuse to pay for someone’s labor, you lose the right to enjoy the benefit of it. Since you didn’t pay Ben, we simply undid his work. Fair’s fair, wouldn’t you agree?”
A woman glancing to one side | Source: Midjourney
Dickinson sputtered, his mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water. “You can’t do that!”
I gestured toward the neighbors who had gathered to watch, their smiles thinly veiled. “Actually, I can. And if you’d like to call a lawyer, keep in mind that I have plenty of witnesses who saw you exploit a minor for free labor. That wouldn’t look great for someone like you, now would it?”
He glared at me, then at the crowd, realizing he’d lost. Without another word, he turned on his heel and stomped back to his house.
A house decorated for Christmas | Source: Pexels
By evening, the doorbell rang again, and there stood Dickinson, holding an envelope. He didn’t look me in the eye as he handed it over.
“Tell your son I’m sorry,” he mumbled.
I closed the door and handed the envelope to Ben. Inside were eight crisp $10 bills. Ben’s smile was worth more than all the money in the world.
Cash in an envelope | Source: Pexels
“Thanks, Mom,” he said, hugging me tight.
“No,” I whispered, ruffling his hair. “Thank you for showing me what real determination looks like.”
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