When a workaholic businessman receives devastating news about his health, he meets a young boy in the hospital who changes his outlook on life. Their bond grows through unexpected friendship and small acts of kindness, teaching him what truly matters—until a heartbreaking twist reshapes everything.
Andrew, 50, sat at his desk, shuffling through papers while juggling scheduling meetings with his partners.
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He didn’t hear Michael, his assistant, enter the room. Michael stood there, waiting. After a few moments, he cleared his throat.
No response. Andrew kept working, his focus sharp. Michael tried again. “Mr. Smith.” Still no answer. He repeated his name three more times.
Finally, Andrew slammed his hands on the desk and snapped, “What?”
Michael didn’t flinch. “You asked me to tell you if your ex-wife called.”
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Andrew groaned and rubbed his temples. “How many times do I have to tell you? Ignore her calls. What now?”
Michael held a notepad. “She left a message. I should warn you—it’s a direct quote. Her words, not mine.” He read from the note. “‘You pompous jerk, I will never forgive you for wasting so many years of my life. If you don’t give me back my painting, I’ll smash your car.’ That’s the message.”
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Andrew’s face turned red. “We’ve been divorced for two years! Does she not have anything better to do?”
Michael looked at him, waiting for further instructions. “Should I respond to her?”
“No! And stop taking her calls,” Andrew said. Then he paused. “Actually, tell her I threw that painting in the trash!”
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Andrew grabbed a pen and hurled it toward the wall. Michael ducked slightly, gave a polite nod, and left the room.
Moments later, Andrew’s phone rang. He frowned, picking it up.
“Andrew Smith?” a voice asked.
“Yes. Who’s calling?”
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“This is the hospital. Your test results are ready. The doctor wants to see you.”
“Can’t you just tell me now?” Andrew said, irritated. “I’m busy.”
“Sorry, sir. The doctor will explain in person.”
Andrew sighed heavily. “Fine. I’ll come in.” He hung up, shaking his head.
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Andrew rarely allowed himself the luxury of a lunch break, but this time was different. The doctor’s office was quiet, the ticking clock on the wall the only sound.
Andrew sat stiffly in a chair, his fingers tapping against the armrest. When the door opened, the doctor stepped in, his face serious. Andrew frowned, sensing bad news.
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The doctor sat across from him and spoke in a steady, measured tone, using terms Andrew didn’t understand.
Then came the word—cancer. “We need to act fast,” the doctor said.
“Is this some kind of joke?” Andrew asked, his voice sharp. “I own a company. I can’t just check into a hospital.”
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The doctor met his eyes. “Your health should come first. The company can wait.”
Andrew leaned forward. “What are my chances of getting better?”
“I can’t promise anything,” the doctor said. “Starting treatment right away is critical.”
Andrew’s voice rose. “Can I still work while I’m here?”
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“Treatment affects everyone differently,” the doctor explained. “You will stay in the hospital so we can monitor you. Someone can bring you a computer.”
Andrew frowned and stood up. “Fine. I’ll sort it out.”
The doctor watched him leave. “We’ll see you tomorrow with your things,” he said before Andrew reached the door.
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As Andrew walked through the hospital’s pediatric wing, he noticed a boy, about eight years old, tossing a ball back and forth with a nurse.
The sound of their laughter echoed in the corridor. The ball suddenly rolled across the floor and stopped near Andrew’s feet.
“Excuse me, sir!” the boy called out, smiling. “Can you please throw the ball back?”
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Andrew picked up the ball, his face tense. Without a word, he hurled it down the hall, far from the boy and nurse, then turned and walked away.
“That was mean, sir!” the boy shouted.
Andrew had been in the hospital for days that felt like weeks. He tried to keep working, setting up his laptop and pushing through meetings.
But the treatment was draining. Each session left him weaker. The nausea was constant, and sleep was nearly impossible.
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One afternoon, during another long chemotherapy session, Andrew leaned back, his eyes half-closed. He felt miserable.
Suddenly, a small voice broke through his fog. He opened his eyes to see a boy standing in front of him. Startled, Andrew flinched. The boy giggled. It was the same boy from the corridor.
“What do you want, kid?” Andrew mumbled, not even lifting his head.
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“I’ve been walking around the hospital looking for someone to play with. It’s boring here.”
Andrew glanced at him, annoyed. “What’s your name?” he asked.
“Tommy,” the boy replied with a wide grin.
Andrew sighed. “Listen, Tommy. I’m not in the mood to play. Go bother someone else before I start feeling worse.”
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Tommy didn’t move. Instead, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a small peppermint candy. He held it out to Andrew. “This helps with nausea. You should try it.”
Andrew hesitated, then snatched the candy and set it on the table.
“You’re really grumpy!” Tommy said, laughing. “I’m going to call you Mr. Grouch. Are you mad because you’re scared of needles?” He pointed at the IV attached to Andrew’s arm.
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Andrew frowned. “I’m not scared of anything.”
Tommy nodded. “That’s fine. I was scared at first too, but then I stopped. My mom says I’m a superhero. Do you have a superpower?”
“No,” Andrew said, his voice flat.
“That’s because you’re too sad,” Tommy replied, his tone serious now.
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Andrew looked at the boy, surprised by the honesty in his big, bright eyes. “Is there anything you want?” Andrew asked.
Tommy grinned. “Yeah. I want to buy flowers for my mom. She works really hard, but I don’t have any money.”
Andrew sighed again, reached for his wallet, and pulled out a few bills. “Here. Get your flowers. Maybe buy yourself something too. But leave me alone.”
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Tommy’s face lit up. “Thanks, Mr. Grouch!” He ran out, clutching the money, while Andrew stared at the peppermint candy on the table.
With a sigh, he picked it up, unwrapped it, and popped it into his mouth. To his surprise, the sharp sweetness helped ease the nausea. It wasn’t much, but it made a difference for a while.
That evening, as Andrew stared at his laptop, a nurse knocked on his door.
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She carried a small paper bag. “This is for you,” she said, placing it on the table. “Tommy sent it.”
Andrew opened the bag and found it full of peppermint candies. He shook his head, unsure whether to feel amused or moved.
The next morning, he decided to find Tommy. He needed to make one thing clear: the money wasn’t a gift.
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As he approached Tommy’s room, he saw a woman leaning against the wall, her shoulders shaking. She was crying.
“Are you okay?” Andrew asked, his voice low.
The woman wiped her eyes quickly and looked up. “Yes… Did you need something?”
“Tommy gave me some candies yesterday,” Andrew said.
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The woman’s lips curved into a small smile. “Oh, so you’re Mr. Grouch,” she said.
Andrew raised an eyebrow. “My name’s Andrew,” he replied.
“I’m Sara,” she said. “Are you here for treatment too?”
Andrew nodded.
“Then you understand,” Sara said quietly. “The bills, the stress. I can’t even pay rent right now. They told me we’ll be evicted in two months.”
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Andrew nodded again, unsure of what to say. Before he could respond, the door burst open. Tommy ran out, his face lighting up when he saw Andrew. “Hey, Mr. Grouch!” he called, grinning ear to ear.
From that day forward, Tommy became a constant presence in Andrew’s life.
The boy would wander into Andrew’s room with a big grin and endless energy. At first, Andrew found it annoying, but Tommy’s persistence wore him down.
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Soon, Andrew began looking forward to the visits. Tommy taught him to notice the simple joys in life.
They sat by the window, watching the sunset, guessing the colors in the sky. They played harmless pranks on nurses, earning scolding looks and stifled smiles.
Sometimes, they “borrowed” wheelchairs and raced down the halls, laughing until their sides hurt.
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Andrew didn’t ask about Tommy’s illness. He wasn’t sure how to bring it up. One afternoon, Tommy mentioned Sara had been crying again. “She’s worried about money,” Tommy said. “We might lose our house.”
Andrew quietly gave Tommy an envelope of cash. “Tell her it’s from a magician,” he said.
When Sara tried to return the money, Andrew waved her off. “I’m not a magician,” he said. “I don’t know where it came from.”
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Weeks passed. Andrew’s treatments worked, and the day came when the doctor gave him the news—he was cancer-free.
Ecstatic, Andrew rushed to share it with Tommy. But when he arrived, Tommy was unconscious, Sara sitting beside him, tears streaming down her face.
“What happened?” Andrew asked, his voice barely above a whisper.
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Sara wiped her eyes and shook her head. “The doctors said there’s nothing more they can do.”
Andrew stared at her, struggling to process the words. “But… he seemed so happy. He always smiled. I thought he was improving.”
Sara looked at him, her face full of pain. “He didn’t want you to see how sick he was. He wanted to be strong for you. He thought he was a superhero.”
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Andrew’s chest tightened. “I’m so sorry.”
Sara managed a faint smile through her tears. “Don’t be. He said you saved him. These months, you gave him laughter and hope. You made him forget about being sick.”
Andrew shook his head slowly. “No. He’s the one who saved me.”
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He stepped closer and wrapped his arms around her in a gentle hug. She cried quietly against his shoulder, and though Andrew wished he could take her pain away, he knew nothing would ever truly ease it.
That night, Tommy passed away peacefully, surrounded by the love of his mother and the memories he had made.
Andrew sat alone in his room afterward, overwhelmed by the loss. Andrew couldn’t bear the thought of such a bright soul being forgotten.
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Determined, he started a foundation in Tommy’s name to help sick children, ensuring his kindness would live on.
He also stayed in touch with Sara, offering her support in every way he could.
One afternoon, Andrew stood at his ex-wife’s door, holding the painting she had demanded for so long. She opened the door, her mouth ready to hurl accusations, but Andrew silently handed her the painting.
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“I’m not here to argue,” Andrew said, his tone calm as he held out the painting.
His ex-wife frowned, puzzled. “What is this supposed to mean?” she asked.
“Nothing important,” Andrew replied, a small smile forming. “I’m just making sure I keep my superpowers.” Without waiting for a response, he turned and walked away.
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If you enjoyed this story, read this one: Taking care of Mom was hard enough without the tension with my sister. Accusations flew when precious things started disappearing. I thought I knew who was to blame, but the truth shattered my world. Betrayal came from where I least expected, leaving me questioning everything—and everyone—I trusted.
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I Invited My Colleague to Secretly Introduce Her to My Single Grandson – My Heart Stopped as They Saw Each Other
Elsie just wants Josh, her grandson, to meet someone with whom he can consider settling down. When a young new teacher enrolls at her kindergarten, she thinks that she has hit the jackpot. But when Josh meets Allison, Elsie learns that they already have a connection.
I’m a meddling grandmother. Not in a bad way — I just want my grandson Josh to move along with his life. He’s 27 and spends most of his time at work or gaming.
During weekends, he stays at home, working on something around the house, or gaming.
“You need to get out more, Josh,” I said. “I want you to live your life to the fullest! Don’t you want to meet someone?”
“I get it, Gran,” he would say, pausing his game. “But I’m just not interested in that at the moment. Work is taking up all my time and energy, and I don’t think that’s a bad thing.”
“You’re not getting any younger,” I said, handing him chips to snack on.
“It’s because you’re surrounded by kids all day, so you just want great-grandchildren,” he laughed.
Josh wasn’t wrong. I was a kindergarten teacher, and I loved every moment of it. But I was done with the life of raising children away from their homes. Now, at 70, I wanted a quiet life of knitting and baking — a soft life, as Josh put it.
I’m leaving my position at the school at the end of the year. And maybe it’s just maternal instinct, but I wanted to know that Josh would be okay and not so alone.
A few months ago, we welcomed a new teacher at the kindergarten, Allison.
She was a few years younger than Josh, and I loved having her around during the day. So, of course, I thought about setting her up with him.
But I knew my grandson — Josh would never agree to an arranged date. He probably wouldn’t even show up.
The next best thing was to invite Allison over for dinner, where Josh would be forced to meet her.
“Alli,” I said to her one day during school. “Would you like to come over for dinner?”
“Yes! Of course, I would, Mrs. Barnard,” she said. “Since moving here, I’ve really missed family dinners. This will be great.”
I arranged for Allison to come over for dinner on a Friday evening. She went on and on about coming early to help with the cooking or bringing things over.
“Please just let me help, Mrs. Barnard,” she pleaded, as she helped me put the toys away one afternoon.
“You can bring dessert,” I told her. “And call me Elsie.”
I loved her.
And I knew that she would complement Josh well.
But nothing on earth could have prepared me for the connection between Josh and Allison.
That evening, as I was setting the table, Josh walked in.
“What’s this about?” he asked, nodding to the table.
“We’re having a new teacher over for dinner, okay?” I said, putting the cutlery in place.
“Sure, do you need me to help you?” he asked.
Allison arrived, her presence a breath of fresh air, carrying a cake with her.
She hugged me at the door and made herself at home — while Josh was still in his bedroom.
And then, the entire evening was turned upside down.
“Allison?” Josh’s voice came from the doorway, a mix of disbelief and an inexplicable hint of recognition.
“Josh?” Allison answered, her eyes wide. “Mrs. Barnard, this is your grandson? Josh?”
Confusion wrapped the room like a thick fog.
“Wait, you two know each other?” I asked, my heart racing at the possibilities of their connection.
“Yeah, Gran,” Josh said, sitting down.
“How?” I pressed on. We were past the niceties; I needed to know more.
“Allison is my sister,” he declared, each word resonating with the weight of a thousand unspoken stories.
The room fell silent.
“Explain, please,” I told Josh.
Josh isn’t my biological grandson. In fact, I had spent years of my life wanting a child, but I struggled with personal relationships. So, when I was 48, I took the plunge and went to an orphanage.
That’s where I met Josh. He was 5 years old and was a survivor of an accident in which his parents had died.
“Elsie,” Mandy, the social worker, said. “He’s a great kid! He’s curious, charming, and polite as ever. He just needs a chance to get out of here and live.”
When I met him, he was a scared little boy who had lost the most important people to him.
“What about the rest of his family?” I asked. “Wouldn’t they come looking?”
“There isn’t anyone else,” Mandy said. “We’ve searched. Which is why he had to be separated from his sister, too. She was adopted three weeks ago.”
“And the family didn’t want to take Josh?” I asked.
“Sadly, no,” Mandy admitted. “They just wanted the youngest child we had, so that they could have as much of her childhood as possible.”
In the end, despite my asking for more information about Josh’s sister, there was just no way such confidential information could be given out.
I adopted Josh as his grandmother because I was already going gray, and I didn’t want anyone to ask him why his mother was so old.
Eventually, on his 15th birthday, I told him the truth about the adoption — but nothing about his sister because I just didn’t have the information.
So, Josh has known the truth — or as much of the truth as possible.
“Tell me,” I pressed on.
“Gran, after you told me the truth about me being adopted, I felt settled. I mean, you had chosen me, after all. But I just felt that there was more to the story, you know?”
I nodded. I didn’t want to interrupt him. But I would choose this boy every single time.
“So, a few months ago, I went back to the orphanage, and I was told about a sister — Allison. And they were able to give me information because we were biological siblings.”
“And then, Josh found me on Facebook,” Allison chimed in. “We’ve been talking for a while. Although, he didn’t tell me the truth at first.”
“Well, I didn’t know if you knew the truth or not,” Josh retorted. “I couldn’t just say that I found your details in an old file at an orphanage.”
“I didn’t think that our first meeting would happen here, in your home,” Allison said.
“I think we need some dinner,” I said, waking up to get the food.
As we sat down at the table, I silently observed Josh and Allison’s reunion. I had absolutely no idea that there was a possibility that they could have known each other, let alone be siblings.
Josh ate quietly, processing his thoughts while he chewed. Allison’s eyes were glazed over — I wondered what she was thinking, and whether she was okay.
“Gran, why did you invite Allison over?” Josh asked, pouring more wine.
“Because I wanted to play matchmaker,” I said honestly.
Allison started giggling, and soon the room echoed with laughter.
The sense of awkwardness that had initially overwhelmed me transformed into a profound joy — I had hoped to bring love into Josh’s life, never imagining it would come in the form of a sister’s bond long severed by fate.
But their roles in each other’s lives were restored.
Later, when Allison took it upon herself to do the dishes, Josh and I stood outside.
“I can’t believe this,” Josh whispered, his voice cracking with emotion as he turned to me.
“I’m as surprised as you are,” I said, looking at the night sky.
“You’ve given me so much,” he said. “And now, you’ve unknowingly brought Allison back. We’ve been talking, but neither of us had the courage to actually meet.”
The rest of the night unfolded with stories of childhood memories lost and found, of heartaches and hope, and the unshakeable bond of family.
As I lay in bed that night, the house quiet once more, I couldn’t help but feel that their meeting was predestined by some other force.
At least now, Allison will be in Josh’s life, in some capacity or another.
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