A mom and her three children took the wrong bus and ended up lost. She realized she couldn’t buy her children food until a low voice startled her, offering much-needed assistance.
Julia had no choice but to raise her three growing children alone after her husband left her. He had been cheating on her with her best friend, and once she found out about their love triangle, he left her and stopped supporting their children.
At the time, Julia was devastated. She thought her life was ruined. She suffered from major trust issues after being betrayed not just by her husband but also her best friend.
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“You have to pull yourself together, Julia. You have three children you need to raise. You can’t be sulking at home because of what they did to you. Use it as motivation to do better,” her mom said after seeing Julia crying in the bathroom.
Julia looked at her children and knew that her mom was right. She had to look after her kids and make sure they lived comfortable lives, even if it meant working two jobs to earn enough money.
Julia’s mom, Lisa, happily volunteered to care for the three kids while she was at work. She had two jobs, working a total of 14 hours a day.
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Every day, she would start working at six in the evening, working as a waiter. Then from one in the morning until eight, she would work as a housekeeper at an inn.
By the time she got home, she had about three hours until her children woke up. She’d use this time to sleep before waking up alongside her kids to play with them and clean the house.
Julia’s work schedule exhausted her, especially because she didn’t get enough sleep every day. This lack of sleep often caused her to be scatter-brained, unable to remember the simplest things.
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One weekend morning, Julia had to take her kids to the hospital for their vaccinations. On their way home, Julia accidentally mixed up the bus routes, and they ended up in a place in town they’d never been.
Unfortunately, it would take another hour before another bus came around. She bought tickets at the bus stop and they quietly sat there until her kids began to cry, yelling that they were hungry.
Julia walked to a nearby burger stand, where she ordered four burgers. When she was about to pay, she frantically searched for her wallet inside her bag, only to look up at the sky, defeated.
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“My wallet was right here,” she cried. “I just purchased our bus tickets!” She looked through her bag again.
“I’m sorry to hear that, ma’am,” the man who took her order said. “This part of town is notorious for pick-pockets.”
Julia looked at her kids, ashamed that she couldn’t buy them food. She apologized to them and told them they’d have to wait an hour before they could eat, only for them to cry even louder. “Mom, I haven’t eaten the whole day!” her daughter whined. “I’m so hungry!”
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At that moment, Julia was at her breaking point. Her eyes started to fill with tears. Suddenly, she heard a low voice say, “No worries.”
She looked up and saw the man from the burger stand taking out his wallet. He paid for the burgers, packed a bag for Julia, and handed it to her.
“Please, take this. It’s on the house,” he told her.
Julia looked at the man in shock. Tears started to stream down her face, and she thanked the man numerous times. “Thank you so much; you have no idea how much this means to me,” she told him. “Can I please ask for your number? I want to pay you back once I can get some money.”
The man shook his head. “It’s no big deal, and it’s a simple act of kindness I’d like to do for you.”
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Ever since that day, Julia always made sure to help someone out whenever she had the chance. After working two jobs for a few more years, she earned enough money to start her own business. She created a mobile app that allowed users to book different services, from housekeepers to nail technicians, laundry shops, car cleaners, and more.
One day, while in a business meeting, Julia came across the man who helped her several years back.
“You’re the guy from the burger stand,” she said. He smiled, recognizing her as well.
“You’re the mom with three crying children,” he recalled. “How have you been?”
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That conversation ended up being life-changing for both of them. Julia insisted on treating the man, who introduced himself as Jacob, to dinner. It was her way of paying him back.
She discovered Jacob was looking for a job and she decided to hire him as her executive secretary. He went with her to all her meetings and helped her grow her business.
Eventually, after spending so much time together and getting to know each other more, they fell in love. They married, and Jacob adopted Julia’s three children, loving them as his own.
What can we learn from this story?
- If you’re in the position to help someone, do it. The man felt terrible that Julia couldn’t feed her children when they were hungry, so he stepped in to help her. When you’re capable of helping someone in need, do it without expecting anything in return, as it could save that person from reaching their breaking point.
- What goes around comes around. After receiving an act of kindness, Julia paid it forward. Eventually, she came across the man who helped her again, this time in the position to help. This led to a beautiful working and personal relationship between them.
Share this story with your friends. It might brighten their day and inspire them.
If you enjoyed this story, you might like this one about a beggar who gave half of his pizza to a hungry rich man, only for the man to give half his business to the beggar later on.
This piece is inspired by stories from the everyday lives of our readers and written by a professional writer. Any resemblance to actual names or locations is purely coincidental. All images are for illustration purposes only. Share your story with us; maybe it will change someone’s life.
My Family Turned Against Me When I Became a Private Detective, but a Teen Girl’s Case Changed Everything — Story of the Day
My family turned their backs on me when I left journalism to become a private detective. They saw it as a disgrace, and I started to wonder if they were right. No clients, no money, just regrets. But then a teenage girl walked into my office, searching for her mother—and her case changed everything.
I was sitting in my small, dimly lit office, sorting through the week’s mail. Bills, bills, bills, advertisements, more bills. The usual.
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I let out a heavy sigh and set the letters aside, covering my face with my hands.
I used to be a journalist—a successful one, I must say—but I always felt like it wasn’t enough.
Stories were always unfinished, truths half-exposed, and justice left waiting. So, at 42, I quit my job and decided to become a private detective.
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It was something that truly interested me, something I had always wanted to do.
My family didn’t support me. They tried to talk me out of it, but when they realized my mind was made up, they turned their backs on me.
My husband finally had a reason to leave me for a younger woman—one with shinier hair, fewer wrinkles, and, I assumed, fewer opinions.
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And my daughter? She cut me out of her life completely. She saw being a private detective as disgraceful—especially when compared to the prestige of journalism.
Of course, it hurt. But the longer I worked as a private detective, the more I started to wonder if they had been right.
I hadn’t had a new client in nearly three months, and I had plenty of debt. People didn’t believe in a female private investigator.
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Men were assumed to be better at solving cases—stronger, sharper, tougher. As if intuition, patience, and persistence didn’t count.
Suddenly, even surprisingly, I heard a hesitant knock at the door. I straightened up, quickly smoothing my hair and shoving the pile of bills into a drawer.
“Come in!” I called out.
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The doorknob turned slowly, and the door creaked open. A girl, about fifteen, stepped inside.
She hesitated, shifting her weight from foot to foot. Her clothes were too small—cheap, second-hand, sleeves of her sweater jagged as if they’d been cut off.
“How can I help you?” I asked, motioning to the chair across from my desk.
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She sat down carefully, pulling her sleeves over her hands, her long, unkempt hair kept falling into her face. She brushed it away absently, over and over.
One thing was clear—she didn’t have a mother. I had taught my daughter how to braid her hair when she was six. This girl had no idea what to do with hers.
“My name is Emily,” she said, her voice quiet but firm. “I’m an orphan. I need your help to find my mother.”
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I studied her face. She looked nervous, but her eyes held something else—determination.
“She gave you up?” I asked.
Emily nodded. “Yes. I don’t know anything about her. Not her name, not what she looks like. Nothing.”
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She swallowed hard. “I’m fifteen now. No one is going to adopt me at this point. But I want to find her. I just want to see her. I need to understand why she left me.”
Her words stung. No child should feel unwanted. No child should wonder why they weren’t enough.
“I’ll need something to go on,” I said, reaching for my notebook.
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Emily sat up straighter. “I was born in this town. I’ve never moved, never been sent anywhere else.” She took a breath. “My birthday is February 15, 2009.”
I jotted it down.
“Is that enough?” she asked, her fingers gripping the edge of her sweater.
“I’ll do everything I can,” I promised.
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She hesitated, then pulled a few crumpled bills from her pocket. “I have some money, but not much.”
It wasn’t even close to what I needed, but that didn’t matter.
“If I find her, then you can pay me,” I said.
Her lips trembled. “Thank you.”
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She stood to leave.
“Wait. How can I find you?” I asked.
She scribbled an address and handed it to me. “My foster home. I’ll be there.”
I nodded, and she walked out.
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The next morning, I wasted no time. It had been a long time since I had worked on a real case.
Even though I knew I wouldn’t make any money from this one—I couldn’t, in good conscience, take money from an orphan—it still felt good to have a purpose.
The first place I went was the hospital. Our town had only one, which made things easier.
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If Emily’s mother had given birth there, the records would be somewhere inside.
One advantage of my former job was that I had connections everywhere. The hospital was no exception.
I knew exactly who to talk to—Camilla. She had been a nurse for years, and we had met back when I was covering a story about harassment in hospitals.
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She had been a source then. Since that day, she’d been a friend. As soon as she spotted me, she put down her clipboard and grinned.
“Sara!” she said, pulling me into a quick hug. “What brings you here? Please don’t say trouble.”
“I need your help,” I said, leaning in slightly.
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Camilla raised an eyebrow. “Of course you do. You never just stop by to visit an old friend, do you?”
I crossed my arms. “You were literally at my house for dinner last week.”
She smirked. “Fine. What do you need?”
“Birth records. February 15, 2009.”
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She blinked. “That’s specific. Should I be worried?”
“Nothing illegal. I just need to find a name.”
Camilla folded her arms. “That’s doable, but make it fast.”
I hesitated. “The baby was given up, probably in secret.”
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Her expression changed. “Sara, you know I can’t just hand you confidential records.”
“Please,” I said. “Just a quick look. No one will even notice.”
She studied me, then sighed. “You have ten minutes.”
I smiled. “Thank you. I owe you.”
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She rolled her eyes. “You owe me for life.”
She led me through a narrow hallway to the hospital archives. The air smelled of dust and old paper.
Camilla pulled out a thick folder labeled 2009 – Abandoned Newborns and handed it to me.
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“Be quick,” she whispered.
I flipped through the pages, my fingers trembling. February 15. My eyes locked on the mother’s name. My breath caught.
No. This couldn’t be real.
I shoved the file back and hurried out.
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Camilla stood by the door. “Sara, you’re as pale as a ghost. What happened?”
“I’ll explain later,” I muttered, pushing past her. I needed air.
I stood outside a house I had never seen before. The air felt heavy, pressing down on me.
Emily’s case had become the hardest of my career. Too personal. Too close.
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I stared at the door. My hands felt numb. I couldn’t bring myself to ring the bell.
I took a breath and reached for the doorbell. My hand hovered over it. I could still turn around, pretend I never came. But that wasn’t an option. Not for Emily.
I pressed the button. The chime echoed inside. Footsteps approached.
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The door opened, and I saw her.
Her face paled. Her lips parted in shock. “Mom?”
I swallowed hard. My throat felt tight. “Hi.”
Meredith blinked. Her fingers tightened around the edge of the door. “What are you doing here? I thought I made it clear—I don’t want to see you.”
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I met her gaze. “I wouldn’t have come if this were about me.”
Her eyes darkened. “Then why are you here?”
I took a deep breath. “For your daughter.”
The color drained from her face. Her whole body tensed. “How… how did you—” She couldn’t finish.
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Her breath hitched. Tears filled her eyes. Then, without a word, she stepped aside and let me in.
The kitchen was small but neat. She moved stiffly, as if her body wasn’t sure what to do. She pulled out a chair and sat down.
I stayed standing for a moment, then sat across from her. Silence filled the space between us.
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“Her name is Emily, if you’re wondering,” I said. “No one ever adopted her. She’s been living with foster families. She came to me to find her mother, but I never imagined—”
Meredith squeezed her hands together. “Please stop,” she whispered.
I waited.
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“I have regretted it my whole life,” she said, her voice breaking. “I tried to forget. I told myself it was the best thing. That she’d have a better life without me. And now you show up out of nowhere to remind me what a terrible person I am.”
“You’re not terrible. You were a child yourself when she was born. I just don’t understand how you hid it. How did your father and I not know?”
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“I wore loose clothes. My belly wasn’t that big. And I planned to give birth in another town, but you and Dad went abroad for your work right before it happened. So it all worked out,” she said.
“Tell her I couldn’t be found,” Meredith said suddenly.
“Why?” I asked. “Meredith, I’m a mother too. I know what it’s like to lose a child. Nothing is more painful than that.”
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She lowered her gaze. Her voice trembled. “How can I face her? She’ll hate me.”
I let her words hang in the air. “Maybe,” I admitted. “But even so, she wanted to find you. That means something.”
Meredith wiped at her eyes. “What if she doesn’t want me?”
“She wants answers. She wants to know where she came from. You owe her that.”
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She looked away. I knew she resented me. But I reminded myself—this wasn’t about us. It was about Emily.
“I have her address,” I said. “Do you want to see her?”
Meredith hesitated. Then, slowly, she nodded.
We drove in silence. The streetlights flickered as we passed. When we reached the house, Meredith didn’t move. Her fingers dug into her lap.
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“Aren’t you coming?” she asked.
I shook my head. “This is between you two.”
She looked down. Her voice broke. “Mom… I regret cutting you out. I was ashamed.”
I turned to her. “You are my daughter. No matter what, I will always love you.”
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Her face crumpled, and she reached for me. I wrapped my arms around her, holding her the way I had when she was little.
“What you’re doing is important,” she whispered. “People like Emily need you.”
I smiled, brushing a strand of hair from her face.
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Then she stepped out, walked to the door, and knocked.
A moment later, Emily appeared. They stared at each other. Then Meredith took a breath. Emily took a step forward.
They talked. They cried. And then Emily wrapped her arms around her mother.
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Tell us what you think about this story and share it with your friends. It might inspire them and brighten their day.
If you enjoyed this story, read this one: My future brother-in-law was always a problem—rude, arrogant, and always pushing boundaries. But on my wedding day, he crossed a line we could never forgive. He humiliated me in front of everyone, turning my perfect day into a nightmare. That was the last straw, and my fiancé finally had enough.
This piece is inspired by stories from the everyday lives of our readers and written by a professional writer. Any resemblance to actual names or locations is purely coincidental. All images are for illustration purposes only. Share your story with us; maybe it will change someone’s life.
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