Children made fun of a poorly dressed girl they’d ride the school bus with, teasing her that she stunk. They were surprised to see her on TV one day, which changed how they saw her entirely.
Nikki was not like everybody else in the first grade. She was a lot shorter than her classmates and was frail and fragile.
Everybody in her class knew that Nikki only had her mother living with her and that they lived a poor life. Unfortunately, one day, things went from bad to worse.
Nikki would take the bus home every day as her mother worked two jobs to raise her. The bus driver, Mrs. Evans, was already used to Nikki riding the bus by herself and would expect her every day.
Nikki would walk to the bus stop alone every day, and no one knew why. | Source: Pexels
One day, Mrs. Evans noticed that Nikki looked very sad as she waited for the bus. She was dressed in old clothes filled with holes, runs, and stains.
“Good morning, Nikki!” Mrs. Evans greeted. “Are you alright?”
Nikki looked up at Mrs. Evans and smiled. “Good morning, Mrs. Evans. Yes, I’m fine,” she said, getting on the bus. She was glad that someone spoke to her, as she was used to everybody else ignoring her.
As she boarded the bus, there were already several children inside. One girl, Martha Reeves, was a spoiled rich girl from the second grade. She spotted Nikki immediately and laughed at her clothes.
“Oh my gosh!” the young girl exclaimed. “Look at that scarecrow!” she said, pointing at Nikki.
Nikki was embarrassed that the girls in the school bus decided to make fun of her. | Source: Pexels
Nikki looked down, ashamed at the sudden attention being placed on her. She quietly sat on her seat on the last row of the bus and cried.
“Where did you find these clothes? In the garbage?” Martha asked, going closer to Nikki’s seat to tease her. As she got closer, she suddenly pinched her nose.
“Ew! You stink like a garbage bag!” she told Nikki. Martha’s friends chimed in, pinching their noses as well.
“Do you bathe or even brush your teeth?” one said, laughing.
“You can’t be serious. You can’t go to school looking and smelling like this,” Martha said, pulling Nikki from her seat. “Come on, go home! Get out of the bus and return to your filthy home,” she said, tugging at her arm.
Kids would make fun of Nikki for how she looked every day. | Source: Pexels
Nikki was in pain, but she didn’t say anything. Instead, she quietly sobbed as the girls picked on her and tried to kick her off the school bus.
Then, suddenly, the girls jumped at a scream. “That’s enough! Stop torturing this poor girl,” she said.
Mrs. Evans heard everything and decided to stop the bus to stand up for Nikki. She walked towards the back as soon as she yelled and asked Nikki to sit in front, right behind the driver’s seat.
After they were dropped off at school, Mrs. Evans could not stop thinking about the incident on the bus. She decided to find out why Nikki would show up to school in dirty-looking clothes.
So, after work, she dropped by Nikki’s house. She learned the whole truth and was surprised at what she saw there. Mrs. Evans’ daughter worked in a media company. She called her daughter and immediately told her Nikki’s story.
Nikki would sit quietly at school everyday because she didn’t want to draw attention to herself. | Source: Pexels
The following week, Nikki showed up at the bus stop in ragged clothes. Martha and her friends covered their noses and whispered amongst themselves. Mrs. Evans shook her head, but she was glad that the girls no longer said anything mean to Nikki’s face.
A couple of days later, there was a meeting at school for teachers, children, and their parents. Nikki and her mother did not show up. Mrs. Evans walked into the classroom and turned on the TV in the middle of the meeting.
One of the most-watched TV channels was airing a story about Nikki. It was shot by Mrs. Evans’ daughter and picked up by the station.
A famous TV station decided to cover Nikki’s story to inspire others. | Source: Pexels
When Mrs. Evans learned about Nikki’s story, she realized that the whole country could learn a thing or two about how she lived. Despite being a small and frail girl, she had a powerful character that inspired the bus driver.
Nikki grew up without a father and had learned the value of independence. Nikki’s mother fell ill, and insurance decided not to cover the treatment. So, as Nikki’s mom was bedridden, she could no longer take Nikki to school, cook her meals, or clean the house.
Nikki took on the responsibilities of taking care of herself and her mother while her mom was sick. She cleaned the house, took out the garbage, cooked food for her and her mom, washed her own clothes, and fed her mom medicine.
After watching the show, Martha and Nikki’s other classmates realized why Nikki’s clothes were always tattered and dirty – she had been taking on responsibilities even before going to school.
The TV news glorified the small yet brave and strong Nikki. Mrs. Evans revealed the real reason why she decided to turn on the TV, addressing the parents in the room.
Mrs. Evans attended the parent-teacher conference to share Nikki’s story. | Source: Pexels
“Your children mock Nikki on the bus every day. Kids, I hope the show taught you how important it is to be kind to everyone we meet every day. Everybody is fighting a battle not everyone knows about, and it’s best to be kind no matter the situation,” she told them.
Since that day, nobody mocked Nikki ever again. The kids would always say hi first and treat her with kindness by offering her snacks and drinks on the way to school.
Martha and her friends also gifted Nikki with some of their dresses so that she could wear clean clothes to school every day. Their parents also pooled money so Nikki’s mom could undergo surgery.
Soon after, the woman was able to return home from the hospital and begin working again. As they got home, they were surprised to see the director of the TV station waiting for them with a check.
“These are donations from the TV viewers moved by your story. We hope you use this to secure Nikki’s future and better your living situation,” the director said as she handed the check.
With the money, Nikki and her mom could secure her college tuition. They were also able to buy themselves a small new house and live comfortably.
What can we learn from this story?
- A Scottish proverb once said: “do not judge by appearances; a rich heart may be under a poor coat.” The children were quick to judge Nikki for how she looked, without realizing that she had been struggling to take care of herself while her mother was sick. It’s important not to judge others quickly, as we never know what they’re going through.
Share this story with your loved ones. It might inspire them and make their day.
If you liked this story, you might like this one about a school bus driver who found out one of the students riding his bus did not get off at the last stop for the reason that taught him a valuable lesson.
This account is inspired by our reader’s story 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.
At My Grandma’s Funeral, I Saw My Mom Hiding a Package in the Coffin — I Quietly Took It & Was Stunned When I Looked Inside
At my grandmother’s funeral, I saw my mother discreetly slip a mysterious package into the coffin. When I took it later out of curiosity, I didn’t expect it would unravel heartbreaking secrets that would haunt me forever.
They say grief comes in waves, but for me, it strikes like missing stairs in the dark. My grandmother Catherine wasn’t just family; she was my best friend, my universe. She made me feel like the most precious thing in the world, enveloping me in hugs that felt like coming home. Standing beside her coffin last week, I felt untethered, like learning to breathe with only half a lung.
An older woman in a coffin | Source: Midjourney
The funeral home’s soft lighting cast gentle shadows across Grandma’s peaceful face. Her silver hair was arranged just the way she always wore it, and someone had put her favorite pearl necklace around her neck.
My fingers traced the smooth wood of the casket as memories flooded back. Just last month, we’d been sitting in her kitchen, sharing tea and laughter while she taught me her secret sugar cookie recipe
“Emerald, honey, she’s watching over you now, you know,” Mrs. Anderson, our next-door neighbor, placed a wrinkled hand on my shoulder. Her eyes were red-rimmed behind her glasses. “Your grandmother never stopped talking about her precious grandchild.”
A grieving young woman | Source: Midjourney
I wiped away a stray tear. “Remember how she used to make those incredible apple pies? The whole neighborhood would know it was Sunday just from the smell.”
“Oh, those pies! She’d send you over with slices for us, proud as could be. ‘Emerald helped with this one,’ she’d always say. ‘She has the perfect touch with the cinnamon.’”
“I tried making one last week,” I admitted, my voice catching. “It wasn’t the same. I picked up the phone to ask her what I’d done wrong, and then… the heart attack… the ambulance arrived and—”
“Oh, honey.” Mrs. Anderson pulled me into a tight hug. “She knew how much you loved her. That’s what matters. And look at all these people here… she touched so many lives.”
An emotional, teary-eyed woman | Source: Midjourney
The funeral home was indeed crowded, filled with friends and neighbors sharing stories in hushed voices. I spotted my mother, Victoria, standing off to the side, checking her phone. She hadn’t shed a tear all day.
As Mrs. Anderson and I were talking, I saw my mother approach the casket. She glanced around furtively before leaning over it, her manicured hand slipping something inside. It looked like a small package.
When she straightened, her eyes darted around the room before she walked away, her heels clicking softly on the hardwood floor.
A mature woman at a funeral | Source: Midjourney
“Did you see that?” I whispered, my heart suddenly racing.
“See what, dear?”
“My mom just…” I hesitated, watching my mother disappear into the ladies’ room. “Nothing. Just the grief playing tricks, I guess.”
But the unease settled in my stomach like a cold stone. Mom and Grandma had barely spoken in years. And there was no way my grandma would have asked for something to be put in her casket without my knowledge.
Something felt off.
A grieving woman looking ahead | Source: Midjourney
Evening shadows lengthened across the funeral home’s windows as the last mourners filtered out. The scent of lilies and roses hung heavy in the air, mixing with the lingering perfume of departed guests.
My mother had left an hour ago, claiming a migraine, but her earlier behavior kept nagging at me like a splinter under my skin.
“Ms. Emerald?” The funeral director, Mr. Peters, appeared at my elbow. His kind face reminded me of my grandfather, who we’d lost five years ago. “Take all the time you need. I’ll be in my office whenever you’re ready.”
“Thank you. Mr. Peters.”
An older man looking at someone | Source: Midjourney
I waited until his footsteps faded before approaching Grandma’s casket again. The room felt different now. Heavier, filled with unspoken words and hidden truths.
In the quiet space, my heartbeat seemed impossibly loud. I leaned closer, examining every detail of Grandma’s peaceful face.
There, barely visible beneath the fold of her favorite blue dress — the one she’d worn to my college graduation — was the corner of something wrapped in blue cloth.
I wrestled with guilt, torn between loyalty to my mom and the need to honor Grandma’s wishes. But my duty to protect Grandma’s legacy outweighed it.
My hands trembled as I carefully reached in, extracted the package, and slipped it into my purse.
A woman holding a brown leather purse | Source: Midjourney
“I’m sorry, Grandma,” I whispered, touching her cold hand one last time. Her wedding ring caught the light, a final sparkle of the warmth she’d always carried.
“But something’s not right here. You taught me to trust my instincts, remember? You always said the truth matters more than comfort.”
Back home, I sat in Grandma’s old reading chair, the one she’d insisted I take when she moved to the smaller apartment last year. The package sat in my lap, wrapped in a familiar blue handkerchief.
I recognized the delicate “C” embroidered in the corner. I’d watched Grandma stitch it decades ago while she told me stories about her childhood.
A woman holding a small blue package | Source: Midjourney
“What secrets are you keeping, Mom?” I murmured, carefully untying the worn twine. My stomach churned at the sight that followed.
Inside were letters, dozens of them, each bearing my mother’s name in Grandma’s distinctive handwriting. The paper was yellowed at the edges, some creased from frequent handling.
A stunned woman holding a stack of old letters | Source: Midjourney
The first letter was dated three years ago. The paper was crisp, as if it had been read many times:
“Victoria,
I know what you did.
Did you think I wouldn’t notice the missing money? That I wouldn’t check my accounts? Month after month, I watched small amounts disappear. At first, I told myself there must be some mistake. That my own daughter wouldn’t steal from me. But we both know the truth, don’t we?
Your gambling has to stop. You’re destroying yourself and this family. I’ve tried to help you, to understand, but you keep lying to my face while taking more. Remember last Christmas when you swore you’d changed? When you cried and promised to get help? A week later, another $5,000 was gone.
I’m not writing this to shame you. I’m writing because it breaks my heart to watch you spiral like this.
Please, Victoria. Let me help you… really help you this time.
Mom”
A shocked woman holding a letter | Source: Midjourney
My hands shook as I read letter after letter. Each one revealed more of the story I’d never known, painting a picture of betrayal that made my stomach turn.
The dates spread across years, the tone shifting from concern to anger to resignation.
One letter mentioned a family dinner where Mom had sworn she was done gambling.
I remembered that night — she’d seemed so sincere, tears streaming down her face as she hugged Grandma. Now I wondered if those tears had been real or just another performance.
A startled woman covering her mouth | Source: Midjourney
The final letter from Grandma made me catch my breath:
“Victoria,
You’ve made your choices. I’ve made mine. Everything I own will go to Emerald — the only person who’s shown me real love, not just used me as a personal bank. You may think you’ve gotten away with it all, but I promise you haven’t. The truth always comes to light.
Remember when Emerald was little, and you accused me of playing favorites? You said I loved her more than I loved you. The truth is, I loved you both differently but equally. The difference was that she loved me back without conditions, without wanting anything in return.
I still love you. I’ll always love you. But I cannot trust you.
Mom”
A surprised woman holding a letter | Source: Midjourney
My hands were shaking as I unfolded the last letter. This one was from my mother to Grandma, dated just two days ago, after Grandma’s death. The handwriting was sharp, angry strokes across the page:
“Mom,
Fine. You win. I admit it. I took the money. I needed it. You never understood what it’s like to feel that rush, that need. But guess what? Your clever little plan won’t work. Emerald adores me. She’ll give me whatever I ask for. Including her inheritance. Because she loves me. So in the end, I still win.
Maybe now you can stop trying to control everyone from beyond the grave. Goodbye.
Victoria”
A teary-eyed woman reading a letter | Source: Midjourney
Sleep eluded me that night. I paced my apartment, memories shifting and realigning with this new reality.
The Christmas gifts that always seemed too expensive. The times Mom had asked to “borrow” my credit card for emergencies. All those casual conversations about Grandma’s finances, disguised as daughter’s concern.
“Have you talked to Mom about getting power of attorney?” she’d asked one day. “You know how forgetful she’s getting.”
“She seems fine to me,” I’d replied.
“Just thinking ahead, sweetie. We need to protect her assets.”
My mother, driven solely by greed, had betrayed my grandmother and now, me.
A teary-eyed woman standing near the window | Source: Midjourney
By morning, my eyes were burning but my mind was clear. I called her, keeping my voice steady:
“Mom? Can we meet for coffee? There’s something important I need to give you.”
“What is it, sweetie?” Her voice dripped with honey-sweet concern. “Are you okay? You sound tired.”
“I’m fine. It’s about Grandma. She left a package for you. Said I should give it to you ‘when the time was right.’”
A mature woman talking on the phone | Source: Midjourney
“Oh!” The eagerness in her voice made me wince. “Of course, darling. Where should we meet?”
“The coffee shop on Mill Street? The quiet one?”
“Perfect. You’re such a thoughtful daughter, Emerald. So different from how I was with my mother.”
The irony of her words was a dagger to my heart. “See you at two, Mom.” I then hung up.
A woman holding a smartphone | Source: Midjourney
The bell above the door chimed as my mother entered the coffee shop that afternoon, her eyes immediately finding my purse on the table.
She was wearing her favorite red blazer — the one she always wore to important meetings.
She sat down, reaching for my hand across the worn wooden surface. “You look exhausted, sweetheart. This has all been so hard on you, hasn’t it? You and your grandmother were so close.”
I just nodded and placed a wrapped bundle on the table. Inside were blank pages with just two letters on top — Grandma’s “I know what you did” one, and one I’d written myself.
A mature woman holding a small gift-wrapped package | Source: Midjourney
“What’s this?” she asked, her perfectly manicured nails breaking the seal on the first envelope. I watched as the color completely drained from her face when she opened the second one, her fingers gripping the paper so tightly that it crumpled at the edges.
My letter was simple:
“Mom,
I have the rest of the letters. If you ever try to manipulate me or come after what Grandma left me, everyone will know the truth. All of it.
Emerald”
A mature woman gaping in shock while holding a letter | Source: Midjourney
“Emerald, honey, I—”
I rose before she could finish, watching years of deception dissolve in her tears. “I love you, Mom. But that doesn’t mean you can manipulate me. You lost my trust. Forever.”
With that, I turned around and stormed out, leaving her alone with the weight of her lies and the ghost of Grandma’s truth. I realized some lies can’t stay buried forever, no matter how hard you try.
A young woman in a coffee shop | Source: Midjourney
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