Old Man Shuts the Door on Annoying Teen, but a Hurricane Exposes the Truth About Her

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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Family Gathers for Dinner at Grandma’s, Only to Face Shocking Inheritance Revelations — Story of the Day

Camilla is headed to her grandmother’s 80th birthday dinner, where family tensions and secrets are set to unravel. As they gather for the first time in years, old rivalries ignite, hidden truths surface, and a sudden twist leaves them all reeling.

Camilla and her husband, Scott, were driving to a family dinner at her grandmother’s house. For the first time in years, the entire family was together.

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They had come from different cities because it was Grandma Eleanor’s 80th birthday, and she insisted they all attend. Scott parked the car, and they stepped out into the cool evening air.

“I still don’t get why we’re here,” Scott grumbled as they walked to the front door.

“It’s Grandma’s birthday,” Camilla replied. “She wants to see us all together. She’s the only kind person in our family. I couldn’t say no.”

“I get that, but I could be working right now. You know we need the money more than ever,” Scott complained.

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“It’s just one evening.” Camilla patted her stomach, her loose sweater concealing her figure. “Do you think they’ll notice?”

“They shouldn’t. Even I wouldn’t if I didn’t know,” Scott responded.

“Good. I don’t want Mom to know yet. Maybe I’ll tell Grandma at the end of the night,” Camilla said.

“It’s your choice, honey. I’m here for you,” Scott said, giving her a gentle hug.

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They heard another car parking. Turning around, they saw Camilla’s brother, Michael, and his wife, Stacy, getting out of their car.

“Hey! Wait for us!” Michael shouted, running over.

“Sweetie, I can’t run! I’m in heels!” Stacy whined, catching up slowly. Camilla and Scott exchanged looks, rolling their eyes. It was clear Stacy was with Michael for his wealth, once she even said it herself.

“Can we go in now?” Scott asked. They all approached the door, and Camilla rang the bell.

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A moment later, the door opened, and a joyous Eleanor stood there. “My darlings! I’m so glad to see you!” she exclaimed, hugging each of them. They walked into the dining room, where a beautifully set table awaited, laden with food.

“Why did you make so much? You could’ve waited, and we would’ve helped,” Camilla said.

“Stop it. I enjoy doing this,” Eleanor replied. They all sat at the table.

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“Mom isn’t here yet?” Michael asked.

“She said she wasn’t sure if she could make it,” Eleanor said sadly.

“Typical. She never has time for us,” Camilla remarked.

“Stop it. She’s our mom,” Michael responded.

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“Just because you’re her favorite doesn’t mean anything! She hasn’t even wished me a happy birthday in years!” Camilla snapped.

“Not everyone can be perfect like you!” Michael shouted back.

“She always put her acting career before us! She still does! And look who’s talking about perfection – the owner of several restaurants!” Camilla yelled.

“I worked hard for that!” Michael shouted.

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“Let’s calm down a bit,” Scott suggested.

But Camilla didn’t hear him. “You just got lucky Uncle decided to give the restaurants to you!” she screamed.

“You’ve always been jealous of me!” Michael yelled.

“Jealous?! Of what?! That you’re completely alone, and your wife’s with you only for the money?!” Camilla screamed.

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“As if your situation is any better! Your husband can’t even find a decent job! And how long have you been trying to have a kid? Five? Ten years?” Michael yelled.

“Go to hell!” Camilla screamed.

“Enough!” Eleanor shouted, standing up. “You’re acting like children! I brought you here to have a nice dinner on MY birthday. And I was even thinking about what to do with the inheritance.”

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“What inheritance?!” Michael and Camilla asked in unison.

“The one your grandfather left, and I will leave too. But you can forget about it. You don’t know how to appreciate what you have. I’m not leaving you anything until you learn to value it!” Eleanor declared.

“Wait! What do we need to do to get the inheritance?” Michael shouted after her.

“Convince me you deserve it,” Eleanor said, walking away.

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Camilla started feeling unwell and stepped outside, holding and gently rubbing her stomach. After a few minutes, Michael joined her.

“So we might get an inheritance,” he said to Camilla.

“We might have if you hadn’t ruined everything as usual,” Camilla replied.

“Me? You started it,” Michael said defensively.

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“Michael, I need this inheritance. I really need it,” Camilla said.

“I need it too,” Michael retorted.

“You have restaurants! Leave me something!” Camilla snapped.

“Business isn’t going well, and Stacy threatens to leave if I don’t fix it,” Michael said.

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“That might be good for you,” Camilla said. “I’m not backing down. Scott and I need the money badly right now.”

“And what are you going to do?” Michael asked.

“Prove I deserve the inheritance,” Camilla said, walking back into the house.

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“Hey! That’s not fair!” Michael shouted, following her.

Camilla found Eleanor in her bedroom. “I’m sorry we ruined your celebration with our fighting,” Camilla said.

“It’s not your fault. Your mother didn’t raise you to be friendly,” Eleanor replied.

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“Do you want something? Food? Drink?” Camilla asked.

“Is this how you want to prove you deserve the inheritance?”

“Scott and I really need this money right now,” Camilla said, placing a hand on her stomach. “Because—”

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Michael barged in, interrupting, “Don’t listen to her. She’s lying about me.”

“We weren’t talking about you,” Eleanor said. “Camilla, you were saying?”

“No, nothing important. I’ll tell you later,” Camilla said, not wanting Michael to hear.

“Do you need anything, Grandma? Let me help you with something,” Michael offered.

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“If you think sucking up to me will get you the inheritance, you’re wrong,” Eleanor said. “Let’s go back to the table and continue dinner.”

The three of them returned to the dining room, where Scott and Stacy were still sitting, and saw that Margaret, Camilla and Michael’s mom, had arrived.

“My darlings! I’m so happy to see you!” Margaret said, hugging Michael and then Camilla. “You’ve gained some weight, Camilla,” she commented, making Camilla roll her eyes. They all sat down.

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“Michael told me you’re discussing inheritance. Am I in the list of heirs?” Margaret asked.

“So that’s why you came. Not surprised my daughter only wants money from me,” Eleanor said.

“Not at all. I came for your birthday,” Margaret said.

“Sure, I believe that,” Eleanor replied.

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“I think we should discuss the inheritance,” Michael said, holding Stacy’s hand. “We believe it should go to us.”

“Why you?” Scott asked.

“When was the last time you visited Grandma?” Camilla asked.

“We live far away; it’s hard to get here,” Michael replied.

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“We also live far away but visit at least once a month,” Camilla said.

“I sent groceries to Grandma!” Michael shouted.

“I helped her around the house!” Camilla shouted back.

“I called her every week!” Michael yelled.

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“I called her every day!” Camilla screamed.

“I think the inheritance should go to me as the oldest,” Margaret said.

“No!” Camilla and Michael shouted in unison.

“Oh!” Margaret said, clutching her chest.

“Grandma, are you okay?” Camilla asked.

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“Yes, just…” Eleanor didn’t finish her sentence and fainted. Camilla rushed to her.

“Grandma! Grandma! Call an ambulance!” Camilla shouted, then grabbed her stomach and screamed.

“What’s wrong?” Scott asked nervously.

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“It’s starting,” Camilla said.

“What’s starting? Labor?” Scott asked.

“Yes,” Camilla said, screaming again.

“You’re pregnant?!” Michael asked, shocked.

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“I’m going to be a grandma!” Margaret exclaimed.

Scott called an ambulance, and they took Camilla and Eleanor to the hospital. The rest gathered to drive to the hospital in Michael’s car.

“Let’s take my car,” Michael said.

“Fine,” Scott replied.

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“Michael, maybe you shouldn’t go. You know I hate hospitals,” Stacy said.

“What? My grandma is sick, and my sister is giving birth,” Michael said.

“But I don’t want to go,” Stacy said.

“Then stay,” Michael said.

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Michael, Scott, and Margaret drove after the ambulance.

Camilla was in the delivery room, almost ready to give birth but refusing to until she heard about Eleanor.

“What’s happening with Grandma?!” Camilla screamed. “Tell me about my Grandma!”

Scott sat beside her, holding her hand. “Please, calm down. The baby is the priority now.”

“There’s no time to wait. We need to deliver,” the doctor said.

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“What’s happening with my Grandma?!” Camilla screamed.

The doctors calmed her down, and she delivered a healthy baby girl. She held the baby when Michael and Margaret entered the room.

“I can’t believe I’m an uncle,” Michael said. “I’m sorry for everything I said at dinner.”

Margaret looked upset. “Why didn’t you tell me you were pregnant?” she asked Camilla.

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“I didn’t want you to be in her life and then disappear like you did with me and Michael,” Camilla said.

“You’re right. I wasn’t a good mom. But maybe I can be a good grandma,” Margaret said.

“Let’s take it slow,” Camilla replied. “Do you know what’s happening with Grandma?”

“Camilla…” Margaret hesitated. “You need to rest and not stress.”

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“What happened to her?” Camilla insisted.

“Her heart stopped,” Michael said. “The doctor said it had been bad for a while. I think that’s why she wanted us all together.”

Camilla started to cry, and Scott hugged her.

A doctor entered the room. “Sorry to interrupt, but we found something in Eleanor’s belongings. I think you should see it,” the doctor said, handing Michael a folded note. Michael brought it to Camilla, and they read it together.

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I know our family isn’t the closest, and I wanted to change that. I hope it can happen with you, but I have more hope for the new generation. Camilla, I know you’re pregnant, even though you tried to hide it. I’m so happy for you and Scott. That is why I want my great-grandchild to inherit everything I have. Teach this child to love and protect our family, as it’s the most important thing we have. Michael, it’s time to leave Stacy. Margaret, it’s time to learn to be a mother and a grandmother. I love you all very much and hope you know that. Learn to love each other too.