When my husband and I couldn’t pick up our son from school one day due to work, we asked Kyle to take the school bus home along with the rest of his classmates. However, things took a sharp turn when the bus driver made a mistake while calling out the bus stop locations.It was just an ordinary Thursday, or so I thought when I waved goodbye to Kyle as he left for school with my husband, Tristan. He wasn’t used to taking the bus since either Tristan or I usually picked him up from school. But work had us both tied up that day, so we called his teacher and told her he’d be taking the bus and that we’d pick him up from the bus stop as it was closer for us. She guided him on what he needed to do before boarding. “Alright, sweetheart, the bus driver is going to call out the names of the bus stops. You have to be alert and wait for him to call your stop. Okay?” Mrs. Patterson told him before Kyle boarded the bus…My baby was confident he could make it, as he had always seen himself as an independent child.”Thank you, Mrs. Patterson. I’ll be alert and wait for him to call out Pflugerville,” he said, hugging his teacher before boarding the bus. Then, he got to his seat, and the bus driver closed the door. Kyle knew that our house was a bit further than the rest of the kids, so he read a book while on the bus.
Although he knew the name of our neighborhood, he didn’t exactly know how the bus stop looked, as he’d never ridden the school bus before. After a couple of stops, the bus driver suddenly called out, “Pflugerville.” Looking around, Kyle realized he was the only one getting off at that stop. He thanked the bus driver, exited the bus, and found himself alone at the bus stop.”Dad? Mom?” he then called out. He didn’t have a cell phone, so he decided to sit, thinking we were just late. It was getting darker, and it was cold. Kyle started feeling scared and walked around the neighborhood, hoping to find our house. But he ended up lost. Then, while he was walking around, a dark figure suddenly appeared in front of him. Kyle started crying,afraid that he was about to be taken somewhere scary. To be honest, that day was hectic like no other. We didn’t realize how soon it was time to pick up Kyle. Tristan and I headed to the bus stop in the next town, expecting to see Kyle hop off with his usual bright smile. But as the kids disembarked one by one, the sinking realization hit us — Kyle wasn’t there. Panic set in when the bus driver approached us, his face pale. “I’m sorry, I made a mistake. I called out ‘Pflugerville’ too early. I drove back and looked for him, but…” he stammered. The anger and fear I felt were indescribable.
We promised to take action against this negligence, but our immediate concern was finding our son.As darkness enveloped the town, Tristan and I frantically searched the neighborhood, calling out Kyle’s name, hoping to find him. But we got no response. Our boy was somewhere, and we didn’t know where. Tears streamed down my face, the worst scenarios playing out in my mind. Then, my phone rang, cutting through the night’s stillness. “Mom?” Kyle’s voice, a mix of relief and fear, was the sweetest sound I’d ever heard. “Sweetheart, where are you? Dad and I have been looking for you,” I said, trying to keep my voice steady. He was calling from an unknown number. Whose number was that? “I’m with Frank. I’m in a dark, dirty room, but…”
The line went dead. My heart stopped for a moment. Had someone taken him? Who was this Frank? Without hesitation, we involved the police, who traced the call to a rundown part of town. We arrived at a decrepit shelter, where we found Kyle, safe but scared, with a beggar — Frank.Tristan and I were scared beyond words. Frank looked scary with his shabby appearance, and we thought he’d abducted our son. We were ready to unleash our fury at him for what we thought was a sinister act. Tristan almost raised his hand at the poor man. But Kyle’s voice stopped us in time. “Dad, Mom, why are you getting mad at him? You should be thanking him! If it weren’t for Frank, I’d be outside, freezing in the cold, or worse, someone could have taken me.” The realization hit us hard. Frank, this stranger who had nothing, had taken our son under his wing, offering him warmth and protection when he was most vulnerable. My heart swelled with gratitude and shame for my initial suspicions. Tristan and I immediately apologized to the kind man. Frank brushed off our worries and told us it was fine. “And that’s not all, Mom,” Kyle continued. “Using the money he had left, he bought me a sandwich instead of buying something for himself. He even gave me his blanket.”Tears welled up in my eyes, not just for the fear of nearly losing Kyle but for the kindness Frank showed him. That night, my husband and I treated Frank to a delicious meal at a local Chinese restaurant. Frank was overjoyed. “Thank you for this delicious meal. You really didn’t have to do anything for me. I was glad to help Kyle!” he smiled. “Something could have happened to our son if you were not there to save him, Frank. This is the least we can do,” Tristan said while pouring Frank another cup of tea. Tristan and I were so grateful for what Frank had done that we didn’t want to stop at just treating him to dinner. We wanted to make sure that although Frank was currently unemployed, he’d live comfortably.As Tristan worked for a large pharmaceutical company, he pulled some strings to get Frank a job at one of their pharmacy branches. We also made sure he had warm clothes and food while he adjusted to life as an employee. We wanted to ensure Frank’s future was as bright as the hope he’d given us. Ultimately, Frank’s life changed for the better, and he was able to move out of the shelter and rent a small apartment that was good enough for him to comfortably live in. He also excelled at his job as a security guard, and he enjoyed being able to work and interact with different people. Frank never thought that a simple act of kindness would change his life for the better. He had a stable job and a comfortable home and gained a good set of friends — all because he decided to help Kyle that day. Looking back, I realize how a moment of fear led to an unexpected friendship and a reminder of the inherent goodness in people. Frank, once a stranger, now holds a special place in our hearts.
My 4-Year-Old Son Was Distressed Every Time My MIL Babysat – When I Discovered the Reason, I Got Revenge
Working as a nurse, Zoe often relied on her mother-in-law, Denise, to babysit Leo, her son. But when the little boy becomes visibly shaken by his grandmother’s presence, Zoe has to question the old woman’s actions, only to discover that Denise has a hidden agenda.
I had always thought that my mother-in-law, Denise, was a little overbearing, but I chalked it up to her just being protective of my son, her only grandson, Leo.
She was one of those women who carried herself with a certain authority that made you straighten your back and rethink your words. This had become more pronounced when Jeremy, her husband, passed away a few years ago, allowing Denise to reclaim her role as head librarian of the local library.
“Why shouldn’t I?” she asked Andrew, my husband, one day. “I have time now, so there’s no need to just have my part-time role there. And I can have my book club meetings at the library, too.”
“Okay, Mom,” Andrew said. “You do whatever you want.”
She wasn’t mean, exactly, but Denise had a way of making you feel small without even trying. But still, she lived two roads away and was always willing to babysit Leo whenever I had a shift at the hospital, and considering Andrew’s unpredictable hours at the law firm, Denise usually had to step in often.
“It’s what grandmothers are for, right, Zoe?” she would say whenever I asked her to come over.
And despite how her moods could shift without a moment’s notice, she was reliable and didn’t complain about it once.
But lately, Leo had been acting strange whenever Denise came over. At first, it was small things. He would cling to my leg a little longer than usual when I tried to leave or hide behind the couch when he heard her car pull up in the driveway.
I thought that my son was just going through a phase, or maybe even a bit of separation anxiety. I had seen it all the time with the kids in my ward, especially when they woke up and their parents weren’t in sight.
But then, last week, right before I was about to leave for a night shift, he started crying.
“I don’t want Grandma to stay with me!” he blurted.
Big, fat tears rolled down his cheeks, and he clutched my scrub with a grip that seemed stronger than a grown man’s.
I knelt beside him, brushing a lock of his blonde hair from his forehead.
“But why, sweetheart?” I asked gently. “Grandma loves you. And she always brings you treats. Remember the brownies and ice cream from last week?”
My son’s eyes darted to the doorway as if expecting her to walk in at any moment.
“Because… Grandma acts strange,” he said, his eyes wide.
I was about to press him further because I needed to know what was going on. But moments later, Denise’s familiar, clipped footsteps echoed down the hallway. Leo bolted off to his room.
“What’s going on?” Denise asked as she set her purse down on the hallway table. “Where’s my grandbaby?”
“Nothing,” I said quickly. “He ran to his room to play with his toys. Andrew is away for the next two days. He’s meeting with a client and running through a case.”
Denise nodded.
I left for work, but I couldn’t shake the feeling of unease that settled in my stomach. I spent the entire night running between patients and thinking about Leo’s words.
“Grandma acts strange.”
What did that even mean to a four-year-old?
When I got home the next morning, I found my son sitting on the couch, staring blankly at the TV. His favorite cartoons were playing, but he wasn’t watching them. Instead, his eyes were red and puffy, like he had been crying all night.
“Leo?” I said slowly. “Did you sleep at all?”
He shook his head.
“No, Mommy,” he said. “I stayed up. I didn’t want to sleep.”
“Why not?” I asked, even though I could already feel my heart sinking.
I pulled one of the blankets under the coffee table and wrapped Leo in it, hoping if he felt safer, he would talk.
“Because Grandma scares me,” he said, his hands clutching his teddy bear tightly.
I felt a wave of panic wash over me.
“Scares you? What happened, honey? What did Grandma say or do?”
“She keeps trying to put something into my mouth,” he said. “She chases me with it, and it’s scary.”
“What is she trying to put into your mouth, sweetheart?” I asked, my voice tight as I strained to show my emotions.
Leo hesitated.
“Cotton buds,” he said. “You know, what you clean my ears with? She said that she wants to put my spit in the tube. I don’t like it. I don’t want it.”
My blood ran cold. Ever since Leo’s accident a few months ago, where he fell off his bike and landed himself with a broken arm, he’s been terrified of doctors, needles, and anything that reminded him of his time in the hospital.
The thought of Denise running around the house with a cotton swab and a test tube made my blood boil. Why was she trying to get my son to take a DNA test?
“Where’s Grandma?” I asked Leo.
“In the guest room,” he said.
I marched to the guest room and found Denise sleeping peacefully, oblivious to the screaming match that was about to come. Without hesitation, I shook her awake.
“Wake up, we need to talk,” I said.
“What’s going on?” she asked, blinking away her sleep.
“Leo just told me that you’ve been trying to swab his mouth for a test? Why are you traumatizing my son? Why do you want him to have a DNA test?” I demanded.
Her eyes widened, and for a moment, she looked like she was going to deny it.
“I’m sorry,” she said, sitting up. “I didn’t mean to frighten Leo. I’ve just been wondering about something…”
“What? What would possibly be so important that you’d do this behind my back?”
“His hair,” she said simply. “Nobody has had blonde hair like that.”
“You think that my son isn’t Andrew’s because of his hair color?” I asked.
“I know it sounds crazy, but it’s been gnawing at me. I just needed to know, but I didn’t want to accuse you…”
“I can’t believe that you would go to such lengths, Denise.”
“I didn’t know what to think. I’m sorry, Zoe,” she said.
“Please leave, Denise,” I said. “I need time to process this. And I need to focus on Leo.”
She nodded, looking defeated.
Over the next week, things were tense between Andrew and me. While she drove home on the day of the confrontation, she had phoned Andrew and told him everything, firmly securing some seeds of doubt.
“I think we should do the test,” he quietly said one day, not meeting my eyes.
I stared at him, hurt.
“You really think that’s necessary? You believe what your mother is implying?”
“It’s not that I believe it,” he said. “But if we do the test, we can put this all to rest. No more doubts, no more accusations. What if Leo was switched at birth?”
“I had a home birth!” I exclaimed. “You would have remembered if you were here and not in court.”
I sighed.
“Alright,” I said after a moment. “I’ll do the test for Leo, but on one condition.”
“What condition?” he asked.
“If I’m going to do this to prove our son is yours, then you’re going to do a test too. To prove that your father is really your father. Denise needs to know what this feels like.”
Andrew’s eyes widened, shock registering on his face from my request. “What? Why would you even suggest that?”
I could feel his brain overthinking it, but I also knew that he was trying to view the situation from my point of view.
I leaned forward, my voice firm, “Because your mother is the one who’s throwing accusations around. If she’s so obsessed with bloodlines, then maybe she should be sure of her own. So, if you want me to take a test, then you’re going to take one too.”
Andrew hesitated, clearly taken aback by my demand. But after a moment, he nodded. “Okay. If that’s what it takes, I’ll do it.”
A few days later, the test results came back. As expected, the test confirmed that Leo was indeed Andrew’s son.
But there was also another revelation that nobody saw coming.
It turned out that the test results for Andrew showed that his biological father wasn’t the man he had called Dad his entire life.
“What the hell, Zoe?” he said out loud.
“This is a conversation for you and your mother,” I said offhandedly.
As much as I wanted to know the truth and to know about Leo’s biological grandfather, I didn’t want to get caught up in Denise’s drama any further. No, thank you. I had a son to focus on. And there was just something about how Denise acted that I wasn’t going to forgive soon.
But eventually, my curiosity gave in and I asked Andrew about his conversation with his mother. It turned out that she had an affair in her youth, resulting in Andrew.
“She said that she had always suspected it, but she didn’t dare do a DNA test while my father was alive. Just imagine, I’ve gone my entire life thinking that my father was just that, my father. But he wasn’t, not biologically. I can’t forgive her, Zoe.”
My heart broke for him.
“So, what does this mean?” I asked.
“It means that we take our time and space away from my mother. And we focus on our son. She’s the one who betrayed our family. Not us,” he said.
I nodded, ready to move on and focus on our family.
Apparently, Denise’s guilt had eaten away at her for decades, leading her to project her insecurities onto me and our son.
What would you have done?
If you enjoyed this story, here’s another one for you |
My MIL Intentionally Sent Me Faded Flowers for My Birthday with a Nasty Note
Emily has always had issues with Denise, her mother-in-law. But when her birthday rolls around and her husband, Evan, has to go away on a business trip, Emily is left to entertain herself. Denise, on the other hand, takes matters into her own hands and gives her daughter-in-law a horrible birthday gift.
I know we all have problematic mother-in-law stories, but my goodness. I’ve been dealing with Denise for well over five years now. My husband, Evan, and I come from very different backgrounds, which were the first ingredients for a disaster.
Evan grew up in an affluent suburb, while I was raised by a single mom in a rough neighborhood where clothing was stolen straight off the line.
And to make it even worse for Denise? I’m a mixed-race woman, which Denise always looked down on.
“You definitely get your hair from your mother, then,” she would say to annoy me.
Despite Evan’s love and constant defense of me, Denise never missed a chance to remind him that he could’ve done better.
“I’ll bet you a spa day, Emily,” Evan told me one day as we were driving to his mother’s house for dinner. “She’s going to mention something about an ex-girlfriend or about me having done better.”
“You’re on,” I said.
Naturally, he was correct because not even fifteen minutes into the dinner, Denise was talking about an ex.
Read the full story here.
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