Cleaner Stepped Into a Stranger’s Home — Then a Stack of Birthday Cards Revealed a Heartbreaking Secret

When Claire agrees to clean a reclusive woman’s neglected home, she expects dirt and clutter — but not the eerie feeling of a house frozen in time. As she sorts through the piled-up mess, she finds a stack of birthday cards that leads her to a heartbreaking revelation.

My phone buzzed as I packed my cleaning caddy. Another day, another home that needed cleaning.

A cell phone in someone's back pocket | Source: Pexels

A cell phone in someone’s back pocket | Source: Pexels

“Clean Slate Services, this is Claire,” I answered, wedging the phone between my ear and shoulder as I checked my supply of microfiber cloths.

“Hello?” The voice was elderly and tentative. “My name is Margaret. My daughter suggested I contact you. She said you post videos online about helping people clean their homes?”

I smiled, thinking of the before-and-after videos that had become surprisingly popular.

A woman in a store room speaking on her phone | Source: Midjourney

A woman in a store room speaking on her phone | Source: Midjourney

My small cleaning business may not have been setting the world on fire, but scrubbing suburban floors and dusting small offices served a greater purpose. Those jobs allowed me to offer free cleaning services to people in need.

“That’s me,” I replied to Margaret. “How can I help?”

“It’s not for me.” Her voice dropped to a near-whisper. “It’s my neighbor, Eleanor. She needs help. She won’t ask for it, but she needs it.”

Something in her tone made me stop what I was doing.

A concerned woman speaking on her cell phone | Source: Midjourney

A concerned woman speaking on her cell phone | Source: Midjourney

I’d heard this kind of concern before — the worry that comes when someone watches another person slowly disappear.

“Tell me about Eleanor,” I said, sitting down on a nearby stool.

Margaret sighed. “Her yard is completely overgrown now. There are newspapers piling up on her porch that she never brings in. I tried checking on her last week and she barely opened the door, but when she did…” Margaret paused. “There was a bad smell. And what I could see behind her… it wasn’t good.”

A woman using her cell phone | Source: Midjourney

A woman using her cell phone | Source: Midjourney

My stomach tightened. I knew what that meant.

“It wasn’t always like this,” Margaret continued. “She used to be out in her garden all the time. Her roses won ribbons at the county fair. Then, one day… she just stopped. She’s a good person, Claire. I just… something’s terribly wrong.”

I hesitated for only a moment. These calls never came at convenient times, but that was the nature of crises.

A worried-looking woman in a supply room | Source: Midjourney

A worried-looking woman in a supply room | Source: Midjourney

“I’ll be there in an hour,” I promised. “What’s the address?”

After hanging up, I texted Ryan, my husband and business partner: Emergency clean-up. Not sure how bad yet. May need backup.

His response came immediately: On standby. Let me know.

I grabbed my “first assessment” kit — gloves, mask, basic cleaning supplies, and a change of clothes. Experience had taught me to always be prepared for the worst.

A variety of cleaning supplies | Source: Pexels

A variety of cleaning supplies | Source: Pexels

Eleanor’s house was a modest one-story with faded blue siding. The lawn had transformed into a meadow and dead flowers hung in forgotten window boxes. The mailbox listed to one side, stuffed with envelopes.

I knocked and waited. Nothing. I knocked again, louder.

Finally, I heard shuffling footsteps. The door opened just an inch, revealing a sliver of a woman’s face.

A woman peeking through a slightly open door | Source: Midjourney

A woman peeking through a slightly open door | Source: Midjourney

She was pale, with unkempt hair and tired eyes that widened at the sight of my company polo shirt.

“I don’t need a cleaning service,” she muttered, already starting to close the door.

“I’m not here to sell anything,” I said quickly, keeping my tone gentle. “Margaret asked me to come. She’s worried about you. She thought you might need help.”

Eleanor’s jaw set in a hard line. “I can handle it myself.”

A woman speaking harshly | Source: Midjourney

A woman speaking harshly | Source: Midjourney

I took a slow breath. I recognized this tone. This kind of resistance was not pride, but shame. It was the same way my mother used to react when concerned neighbors or teachers would ask about the piles of boxes filling our house.

“My mom used to say the same thing. ‘I can handle it.’ But sometimes, handling it means letting someone help,” I said softly. “I know what it’s like, Eleanor, how it all builds up. That’s why I started my cleaning business, so I could clean homes for free for people who need a fresh start.”

A woman on a porch speaking to someone | Source: Midjourney

A woman on a porch speaking to someone | Source: Midjourney

“A fresh start…” Eleanor sighed the words as though she barely dared to believe them.

For the first time, her eyes flicked up to meet mine. Something flickered there — hope, maybe. Or simply exhaustion. There was a long pause where I could almost see her weighing her options. Then her face crumpled.

“I don’t even know where to start,” she whispered.

A woman whispering sadly | Source: Midjourney

A woman whispering sadly | Source: Midjourney

“You don’t have to,” I assured her. “That’s why I’m here. Maybe you could spend the day with Margaret while I work? It might be easier that way.”

Eleanor hesitated, chewing on her lower lip. Finally, she nodded. “Let me get my purse.”

She disappeared behind the door for a moment. When she emerged, she was wearing a cardigan that had seen better days and carrying a worn leather handbag. I noticed how she kept her eyes down, avoiding looking at her front yard.

Withered plants near a fence in a neglected yard | Source: Pexels

Withered plants near a fence in a neglected yard | Source: Pexels

We walked together to Margaret’s house next door. Eleanor moved cautiously, like each step required calculation. Her shoulders hunched forward slightly, as if she was carrying something heavy.

Margaret answered her door with surprise that quickly melted into joy.

“Eleanor! Oh, it’s so good to see you out,” she exclaimed. “Come in, come in. I just made a fresh pot of tea.”

A smiling woman | Source: Midjourney

A smiling woman | Source: Midjourney

Eleanor managed a small smile as she stepped inside. “Thank you, Margaret.”

Margaret caught my eye over Eleanor’s shoulder and mouthed a silent “thank you.” I nodded and headed back to Eleanor’s house, already pulling out my phone.

“Ryan? I need you to bring the industrial garbage bags. And maybe a respirator.”

A concerned woman on a phone call | Source: Midjourney

A concerned woman on a phone call | Source: Midjourney

Ryan arrived 30 minutes later, a box of our heavy-duty cleaning supplies in his arms. He took one look inside the house and exhaled sharply.

“She’s been living like this?” he asked, his voice muffled by the mask he’d already put on.

I nodded. “For years, I’d guess.”

The house wasn’t packed floor to ceiling with junk, but it was suffocating. Dishes with dried food crusted onto them formed precarious towers in the sink. Mold crept along the baseboards.

Dirty dishes in a sink | Source: Pexels

Dirty dishes in a sink | Source: Pexels

The air was stagnant, heavy with the smell of neglect.

I pulled on my gloves and mask. “Focus on bagging up the obvious trash in the living room and kitchen, please — rotting takeout containers, empty packaging, bottles. I’ll start in the bedrooms.”

Ryan nodded, already opening a trash bag. “Got it. I’ll leave the sorting to you.”

I moved carefully across the living room, noting the layer of dust on the television screen.

A dirty and untidy living room | Source: Midjourney

A dirty and untidy living room | Source: Midjourney

The master bedroom was in similar disarray. There were clothes piled on chairs and a bed that hadn’t been made in what looked like months. Prescription bottles for anti-depressants and sleep aids were nestled among the junk on the nightstand.

The labels were all for Eleanor. Anti-depressants. Sleep aids. Another familiar sign.

But it was the second bedroom that stopped me cold.

A bedroom door | Source: Pexels

A bedroom door | Source: Pexels

I pushed open the door and immediately felt like I’d stepped into a different house.

Dust floated in the air, catching in the slant of light from a single, grime-streaked window. Cobwebs dangled everywhere, like drapes. The lack of trash in here made it feel abandoned in a way that sent shivers down my spine.

A twin bed sat against one wall, covered with dust. A model solar system hung from the ceiling, also brown with dust, the planets tilting at odd angles from years of stillness.

A model solar system hanging from a ceiling | Source: Midjourney

A model solar system hanging from a ceiling | Source: Midjourney

A dresser stood against the far wall. Inside, I found children’s clothes, neatly folded. T-shirts small enough for a nine or ten-year-old. Superhero pajamas. School uniforms.

I exhaled slowly. This room wasn’t a storage space. It was a memorial.

I carefully closed the drawer and left the room exactly as I’d found it. I’d dust it later, but for now, there were bigger problems.

A woman in a doorway | Source: Midjourney

A woman in a doorway | Source: Midjourney

As I cleaned the house, I unearthed framed photographs on a dusty bookshelf. A young boy with dark curls grinned at the camera. In another, the same boy sat on a man’s shoulders, both of them laughing.

But as I found more photos, something gnawed at me. There were no pictures of the boy past the age of ten, or so. All the clothes I’d found earlier were for a child around that age.

In the master bedroom, I found a small stack of birthday cards addressed to “Michael” tucked inside a nightstand drawer.

Trash and junk on a nightstand | Source: Gemini

Trash and junk on a nightstand | Source: Gemini

There were cards for every birthday from his first to his 13th. The text in the 13th birthday card was shaky, mostly illegible handwriting. All I could make out was “…would’ve been 13 today.”

Would’ve been? A heavy feeling settled over my heart as I began putting the pieces together. There was always a reason people lost control over the state of their homes, and I suspected this child was part of Eleanor’s reason.

By early afternoon, Ryan and I had made considerable progress. We’d cleared most of the floors and built a mountain of trash bags on the curb.

Trash bags on a sidewalk | Source: Midjourney

Trash bags on a sidewalk | Source: Midjourney

The kitchen countertops were visible now, and the sink sparkled. The living room had been vacuumed, the surfaces dusted and disinfected.

“I’ll start on the bathroom,” Ryan said, filling a bucket with hot water and bleach.

I nodded. “I’ll finish up in here.”

As I opened a kitchen drawer looking for stray utensils, I found a folded newspaper, yellowed at the edges. I almost threw it out, but then a name caught my eye: Eleanor.

A folded newspaper | Source: Pexels

A folded newspaper | Source: Pexels

My breath stilled as I scanned the headline: “Local Father Dies in High-Speed Crash En Route to Hospital.”

According to the article, James had been speeding to get to County General when he lost control of his vehicle. His ten-year-old son, Michael, had been rushed to the same hospital hours earlier by Eleanor, his mother, and James’s wife.

James never made it to see his son.

A woman holding a newspaper | Source: Midjourney

A woman holding a newspaper | Source: Midjourney

I closed my eyes, absorbing the weight of it. He’d been rushing to see his sick son, and then he was gone. The article didn’t mention what had happened to Michael, but the birthday cards and the second bedroom suggested she’d lost him, too.

No wonder it had all gotten too much for Eleanor.

I wiped my hands on my jeans and headed to Margaret’s house. I needed to speak to Eleanor.

A sad and determined woman's face | Source: Midjourney

A sad and determined woman’s face | Source: Midjourney

Eleanor was still at Margaret’s kitchen table, hands curled around a now-cold mug of tea. She looked up as I entered, her eyes questioning.

I sat across from her, placing the folded newspaper on the table.

“I found this,” I said quietly.

Eleanor didn’t move. Her eyes fixed on the paper but then shifted away.

“I should have thrown that away years ago,” she whispered.

A woman's face in shadow | Source: Pexels

A woman’s face in shadow | Source: Pexels

“But you didn’t.” My voice was gentle. Not accusatory, just observing.

The silence stretched between us. Margaret stood by the sink, her hands clutched together.

“Michael developed severe asthma when he was four,” Eleanor finally said, her voice flat, as if she’d told this story so many times in her head that the words had lost their power. “We managed it for years, but…” Her voice wobbled.

A woman at a kitchen table | Source: Midjourney

A woman at a kitchen table | Source: Midjourney

“Michael’s condition worsened suddenly. I had to rush him to the hospital one day. I called James and he… he was driving too fast.”

Her breath shuddered.

“He never made it. And Michael… a week later, he was gone, too.”

A hard lump settled in my throat. To lose both of them so close together…

I reached across the table and placed my hand over Eleanor’s. “The room. You kept it exactly the same.”

A woman's hand | Source: Pexels

A woman’s hand | Source: Pexels

Eleanor nodded, a tear slipping down her cheek. “At first, it felt wrong to change anything. Then, as time passed, it felt wrong to even go in there. So I just… closed the door.”

“And the birthday cards?” I asked softly.

“I couldn’t help myself.” She wiped at her eyes with her free hand. “For three years afterward, I bought my son a birthday card. I wrote him a message I wished he could read. I thought I was just working through my grief, but it became more painful instead of less. It was silly.”

A woman in a kitchen | Source: Midjourney

A woman in a kitchen | Source: Midjourney

“No,” Margaret said firmly, coming to sit beside Eleanor. “It’s not silly at all. It’s love.”

Eleanor broke then, her shoulders shaking with years of bottled grief. Margaret moved her chair closer, putting an arm around her.

“It wasn’t just Michael and James,” Eleanor managed between sobs. “It was me, too. Part of me died with them. And I just… I couldn’t keep up with everything. The house, the yard… it all seemed so pointless, so exhausting.”

A sad woman in a kitchen | Source: Midjourney

A sad woman in a kitchen | Source: Midjourney

“Grief can swallow you whole,” I said quietly. “My mom went through something similar after my dad left. Not the same, but… things piled up. Literally.”

Eleanor looked at me with red-rimmed eyes. “How did she get past it?”

“She didn’t, not really. Not on her own.” I squeezed her hand. “I helped where I could, but we both needed more than that. Eventually, she got therapy. Made some friends at a support group. It wasn’t a straight line to better.”

A woman looking at someone | Source: Midjourney

A woman looking at someone | Source: Midjourney

Margaret stroked Eleanor’s back gently. “You don’t have to be alone in this anymore.”

Eleanor wiped her eyes again. “The house… is it awful?”

“Nothing that can’t be fixed,” I assured her. “I called in back up and we’ve made good progress. Would you like to see?”

Eleanor nodded. Moments later, she stood hesitantly in the doorway of her home.

A front door and porch | Source: Pexels

A front door and porch | Source: Pexels

Ryan stood aside, a nervous half-smile on his face.

“We’re not totally finished,” he explained. “But it’s getting there.”

Eleanor stepped inside slowly. The living room was transformed — floors cleaned, surfaces dusted, clutter removed.

She moved through the space as if in a dream, touching things, testing their reality. When she reached the closed door of the second bedroom, she froze.

A woman looking anxious | Source: Pexels

A woman looking anxious | Source: Pexels

“We didn’t touch that room,” I said quickly. “I wanted to ask first.”

Eleanor nodded but didn’t open the door.

“Thank you.” She turned to face us. “Thank you both.”

Her eyes filled with tears again, but these seemed different. Relief, maybe. Or the first hint of something like peace.

“We’ll come back tomorrow to finish up, if that’s okay,” I offered. “The bathroom needs more work, and there’s still the yard…”

“Yes,” Eleanor said, and for the first time, I saw the shadow of a smile on her face. “That would be… yes.”

A woman smiling faintly | Source: Midjourney

A woman smiling faintly | Source: Midjourney

The next morning, Eleanor was ready when we arrived. She had put on a clean blouse and combed her hair.

“Margaret invited me over for breakfast,” she told us. “And then we might look at some plants for the garden. If that’s all right?”

“That sounds perfect,” I said.

While Ryan tackled the overgrown yard with our garden tools, I finished the bathroom and laundry room. By mid-afternoon, the house was transformed. Not perfect, but livable. Clean. Fresh.

A clean and tidy home | Source: Pexels

A clean and tidy home | Source: Pexels

When Eleanor returned, Margaret was with her, carrying a small tray of potted herbs.

“For the kitchen window,” Margaret explained.

Eleanor surveyed her house, her yard, her life — all visible now, all accessible again.

“I don’t know how to thank you,” she said.

“You don’t have to,” I replied.

As Ryan and I packed up our supplies, I watched Eleanor and Margaret at the kitchen table, drinking coffee. Something had shifted in Eleanor, like a door had opened, letting in light.

Coffee mugs on a table | Source: Pexels

Coffee mugs on a table | Source: Pexels

I thought about my mother, about how hard it had been for her to accept help when her mental health started to deteriorate. She was the reason I’d started doing these free cleans in the first place, so nobody would have to suffer the same way.

Ryan caught my eye and smiled. “Another successful clean slate?”

I nodded, watching the two older women through the window as we walked to our van. “The cleanest.”

A smiling woman | Source: Midjourney

A smiling woman | Source: Midjourney

In-Laws Kicked Us Out of the House They Gifted After We Paid for Renovations — Then It Got Even Worse

When Mike’s parents offer him and his family a home, they are over the moon. Mike and Maria have a growing family, and they need the extra space. So, they venture into renovations, making the house a home. But one day, Mike’s parents called, wanting their home back.

When my in-laws offered us a house, we thought it was a dream come true. With three kids and a tight budget, any help came as a blessing.

A close-up of a house | Source: Midjourney

A close-up of a house | Source: Midjourney

But, let me be honest with you: the house was far from ideal.

“It’s in the middle of nowhere, Mike,” I told my husband when we were sitting on the couch talking about the possibility of moving into the house.

“It’s miles away from the kids’ school and our jobs! We’ll have to leave a lot earlier just to make it on time,” I said, sighing.

A couple sitting on a couch and talking | Source: Midjourney

A couple sitting on a couch and talking | Source: Midjourney

“I know, Maria,” my husband said. “It irritates me to think that the nearest grocery store is about twenty minutes away. But I don’t want to be ungrateful.”

And I understood that. In fact, their gift had come at the perfect moment. We had outgrown our little two-bedroomed house. It was now cluttered, and our three kids had to share one bedroom.

A cluttered bedroom | Source: Midjourney

A cluttered bedroom | Source: Midjourney

“We’ll do it for the kids,” I said, taking his hand. “Whatever happens, we’ll make it work for them.”

“Think of it as a fresh start, kids,” Mike’s mom said when we went over to their home for dinner. “You’ll love the peace and quiet, and the kids will have a lot of space to run about in. This is going to be good for you.”

“Yes, Mom,” Mike said. “We agree with you. We’re looking forward to this new start and just going on a journey together as a family.”

A family sitting at a table | Source: Midjourney

A family sitting at a table | Source: Midjourney

The house itself was a fixer-upper, to put it mildly. There was an entire to-do list of things that needed to be done. The house needed a new kitchen, the wiring needed to be updated, and the bathrooms needed an overhaul.

We knew it would be a big project, but at the end of the day, Mike and I wanted this house to be the home our children grew up in.

“The yard is so big, honey,” Mike told me. “Can you imagine all the birthday parties and even having our kids getting married from here? I love it.”

We poured all our savings into renovating it, making it not just livable but a true home for our family. Our children deserved it.

An outdoor birthday party set up | Source: Midjourney

An outdoor birthday party set up | Source: Midjourney

As things were falling into place, Mike, the tech enthusiast, even set up a state-of-the-art smart home system.

“At least it’s ours,” Mike said, smiling as he showed me how the new system worked. “It finally feels like home.”

A few months went by, and we were settled into our new home. The children adapted beautifully, and Mike and I got closer as a couple. We went on long walks together, and the kids went on picnics together all the time.

Our family had grown closer together.

A picnic set up | Source: Midjourney

A picnic set up | Source: Midjourney

Then, last month, my in-laws dropped a bombshell. They decided to sell their current house and buy a lakeside cabin. To fund this new venture, they needed our house back.

What? How? This had become our home.

We were absolutely stunned. They insisted that although they had gifted it to us, they still had a right to take it back. The sense of betrayal was overwhelming.

“They can’t do this,” Mike fumed, pacing our newly renovated kitchen. “We have a letter from them saying it was a gift!”

A shocked couple | Source: Midjourney

A shocked couple | Source: Midjourney

My husband and I couldn’t believe it. We had a written letter from them, clearly stating that the house was a gift. We decided to fight back, hiring a lawyer to help us navigate this sudden crisis.

We provided all the documents, receipts, and the gift letter. We were convinced that there had to be some legal ground we could stand on.

“I don’t know what else to do,” Mike said one morning when we were having our coffee together. “I don’t know how we’re supposed to find another place and uproot the kids again. This isn’t fair!”

A stack of paper | Source: Midjourney

A stack of paper | Source: Midjourney

Weeks passed as we waited for a resolution. But I was just getting more agitated as the days went on. Mike told me not to do anything until the lawyer got back to us. But I couldn’t wait.

I couldn’t sit back and do nothing while we waited for our home to be taken away from us. So, I spent hours looking at rentals available in the area. I just needed to have options available on hand.

I didn’t know what was coming. And I couldn’t believe that Mike’s parents would willingly put us in this situation.

A woman using a phone | Source: Unsplash

A woman using a phone | Source: Unsplash

But then, the lawyer did eventually get back to us.

He walked up our driveway expressionless, which immediately made me think that there was no good news coming.

“I’m afraid there’s not much we can do,” he said. “The property was never legally transferred into your names. The documents show them as the legal owners. So, I’m sorry, but Mike’s parents are the owners.”

A man in a suit walking | Source: Midjourney

A man in a suit walking | Source: Midjourney

The news was devastating.

I felt my entire stomach drop.

Mike, furious and heartbroken, suggested we undo all the renovations out of spite.

“They used us,” he said bitterly. “We should take back everything we put into this place.”

But I couldn’t bear the thought. Despite everything, we couldn’t stoop to that level.

“We’re better than that,” I said. “We’ll find another place and make it ours.”

An expressionless woman | Source: Midjourney

An expressionless woman | Source: Midjourney

So, we packed our belongings and moved into a tiny apartment closer to the city.

It was cramped, but it felt like a fresh start, free from the manipulation of my in-laws.

The kids adjusted surprisingly well, finding new friends and enjoying the proximity to their school and activities.

“I feel like we failed our children,” I told Mike when we were unpacking our kitchen items. “I just hate that they have to share a room again. And bunk beds? You know they hate this!”

“I know, my love,” Mike said. “But it’s just for now. The moment we can move to something better, we will. I promise you.”

A small apartment | Source: Midjourney

A small apartment | Source: Midjourney

Just when we thought that the drama was over, my in-laws reached out to us again. They were struggling with the smart home system Mike had set up.

“We can’t figure out how to use the lights, let alone the heating!” Mike’s dad complained over the phone. “Can’t you come back and help us out here?”

The irony wasn’t lost on us.

An elderly man using a phone | Source: Midjourney

An elderly man using a phone | Source: Midjourney

We had made that house livable and even comfortable, pouring our money and energy into it. Now, they were reaping the benefits of our hard work, but they were clueless about managing the systems we installed.

Despite their pleas, there was no way that we were going back.

“No,” Mike said firmly. “The house wasn’t right for us. We’re staying where we are.”

A man holding his phone | Source: Midjourney

A man holding his phone | Source: Midjourney

The trust was shattered, and the house, with all its tech features, was a constant reminder of the betrayal. Living in the cramped apartment wasn’t easy, but we found solace in the fact that we were free from emotional manipulation.

“This isn’t going to be forever, Maria,” Mike said. “I promise you. I’ll fix this.”

A couple embracing | Source: Midjourney

A couple embracing | Source: Midjourney

The experience left us wary of gifts that come with strings attached. We learned that sometimes, what seems like a generous gesture can be a way for others to control your life.

As for my in-laws, they eventually figured out the smart home system, but the damage was done. Our relationship with them has changed irrevocably.

“Please, come over for dinner,” Mike’s mother said. “We miss you guys, and we miss the kids terribly.”

An older woman using a phone | Source: Midjourney

“I’m sorry, Eileen,” I said. “But we’re just so hurt. And you should have known better. You’re a mother; you know how important it is for kids to have stability. And you and Derek took that away from us.”

“Calm down, please, Maria,” she said.

“No, because I don’t think you understand the extent of our wounds. Mike is so disappointed in you both.”

Without another word, Eileen cut the call.

“Oh, well,” I said to myself as I started chopping vegetables for dinner. Mike and the kids would be home soon.

A woman in the kitchen | Source: Midjourney

A woman in the kitchen | Source: Midjourney

What would you have done?

If you enjoyed this story, here’s another one for you |

I Accidentally Found Out My Friend’s Husband Was Cheating – I Couldn’t Help but Take My Revenge

Allison decides to hold onto her youthful side as she drives a taxi during her spare time. But one day, her friend’s husband is her passenger. As she takes the man to his destination, he asks for a detour, revealing a side of him she didn’t know. Next, Allison has to decide whether to be good at her job and protect her friend or help show her the truth.

Driving a taxi at 65 years old wasn’t part of my retirement plan, but it became my passion. I had been a writer for a women’s column for the better part of my career, and since retirement dawned, I only wrote a few articles per month.

A person using a typewriter | Source: Midjourney

A person using a typewriter | Source: Midjourney

“Just something to keep the old clogs working,” my editor, Elena, said when I told her that retirement was knocking on my door. “You don’t have to commit to it, Allison. It can be a freelance role, if that’s what you’d like. But just write for us every so often.”

I agreed, what else did I have to do with my time anyway?

But then, the open road, the hum of the engine, and the stories of my passengers kept me going.

“Mom, why?” my son, Darren, asked me. “Like really? Driving people around?”

A smiling man | Source: Midjourney

A smiling man | Source: Midjourney

“You’ll understand the need to do something freeing when you’re older, son,” I told him. “Let me do this while I still can. And what’s better than enjoying what I do?”

Yesterday was one of those days that I’ll never forget because it reminded me how foul people can be.

The previous day, one of my regulars, Jane, called me. She was a lively 55-year-old woman, and over the years, we had become friends.

A smiling older woman | Source: Midjourney

A smiling older woman | Source: Midjourney

“Hi, Allison,” she said on the phone. “I need a favor.”

“If it involves those croquettes with the peas that you’re trying to get me to eat, it’s a hard pass,” I chuckled. “What do you need?”

“Mike is leaving on a trip tomorrow, and he needs a ride to the airport. I’m going to be babysitting the grandbaby, so I don’t want to disturb her routine.”

People at an airport | Source: Midjourney

People at an airport | Source: Midjourney

Read the full story here.

This work is inspired by real events and people, but it has been fictionalized for creative purposes. Names, characters, and details have been changed to protect privacy and enhance the narrative. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.

The author and publisher make no claims to the accuracy of events or the portrayal of characters and are not liable for any misinterpretation. This story is provided “as is,” and any opinions expressed are those of the characters and do not reflect the views of the author or publisher.

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