For Nancy her son Henry was everything, she never imagined her life without him. It had been 23 years since the horrible accident that took Henry’s life. Every year on that day, she took his favorite pie to his grave to honor his memory. But this year, everything was about to change.
For 23 years, Nancy, now 61, never missed a single day on this date. She baked her late son’s favorite pie and took it to his grave every year since.
The pie, a simple yet delicious apple and cinnamon creation, had been Henry’s favorite since childhood.
The scent of apples and cinnamon brought back memories of when Henry was little, running into the kitchen, his eyes lighting up at the sight of the pie.
For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney
It was his favorite dessert, and baking it had become a tradition they both cherished.
Since Henry’s tragic accident at 17, this ritual had been Nancy’s way of keeping his memory alive.
It gave her a sense of connection to him, like she was still doing something special for her boy. Losing him had been the hardest thing she had ever gone through. The pain of that day never left her.
Even though the years had passed, her grief remained, only softened by time and the small comfort this tradition brought her.
For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney
On this particular day, just like every year before, Nancy carefully carried the freshly baked pie to the graveyard.
The weight of the dish felt heavier, as it always did when she walked toward Henry’s resting place. The grave was neat and covered in flowers, a sign of how much he was still loved.
The stone had become smoother over the years, as she had often run her fingers over it, lost in her memories.
Nancy knelt, placing the pie gently on the gravestone. Her heart ached as she began to speak, her voice quiet, as though Henry might somehow hear her.
For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney
“Henry, I hope you’re at peace, my love. I miss you every day. I baked your favorite pie again. Remember how we used to bake it together? You’d always sneak a taste before it was done.”
She smiled, but her eyes were misty with tears. “I wish we could do that one more time.”
The familiar sorrow welled up inside her, but Nancy had learned over the years to push through the tears.
For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney
She wiped her eyes quickly and managed a small smile. After a few more moments of silence, she kissed her fingers and touched the top of the gravestone as she said her quiet goodbye.
Then, with a heavy but comforted heart, she turned and walked away, knowing she’d be back next year, just like always.
The next day, as part of her routine, Nancy made her way back to Henry’s grave to clean up the remains of the pie.
For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney
Usually, by the time she returned, the pie was either untouched or spoiled by the weather, a quiet reminder of her son’s absence.
She had always found it a bittersweet comfort, knowing the pie stayed where she left it as if waiting for him.
But today, as she approached the grave, something felt different. Nancy’s heart skipped a beat when she saw that the plate was clean—completely empty. For a moment, she stood frozen in disbelief.
Then, she noticed something else. Resting on the plate was a small piece of paper, folded in half.
For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney
Nancy’s hands trembled as she picked up the note. Her breath caught in her throat as she unfolded it.
The handwriting was shaky, as though whoever had written it had struggled to form the letters. The simple words read: “Thank you.”
Her heart pounded with confusion and anger.
“Who would take Henry’s pie?” she muttered under her breath, clutching the note tightly. “This was for my son. No one had the right to touch it!”
For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney
Her private ritual, her way of honoring and remembering her son, had been invaded by a stranger.
She felt violated, as if someone had stolen a piece of her grief.
With her emotions swirling—part outrage, part confusion—Nancy left the cemetery, her mind set on finding the person who had taken her son’s pie. She had to know who had done this, and why.
Determined to catch the culprit, Nancy decided she would take matters into her own hands. She couldn’t let someone continue to disturb the way she honored Henry. So, she devised a plan.
For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney
That night, she baked another of Henry’s favorite pies, the same apple and cinnamon recipe she had been making for over two decades.
The next morning, with renewed resolve, she placed the freshly baked pie on Henry’s grave, just like before, but this time she wasn’t leaving.
She found a large oak tree nearby and hid behind it, close enough to see the grave but far enough to not be noticed.
For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney
The warm aroma of the pie drifted through the air, filling the quiet cemetery.
Time passed slowly as Nancy watched and waited, her heart racing in anticipation.
An hour later, she spotted movement. A small figure cautiously approached the grave. Nancy squinted, leaning forward to get a better look.
It wasn’t the greedy thief she had imagined. No, this was something entirely different.
For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney
A young boy, no older than 9, with ragged clothes and dirt smudged on his face, moved toward the pie with hesitant steps.
Nancy’s heart tightened as she watched him. The boy didn’t immediately take the pie.
Instead, he knelt by the grave and reached into his pocket, pulling out a small scrap of paper and a dull pencil. His hand trembled as he carefully scribbled something on the paper, his brow furrowed with concentration.
It was clear the boy struggled with writing, but he took his time, making sure each word was legible.
For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney
Nancy’s heart softened as she saw him write “Thank you” on the paper, just like before. He wasn’t a thief. He wasn’t someone disrespecting Henry’s memory. He was just a hungry child, grateful for the kindness of a pie left behind.
The anger that had once consumed Nancy melted away in an instant. She realized this boy wasn’t stealing; he was surviving. He was in need, and her son’s favorite pie had somehow brought him comfort.
As the boy began to pick up the pie, his small hands shaking, Nancy stepped out from her hiding spot.
For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney
The rustle of leaves under her feet made him freeze, wide-eyed. Startled, he dropped the pie, and it tumbled onto the grass. His face paled, and he backed away, looking terrified.
“I’m sorry, I’m really sorry!” the boy cried, his voice trembling with panic. “I was just so hungry, and the pie was so good. Please don’t be mad.”
Nancy’s heart softened instantly. The sight of him—thin, dirty, and scared—erased any trace of anger she had felt before.
For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney
She knelt beside him, speaking gently, her voice as comforting as she could make it. “It’s alright, sweetheart. I’m not mad at you, Where are your parents?” she said, her tone soothing. The boy stayed silent and shook his head. “What’s your name?” Nancy asked another question understanding that the boy had nowhere to go.
“Jimmy,” he muttered, still avoiding her eyes, ashamed of what he had done.
“Well, Jimmy,” Nancy smiled softly, trying to reassure him, “it’s okay. You don’t have to steal pies. If you’re hungry, all you had to do was ask.”
For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney
Jimmy looked up at her, his lips quivering as he tried to speak. “I didn’t mean to steal,” he said, his voice small and shaky. “I just… I don’t get to eat much, and that pie was the best thing I’ve ever had.”
Nancy’s heart ached for him, her mind flooded with thoughts of how different this boy’s life must be.
The hunger in his eyes reminded her of her own son, Henry, when he would eagerly wait for that first bite of her freshly baked pie.
But Henry never had to worry about where his next meal would come from. Jimmy, on the other hand, looked like he had been living with hunger for a long time.
For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney
“Come with me,” Nancy said after a moment of thought. She stood up and reached out her hand to him. “I’ll bake you a fresh pie, just for you.”
Jimmy’s eyes widened in disbelief, as if he couldn’t trust his own ears. “Really?” he asked, his voice filled with a mix of hope and doubt.
Nancy nodded, her heart filled with a strange but comforting warmth. “Yes, really. You don’t have to be afraid.”
Slowly, Jimmy reached out and took Nancy’s hand.
For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney
She led him back to her home, the boy walking beside her in silence, his eyes darting around as if he wasn’t sure if this was all real. Nancy’s heart swelled with the thought of what she was about to do.
Baking had always been her way of expressing love, and now, after years of baking for a son she could no longer see, she was about to bake for someone who truly needed it.
When they reached her cozy kitchen, Nancy set to work, rolling out the dough, slicing the apples, and adding the perfect amount of cinnamon—just as she had done so many times before.
For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney
Jimmy watched her quietly from the corner of the kitchen, his eyes wide as he followed every move she made.
The smell of the pie began to fill the room, warm and comforting, like a hug from a long-lost friend.
Once the pie was baked, Nancy placed it in front of Jimmy. “Here you go, sweetheart,” she said softly.
“This one’s all for you.”
Jimmy hesitated for a moment, as if he couldn’t believe what was happening. But then he grabbed a slice and took a bite. His face lit up with joy, his eyes sparkling as he chewed.
For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney
“This is the best pie I’ve ever had,” he said, his mouth still full. He ate with such happiness that it brought tears to Nancy’s eyes.
She watched him in silence, thinking about how something as simple as a pie could bring so much comfort to someone.
As Jimmy devoured the warm slices with obvious delight, Nancy couldn’t help but think of Henry.
She had always dreamed of seeing her son eat his favorite pie again, of watching him enjoy it the way he used to when he was a child.
For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney
But now, in some strange and unexpected way, she was sharing it with another boy who needed it just as much.
Watching Jimmy eat, Nancy felt a deep sense of peace wash over her. Perhaps this was how it was meant to be.
Maybe fate had brought Jimmy into her life for a reason. By feeding him, by offering him kindness when he needed it most, she was honoring Henry’s memory in a way she had never imagined.
For the first time in years, Nancy felt that her grief had led her to something beautiful—a connection, a purpose that gave new meaning to her life.
For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney
Maybe, just maybe, this was Henry’s way of sending her a message—that love and kindness should always find their way back to those in need.
Nancy smiled as she watched Jimmy finish the last slice of pie, her heart full of warmth and gratitude.
She had found an unexpected connection in the most unlikely place, and it filled her soul in a way that nothing else had in years.
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If you enjoyed this story, read this one: Martha was always quiet and smiling. No matter how hard or small the task, she was always ready to help. One of her colleagues, Chelsea, often took advantage of Martha’s kind nature by asking her to do her work for her. But this time, Chelsea unintentionally did Martha a favor.
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 MIL Offered to Host My Baby Shower to ‘Take the Stress off My Plate’—Then Turned It Into a Celebration of Herself
My husband’s mother emotionally overwhelmed me when she suddenly asked to assist me with the baby shower most helpfully. However, she had something else in mind that aimed to erase me, but I wasn’t having it!
When my mother-in-law (MIL), Margaret, offered to throw and plan a baby shower for me, I genuinely thought she was trying to be kind. But I should’ve known better because all she did was embarrass and paint me in a bad light in front of friends and family!
An unhappy pregnant woman | Source: Midjourney
I was eight months pregnant, and everything hurt, my feet, my hips, and even my eyelashes felt sore! My OB kept telling me to rest more, so when Margaret leaned across my kitchen island one day and said, “Let me take this off your plate, sweetie. You just focus on resting and growing that baby,”
I almost started bawling right there over the sink full of dishes! My eyes went wide with surprise! I felt like maybe I was dropping the ball by not planning my baby shower myself. But I was exhausted and honestly relieved someone wanted to take over!
A woman plotting | Source: Midjourney
“Are you sure?” I asked tentatively, feeling uncertain of my MIL’s intentions but desperate for the help.
“Absolutely. It would be my honor!” she offered. “You just rest up, you and the baby need it.”
“Oh, Margaret! You have no idea how much this means to me!” I said, gladly relinquishing everything to her.
I gave her the guest list, the registry link, and a carefully curated Pinterest board for the theme, titled “Baby Harper’s Day.” I even offered to help set up if she needed it! She waved me off.
“Don’t worry, I’ve got it.”
And technically, she did.
Except what she planned wasn’t a baby shower. It was a full-blown tribute to herself!
A woman working on her laptop | Source: Midjourney
See, my friends and other female relatives were all inundated with their own lives and issues. Others were out of the country, while some were having family problems or hard times at work. They weren’t negligent or anything, it’s just that life happens sometimes.
However, they’d all promised to block out the date and attend no matter what. Plus, they had offered to make it up to me by babysitting as much as they could when the time came.
So you see, I really needed my MIL’s help.
Two remorseful friends | Source: Midjourney
Margaret has always had a way of spinning the room around her like a tornado: big smiles, big stories, and even bigger sighs when she doesn’t get the reaction she wants! She once cried during my bridal shower because no one clapped loud enough after her speech.
She also introduces herself like she’s reading from a teleprompter: “Mom of three, nurse of 30 years, and soon-to-be BEST Grandma!” She’s even said it to a gas station attendant and a confused cashier!
A confused cashier | Source: Midjourney
Still, I told myself this time might be different. Maybe this was her way of trying to connect. Maybe this was her version of nesting.
Oh, Mia. You naive, bloated fool!
The morning of the shower, I was more excited than I expected. I wore a lilac dress with soft ruffles, picked specifically to match the theme I’d dreamed up: Wildflowers and Woodland Creatures. I even curled my hair, even though it felt like lifting dumbbells with every pass of the curling iron.
A happy pregnant woman | Source: Midjourney
When my husband, Eric, helped me out of the car in front of the rented venue, I froze while feeling a sinking in the pit of my stomach. There was a giant white-and-gold banner strung across the gift table in the entryway that read: “Welcoming My Grandchild!”
Not “Celebrating Baby Harper.”
Not even “Mia’s Baby Shower.”
Just… “My Grandchild.”
Underneath, in slightly smaller text: “Hosted by Margaret — Grandma’s Little Angel and Future Best Grandma Ever.”
A banner at a baby shower | Source: Midjourney
My husband blinked, then turned to me with that same deer-in-headlights look he had the day he accidentally shrunk all my maternity leggings in the dryer.
“Babe… did you know about this?”
“Nope,” I said, pressing a hand to my stomach as Harper gave a solid kick like she knew we’d just stepped into weird territory.
Inside, it got worse!
A surprised pregnant woman | Source: Midjourney
Each table had a centerpiece, but instead of florals or baby-themed decorations, every vase held framed photos of Margaret in her younger years as a mother! My MIL holding Eric as a baby, her in a nurse’s uniform, and Margaret in a hospital bed with her firstborn, tears streaming down her face!
I scanned the room, hoping for something—anything—that connected to me or the actual baby I was still carrying!
Nothing.
A table with a framed photos as centerpieces | Source: Midjourney
The cake was a two-tier lemon sponge with “Can’t Wait to Be a Grandma!” written across the top in gold cursive script.
No mention of Harper.
Not a single sonogram photo was in sight. None of the registry gifts we’d hoped for were on the table. No diaper raffle. No “Mommy-to-be” sash. No one even knew my due date unless they asked, and they did!
It was like Margaret had created a parallel universe where I was just a surrogate carrying her grandchild!
A happy woman at an event | Source: Midjourney
Eric wanted to confront Margaret then and there, but I had no energy to fight. I begged him to leave it and promised him that everything would be fine, even though I knew it wouldn’t. I just wanted to get this thing over and done with, because a part of me blamed myself for allowing Margaret to play me like she had.
I smiled. I thanked people. I posed for pictures. And every time someone tilted their head and commented, “Margaret said you didn’t want to be involved,” or “Margaret said you were too tired to even care,” and “She said you didn’t care about the registry we got,” I clenched my jaw so tight I thought I’d chip a molar!
An upset pregnant woman pretending | Source: Midjourney
I overheard Margaret telling her sister, “She’s not really a planner. Doesn’t like the spotlight. I knew I had to step in.” Her sister nodded like my MIL was some unsung hero instead of the steamroller she actually was!
I wanted to scream as I stood there in a dress meant to match the theme I’d chosen, a theme she ignored! Instead, I sat through it. I told myself I’d deal with it later. Maybe even laugh about it one day.
Then came the toast.
A woman about to make a toast | Source: Midjourney
Margaret tapped her glass with a fork and dabbed a single tear from the corner of her eye like she was accepting an award!
“It’s been so hard planning this all alone,” she said, holding up her glass, her voice shaking with faux emotion. “But anything for my grandbaby! I know they’ll grow up knowing their grandma did everything she could for them, right from the start.”
People clapped as they turned their heads to me. I did too, trying to cover my embarrassment, but I knew in that moment what exactly I’d do the next day because I’d made note of everything!
An upset pregnant woman plotting | Source: Midjourney
Eric squeezed my knee. “I’m so sorry,” he whispered after he picked me up and we got home. “I didn’t know it would be like this.”
“Neither did I,” I muttered, forcing a tight smile for the next group selfie.
But that night, I stood in the nursery for a long time, staring at the decorations I made by hand. The ones I’d asked Margaret to hang at the baby shower. She hadn’t.
She hadn’t used a single decoration I made!
Hadn’t sent out the digital invites I created!
Hadn’t included the custom cake topper I ordered with Harper’s name!
She didn’t just forget me, she erased me!
An unhappy pregnant woman at home | Source: Midjourney
So, I posted a quiet carousel on Facebook.
It included the woodland-themed decorations I’d made. The cake topper with Harper’s name: “Baby Harper—Coming Soon.” The invitation mockup with lavender wildflowers and soft script.
And the caption: So grateful to finally celebrate our little one, despite the things that were quietly erased.
No tags. No names. No drama.
Just facts.
A pregnant woman posting on Facebook | Source: Midjourney
What I didn’t expect was for the comments to come in fast!
“Wait, you designed these?”
“I thought Margaret said you didn’t want to plan anything?”
“Why didn’t we see any of this at the party??”
“She told us you weren’t involved??”
Turns out, Margaret had told everyone I was too exhausted, too overwhelmed, too checked out to be involved!
She made it sound like she was swooping in to save the day!
But once people saw the post, the narrative cracked.
Her glow dimmed.
An angry woman | Source: Midjourney
Margaret called me five times that afternoon! Left three voicemails!
“It was just a misunderstanding.”
“You embarrassed me.”
“You’re making this personal.”
But it was personal! Because she’d made me invisible, at my own baby shower!
She’d made it all about her when it was supposed to be about us.
A shocked woman holding a phone | Source: Midjourney
Two weeks later, at my husband’s suggestion and planning, we had a do-over!
Nothing fancy. Just a handful of people who actually care. Close friends, Eric’s sister, my mom, some relatives, and the theme I originally envisioned!
There were wildflowers. A soft instrumental playlist of lullabies. Mason jars filled with lavender lemonade. My handmade decorations dotted the room. And a banner that read: “Celebrating Baby Harper and Her Mama.”
No Margaret.
Eric didn’t fight me on that. He just nodded and helped hang the banner.
A man about to hang a banner | Source: Midjourney
“I love this,” I whispered, sitting on the couch as everyone cooed over the gifts and asked about the due date.
“Me too,” he said, rubbing my back gently. “This is how it should’ve been.”
I didn’t post about that second shower.
I didn’t need to.
But Margaret heard about it. And I think—just maybe—that was enough.
Because here’s the thing, I am sure now she realizes: You can plan the party all you want. But if you erase the mother, don’t be surprised when the spotlight doesn’t follow you home!
A happy pregnant woman | Source: Midjourney
If you enjoyed that story, then the following one about MIL who tried sabotaging her daughter-in-law‘s (DIL) wedding day, will have you shocked! The DIL thought she was defeated until those close to her helped her get revenge!
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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