A dad gets worried about his stepdaughter crying every day before getting on her school bus, so he bursts into it one day to figure out what’s happening. The reason behind it enrages him, and he immediately takes action against the bus driver.
Candace was still in her mother Lily’s womb when her father abandoned them, claiming he had nothing to do with them. After that, Candace had Lily as her only companion, but things changed when Lily met Derek.
Derek fell in love with Lily and Candace and embraced them. He became a devoted husband and father and loved Candance so much that nobody believed he was the little girl’s stepfather and not her biological dad.
For illustration purposes only | Source: Pexels
Both Lily and Derek were working parents, so they sent Candace to school by bus every day. Lily left for work early as her office was a little far from their house, and it was Derek’s duty to drop Candace off at her bus stop before heading to work.
One day, Derek was dropping off Candace at her bus stop and noticed she seemed upset. “Honey, are you all right?” he inquired, concerned. “Would you like to discuss something with Daddy?”
Candace remained silent, but her eyes welled up. Derek noticed that and wondered what was wrong. “If there’s anything that’s bothering you, honey,” he continued, “remember that daddy is always here to listen, okay?”
Candace nodded lightly then grabbed her backpack and alighted the bus as it arrived. Derek hoped she would be alright, but she wasn’t.
“Justin!” Derek exclaimed emphatically. “What were you trying to prove by yelling at Candace? For Christ’s sake, she’s a child!”
With time, Derek noticed Candace would cry every day, reluctant to take the bus to school and insisting on driving her. He told Lily about it, but all she said was: “You know how much she loves you, Derek! It’s because she wants your attention all the time! Kids do such things sometimes to get their parents’ attention!”
Believing Lily was right, Derek didn’t give it much thought and sometimes gave into Candace’s request and dropped her off at school. But doing so every day was impossible because he’d have to be in his office on time, and Candace’s school was in the opposite direction of his workplace.
For illustration purposes only | Source: Pexels
One morning, Candace began crying again, not wanting to take the bus to school. Derek was really late for a meeting, and he yelled at Candace. “Stop being so fussy, Candace! There are a lot of kids who take that bus every day, but you’re the only one who causes problems!”
Candace lowered her head, sniffing, but her tears didn’t stop. She boarded the bus as soon as it arrived, and Derek felt a pang of guilt now that he had cooled down and understood he shouldn’t have been so angry with her.
“Oh, God! Why did I have to be so mad? I’ll apologize to her when she gets home,” he mumbled as he started walking towards his car. But the bus driver’s words stopped him in his tracks.
“You go and sit at the back, you little girl! I don’t want to see your face! And yeah, you better follow my orders or get the hell out of my bus!” he yelled.
Candace pleaded with him, teary-eyed, that she had motion sickness and needed to sit in the front, but the bus driver wouldn’t budge. “You do what I say, or you’re out!” he yelled.
Derek turned around and saw the bus gate was about to close. He stormed into the bus before the door closed and froze in place when he saw the driver’s face. He would never fail to recognize him.
For illustration purposes only | Source: Pexels
He composed himself and forced a smile on his face. “I’m sorry for the trouble, sir,” he told the bus driver. “I just thought I’d drop my daughter off at school myself, so I’m here to pick her up…Come on, honey,” he told Candace. “Let’s go!”
Derek scooped Candance in his arms and got off the bus. Then he dropped a text to his boss, saying he wouldn’t be able to make it to the meeting due to an emergency, and dropped Candace off at school.
After Candace entered the campus, Derek spotted the bus she was supposed to be taking and confronted the bus driver. The children on the bus had already left for their classes by then.
“Justin!” Derek exclaimed emphatically. “What were you trying to prove by yelling at Candace? For Christ’s sake, she’s a child! I didn’t want to cause a ruckus in front of the kids, but this has to stop!”
Justin laughed. “Yo, stepdaddy, why don’t you just drop her off at school on your own if you’re worried about her? I’m tired of seeing her nasty face every day! I was right to leave her and Lily! I wish she had never been born! She’s been getting on my nerves since I started working here!”
“And who the hell do you think you are to yell at her?”
For illustration purposes only | Source: Pexels
“Why shouldn’t I?” Justin retorted. “She and her mother are such evil omens! After I dated that stupid Lily, my business began to suffer losses! As if that wasn’t enough, she wanted to impose her child on me! I’m here today because of them, so I will continue ridiculing that child and exacting my revenge! Do you get that?”
“You’re impossible, Justin! Are you even human?” Derek was furious and went straight to the school principal to complain about Justin. Luckily, he’d recorded the whole conversation on his phone and submitted it as proof.
He told the principal that Justin was Candace’s biological father and that he was practically tormenting her, blaming his failed career on her and her mother.
It turns out Justin had only been hired a few weeks ago. His business had gone bankrupt, and he struggled to get a job elsewhere.
“Don’t worry, Mr. Miles,” the principal assured Derek. “I appreciate you bringing this to our attention. We do not tolerate such behavior in our school, and you can be assured that we will take firm measures against him…”
For illustration purposes only | Source: Pexels
To Derek and Candace’s relief, Justin was fired from his job, and Candace was no longer terrified to take the bus to school. When Derek shared the whole incident with Lily, she was stunned, feeling horrible for dismissing Candace’s behavior as something childish.
“You have to inform me whenever something is wrong, Candace,” Justin explained one day as they walked to the bus stop. “Daddy is always here for you, so never keep anything from me, okay?”
As they arrived at the bus stop and Candace was about to board the bus, she turned around and smiled at Derek. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you, daddy. I was just scared … Thank you, and I love you,” she added as she waved goodbye.
Derek waved back at her and whispered an “I love you” to her. Candace sat in one of the seats in the front and happily went to school. She had no idea Justin was her biological father, but Derek and Lily decided to tell her when she is old enough to comprehend everything.
What can we learn from this story?
- Parents love their children and protect them from the bad. Although Candace wasn’t Derek’s blood, he loved her like his own and went above and beyond for her. He was a parent in the real sense. Justin, on the other hand, clearly didn’t deserve to be a parent, although he was Candace’s birth father.
- Children are innocent and pure souls and shouldn’t be dragged into conflicts. Derek was crazy for blaming Candace for his failed job and bullying her. Karma eventually caught up with him, and he was fired.
Grandkids Fought over Who Would Inherit Grandma’s Bigger House – But Grandma and Karma Had the Last Laugh
Margaret was 83, fiercely independent, and tired of her family circling her like vultures. When she vanished without a trace, leaving behind only a cryptic note, her children were frantic. They never imagined her bold final move would leave them stunned.
My name’s Dorothy, and I’m 80 years old. I never thought I’d have a story about my best friend, but here I am. Margaret, who I’ve known for decades, deserves to have her story told.
A smiling woman | Source: Pexels
She was the sharpest, sassiest 83-year-old I’ve ever met. She called me her “partner in crime,” though most of our crimes were eating too many donuts or gossiping over coffee.
Margaret had a modest life but a smart one. She lived in a cozy little bungalow, the kind with flower boxes under the windows. She also owned a big, beautiful colonial-style house across town. That house was her husband Tom’s pride and joy.
A colonial house | Source: Pexels
When he passed 20 years ago, Margaret started renting it out. “Tom would’ve hated it,” she’d say, “but a lady’s got to live.” The rent covered her bills, and Margaret never relied on anyone, not even her kids.
“Dorothy, let me tell you something,” she’d say, wagging a finger. “Independence is a woman’s best friend. Next to coffee, of course.”
A woman with a coffee cup on her patio | Source: Pexels
But last year, everything started to change. Margaret’s health took a downturn. She got weaker, and for the first time, she needed a little help. I started running errands for her, and her kids, Lisa and David, began showing up more often.
At first, it seemed like they cared. Then I noticed they weren’t helping. They were circling.
A brother and sister | Source: Midjourney
Lisa was always dressed like she was going to a fancy brunch. Perfect nails, designer purse, big sunglasses perched on her head. “It’s such a shame that big house is just sitting empty. A family like mine could really put it to use,” she’d say.
David was practical, but not in a good way. He’d show up with his laptop and act like Margaret’s financial advisor, even though she never asked him to.
A man with a laptop | Source: Pexels
“Mom, you’re sitting on a gold mine with that house. You know, selling it could set you up for life—or help the kids. Just something to think about.”
Margaret hated it. “I’ll decide what to do with my houses when I’m good and ready,” she’d tell them. “And don’t you dare think I’m leaving this Earth anytime soon.”
An angry elderly woman | Source: Pexels
The grandkids weren’t any better. Lisa’s oldest, Jessica, was the queen of fake sweetness. She’d bring over baked goods with little notes like, “Grandma, don’t you think a growing family deserves a beautiful home?” David’s son, Kyle, was blunt. “Grandma, it’d be a shame if the big house got sold instead of staying in the family.”
One afternoon, Margaret had enough. We were sitting in her kitchen drinking tea when we heard Lisa and David arguing in the living room.
A man arguing with his sister | Source: Midjourney
“You’ve got three kids,” Lisa said, her voice rising. “You don’t need more space.”
“Oh, please,” David shot back. “Your kids are practically grown. I’ve got college to think about, and that house could help.”
Margaret rolled her eyes and shuffled to the door. “Enough!” she snapped, stepping into the room. “You’d think I was already six feet under with the way you’re fighting over my stuff.”
An angry elderly woman | Source: Freepik
Lisa opened her mouth, but Margaret raised a hand. “No. I’m still here, and I’m not splitting my house in two just to shut you up. Go bicker in your own homes.”
David looked embarrassed, but Lisa crossed her arms. “We’re just trying to help, Mom.”
“Help?” Margaret scoffed. “If you want to help, wash the dishes. Otherwise, don’t come around here with your nonsense.”
An angry woman pointing | Source: Freepik
When they left, Margaret turned to me and shook her head. “They’re shameless, Dorothy. Just shameless.”
I patted her hand. “They’ll back off eventually.”
She smirked. “Don’t count on it. But I’ve got a plan.”
“What are you going to do?” I asked cautiously.
Two women talking in their kitchen | Source: Midjourney
Margaret didn’t answer right away. She just smiled like I hadn’t seen in years. “You’ll see,” she said simply.
A week later, Margaret was gone.
She left no warning, no calls, no explanations—just a single note on my doorstep. It was written in her neat, no-nonsense handwriting:
A note on the doorstep | Source: Midjourney
“Dear Dorothy,
Don’t worry about me. I’m safe, and I need some time to myself. Keep an eye on the vultures for me. I’ll be back when I’m ready.
Love, Margaret.”
A woman writing a note | Source: Midjourney
At first, I thought she might have gone to a nearby bed-and-breakfast or was staying with an old friend. But as days turned into weeks, it became clear she was much further than that. Her phone was disconnected, and no one—not even her children—knew where she was.
Lisa and David were frantic. They showed up at my house constantly, asking if I had heard from her.
A nervous woman | Source: Pexels
“She wouldn’t just leave,” Lisa insisted, her voice teetering between anger and worry. “This isn’t like her.”
David was less dramatic but just as concerned. “She’s punishing us,” he said flatly, pacing my living room. “That’s what this is about. She’s making a point.”
An angry confused man | Source: Pexels
I played dumb, shrugging whenever they pressed me for information. “I haven’t heard from her,” I lied, knowing full well that Margaret would’ve wanted it that way.
Then, one quiet morning, I found a postcard in my mailbox. The picture on the front was of a serene mountain scene, snowcapped peaks under a bright blue sky. The handwriting on the back was unmistakably Margaret’s:
A mountain forest | Source: Pexels
“Dear Dorothy,
I’m finally breathing fresh air. Wish you were here—but don’t tell the vultures. I’ll write again soon.
Love, Margaret.”
I stood on my porch, clutching the card, tears stinging my eyes. Margaret wasn’t just gone. She was free. And as much as I missed her, I couldn’t help but feel a little envious.
A happy woman with a postcard | Source: Midjourney
When Margaret returned, she looked like a new woman. Her cheeks were rosy, her step lighter, and her eyes had a spark that had been missing for years.
“Well, don’t just stand there gawking, Dorothy,” she said, grinning as she breezed through my door with a small suitcase. “I’m back, and I’ve got stories to tell. Put the kettle on.”
I couldn’t stop staring. She looked ten years younger. There was a calm, almost radiant energy about her.
A smiling elderly woman | Source: Pexels
“Where were you, Margaret?” I asked, half-laughing and half-serious.
She wagged a finger. “A lady never reveals all her secrets. Just know that I went where I needed to go.”
A few days later, Margaret passed away peacefully in her sleep. I found her in bed, a small smile on her face, as if she’d simply drifted off into a dream.
An elderly woman smiling in her sleep | Source: Midjourney
The day of Margaret’s will reading was overcast, and the lawyer’s office was packed. Lisa and David sat on opposite ends of the room, their spouses and grown children huddled close, whispering and casting suspicious glances at one another. The air buzzed with anticipation.
I sat quietly in the corner, clutching my purse. Margaret had shared enough with me that I knew what was coming, but that didn’t make it any less thrilling.
A serious woman looking up | Source: Pexels
The lawyer, a composed man with a sharp suit and a no-nonsense demeanor, began with the formalities. Margaret had left some sentimental items to friends, small donations to charity, and a few keepsakes to her grandchildren. The family’s polite nods were a thin veil over their growing impatience.
Finally, the lawyer paused and looked up. “Now, regarding the properties,” he said, flipping to the next page.
A lawyer in his office | Source: Pexels
Lisa’s head shot up. David leaned forward, elbows on his knees.
“The large house and the bungalow have both been sold,” the lawyer announced.
“What?” Lisa’s voice cracked as she shot out of her chair. “She sold them? Without telling us?”
David looked equally stunned, his face turning a deep shade of red. “She… what did she do with the money?” he demanded.
A shocked man looking at the papers | Source: Pexels
The lawyer remained calm. “She traveled extensively, fulfilling a lifelong dream. She left a note for her family.” He opened an envelope and read aloud:
“To my beloved children and grandchildren,
Thank you for reminding me that life is short and my happiness is my own to claim. I hope you learn from my example: spend what you’ve earned, enjoy what you’ve built, and live while you can. The houses are gone, but the memories I made will last forever.
A woman writing her will | Source: Midjourney
Dorothy, the money I’ve left is yours. Don’t spend the rest of your life tied to this street. Use it to see the world, just like I did. Live boldly.”
The room erupted.
“She what?!” Lisa shrieked. “That house was supposed to stay in the family!”
A shocked woman | Source: Pexels
“This is insane!” David thundered. “Who spends everything without leaving something behind?”
Jessica, Lisa’s eldest, flipped through the photo album the lawyer handed over, her jaw dropping. “Is this… Grandma on a gondola? In Venice?”
I couldn’t help but chuckle. Margaret would’ve loved this.
A happy woman in a gondola | Source: Midjourney
As the lawyer flipped through the album, he narrated some of Margaret’s escapades: riding a Vespa, sipping wine in a vineyard, and dancing in a village square. Each photo was more joyful than the last, a testament to her unapologetic embrace of life.
“She used us,” Lisa hissed, glaring at me. “Did you know about this?”
An angry woman | Source: Pexels
I raised my tea cup, smiling. “All I know is Margaret did what made her happy. Isn’t that what you wanted for her?”
A month later, I stood at the airport with her photo album tucked into my carry-on. My first destination was Paris.
A woman in an airport | Source: Midjourney
As the plane soared above the clouds, I pulled out the album and flipped through the pages. There was Margaret, laughing in the sunshine, raising a glass in some charming café.
“This one’s for you, Margaret,” I whispered, raising a tiny plastic cup of champagne.
A laughing elderly woman | Source: Midjourney
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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