After his wife’s death, a struggling father became both Mom and Dad to his only daughter. But in her desperate need to fit in with her wealthy friends, she resented his job and told him he wasn’t enough. Then one day, she opened the final gift he’d saved for her… and it shattered her heart.
Paul wiped down the last table of his evening shift, his calloused hands moving in practiced circles. Around him, waiters in crisp white shirts glided between tables, carrying plates of food that cost more than what he made in a day.
A man wiping a table in a restaurant | Source: Pexels
“Hey Paul, you almost done, man? Chef wants to know if you can stay late tonight. The Hendersons are here.” Marcus, the head waiter, straightened his already perfect tie.
Paul glanced at his watch—8:15 p.m. His 16-year-old daughter, Samara, would be home alone. Overtime meant extra money, and they desperately needed that. However, Paul wasn’t in a spot to extend his shift.
“Sorry, Marcus. I can’t tonight. My daughter…”
Marcus nodded with understanding. “No problem. We’ll manage. See you tomorrow!”
“Always,” Paul replied with a tired smile.
A teenage girl lying on a mattress | Source: Pexels
The restaurant was in Westlake Heights, where houses looked like miniature castles. It was a far cry from the modest apartment he and Samara shared in River Bend, a neighborhood that had been up and coming for decades.
Paul’s beat-up Corolla protested as he turned the key. If traffic was kind, he’d be home by 9:00 p.m., just in time to see Samara before she retreated to her room for the night.
The drive home was always bittersweet. It had been five years since Elizabeth’s death, five years of being both mother and father, and five years of watching Samara drift like a boat with no anchor.
Elizabeth had been diagnosed with stage four pancreatic cancer when Samara was 11. The doctors gave her six months and she fought for nine.
A cancer patient sitting in a hospital ward | Source: Pexels
Paul remembered those final days with painful clarity—the hospital smell, the steady beep of monitors, and Elizabeth squeezing his hand one last time, whispering, “Take care of our little girl.”
He had promised, but lately he couldn’t shake the feeling that he was failing.
***
Paul pulled into the apartment complex parking lot at 8:50 p.m. He unlocked the door quietly, hoping to find Samara studying or watching TV. Instead, darkness and silence greeted him.
“Sam? Sweetie, I’m home… Samara?” he called, flipping on the light.
The living room was empty. The plate of lasagna he’d prepared sat untouched on the counter and his phone buzzed with a text from Samara:
“At Lily’s. Studying. Be home late. Don’t wait up.”
A man looking at his phone | Source: Pexels
Paul’s shoulders slumped. Lily was the daughter of an affluent industrialist, and they lived in a mansion with an indoor pool and a home theater. She had everything Samara wanted… designer clothes, the latest gadgets, and parents who could afford to give her the world.
With a heavy sigh, he texted: “It’s a school night. Be home by 10. And did you take your pepper spray?”
Paul watched the screen and the typing bubbles blinked on.
“Whatever. I’m not some helpless little girl. It’s not the damn 1950s. 
“
He exhaled slowly, the kind of breath that carried more than just air. But he didn’t text back. He knew better by now.
A disheartened man sitting on the chair | Source: Pexels
Paul ate alone, scrolling through the old photos on his phone… pictures of Elizabeth, healthy and laughing, and the three of them at the beach and Disneyland. They looked like a different family—happy, complete, and untouched by grief and financial struggle.
At 10:30 p.m., Samara walked in. At 16, she was the spitting image of her mother with the same hazel eyes and delicate nose. Her long brown hair fell loosely around her shoulders, and she wore a pink sweater Paul didn’t recognize.
“You’re late!”
Samara rolled her eyes. “It’s only THIRTY minutes.”
Cropped shot of a girl wearing a pink sweater and blue jeans | Source: Pexels
“We had an agreement, Sam. Home by ten on school nights.”
“God, Dad, I was studying with Lily. Her parents ordered pizza and insisted I stay for dinner.”
Paul noticed the logo on her sweater that belonged to an upscale boutique. “Is that new?”
“Lily gave it to me. She was going to donate it anyway. It’s not a big deal.”
But it was. Paul knew pride was all they had sometimes, and accepting hand-me-downs from her wealthy friend felt like another reminder of what he couldn’t provide.
A depressed man | Source: Pexels
“Oh, and I need $75 for the science museum field trip next week,” Samara added.
Paul felt his stomach tighten. That meant cutting back on groceries or skipping a bill payment. “I’ll figure it out,” he said, forcing a smile.
“Lily invited me to her family’s lake house this weekend,” Samara continued, her hand already on her doorknob.
“This weekend? I thought we could visit Mom’s grave on Saturday.”
Something flickered across her face… pain, guilt, or perhaps just annoyance. “Do we have to? I sometimes go on my own.”
“You do?” This surprised Paul.
“Sometimes,” Samara repeated vaguely before disappearing into her room.
A grieving young lady mourning beside a loved one’s grave | Source: Freepik
While driving through town the next day, Paul passed the bustling shopping district of Westlake Heights. He spotted Samara outside Gadgets & Gizmos, staring intently at something in the display window before walking away with a deep sigh.
Curious, Paul approached the storefront. The window featured a crystal ballerina figurine priced at $390. His heart sank at the number, but he wondered how many times she’d walked by just to stare at it.
Inside the store, a salesperson approached. “Can I help you find something?”
“I’m curious about the crystal figurine in the window,” Paul said.
“Excellent taste! The ballerina is limited edition… only fifty were made worldwide.”
A crystal ballerina figurine on a store display | Source: Midjourney
After leaving the store, Paul called his friend Miguel, who worked at a glass factory. “Miguel, you mentioned they sometimes need extra hands. Is that offer still good?”
“Sure, buddy. They’re looking for weekend shift workers right now.”
“I’ll take it,” Paul said without hesitation.
***
For the next month, he worked six days a week, putting in hours at the restaurant Monday through Friday and at the factory on Saturdays. The factory work was physically demanding, leaving his hands cramped and his back stiff with pain.
A man showing his greasy hands | Source: Pexels
Samara noticed his exhaustion. “You should find better work,” she commented one evening. “Lily’s dad says there are always janitorial positions at the hospital. At least they have benefits.”
“I’m fine with my current job, dear,” Paul replied, not revealing his second employment. “The Winter Carnival is coming up, right? Do you want to go?”
“Maybe. Lily’s already got her dress. It cost, like, $550.” Samara studied his reaction. “But I don’t need anything fancy. There’s this dress at the mall for $55 that would work.”
Paul nodded. “We can look into it. I’ve been picking up extra hours, so we might be able to manage it.”
A flicker of surprise crossed Samara’s face, replaced by a tentative smile. “Really? You mean it?”
“Of course. You should experience these things. Your mom would want that.”
A teenage girl with a fragile smile | Source: Pexels
By the end of the month, Paul had saved just over $400. It was enough for the figurine, and the idea of seeing Samara’s face light up made every ache and overtime shift worth it.
On Saturday, after his factory shift, Paul purchased the crystal ballerina. Watching the salesperson wrap it, he couldn’t stop picturing Samara’s face.
***
She was watching TV when he arrived home and she barely glanced up as he entered.
“Sweetie,” Paul said, his heart pounding. “I have something for you.”
A man holding a gift box | Source: Pexels
She finally looked at him, her expression curious but guarded.
“Close your eyes,” he instructed.
With a slight eye roll, Samara complied, holding out her hands. Paul placed the wrapped box in her palms and watched her face carefully.
“Okay, you can open your eyes now.”
“A gift? It’s not my birthday!”
“Go on, honey. Open it!”
Samara peeled the ribbon off, barely glancing at it, and tore open the paper.
Close-up shot of a young girl opening a present | Source: Pexels
She stared at the figurine, her eyebrows knitted with confusion.
“Seriously?” she said, holding it like it might break just from being looked at.
“Do you like it?” Paul asked, his smile faltering. “I saw you looking at it in the store window.”
“You saw me at the store?”
“A few weeks ago. You were standing outside Gadgets & Gizmos.”
“You thought I was looking at THIS? A glass doll? You think I’m five?”
A young lady standing outside a store | Source: Midjourney
“It’s a ballerina. Like Mom used to be. Like you were… I thought you…”
“I haven’t danced in years, Dad. What am I supposed to do with this? It’s just going to sit on a shelf collecting dust.”
Paul felt a sharp pang in his chest. “I thought it would be special. Something to remember your mother by. I thought you… liked it.”
“If you want me to remember Mom, show me pictures. Tell me stories. Don’t spend a fortune on some useless decoration.”
A young lady with her arms crossed | Source: Pexels
Samara stood abruptly. “You know what I was actually looking at that day? The phone. The one every single person at school has except me.”
Paul blinked, confused. “Phone?”
“Yeah. It was right there next to this stupid ballerina. Eighteen hundred bucks with tax. But sure, let’s blow $390 on a stupid glass doll I didn’t ask for!”
“And this isn’t?” Samara gestured with the crystal piece. “What were you thinking? That I’d put this in my room and suddenly everything would be better? That I’d stop being embarrassed about our apartment, your job, and our old car?”
Expensive mobile phones on display | Source: Pexels
“Samara, please—”
But she wasn’t listening. “Do you know what it’s like being the only kid at school whose dad is a busboy? Whose mom is dead? Whose clothes come from discount stores or rich friends’ castoffs?”
“I’m trying my best, sweetie…” Paul said softly, his eyes glassy.
“Well, your best isn’t enough! You should have never had a child if you couldn’t give her a decent life! You’re a living, walking, breathing failure, Dad! You hear me…?”
A frustrated girl holding her head | Source: Pexels
And then, in a moment that seemed to unfold in slow motion, Samara hurled the crystal ballerina to the floor. It shattered with a sharp, crystalline sound, glistening fragments scattering across the worn carpet.
Paul stared at the broken pieces, tears welling in his eyes. “Samara… what did you do?”
She stormed to her room, the door slamming shut a second later.
A heartbroken man looking at the floor | Source: Pexels
Paul stood in the silence she left behind, his eyes fixed on the glinting wreckage. With trembling hands and a heart that felt like it had cracked wide open, he knelt and began gathering the shards.
One sharp edge sliced his finger, drawing a thin line of crimson, but he didn’t flinch. He just kept going.
He dropped the pieces into the plastic bin one by one, each clink sounding louder than the last.
Grayscale shot of glass shards | Source: Pexels
Then, the tears came… loud, heavy, and unstoppable. He sank onto the couch, his eyes fixed on the framed photo of Elizabeth on the shelf.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I tried. I swear I tried. But I failed her. I failed both of you.”
An eerie silence swallowed the room, broken only by the steady ticking of the clock and Paul’s muffled sobs.
After a long moment, he wiped his face with the back of his hand. His eyes were swollen, but there was something steady in them now. He got up, picked his empty wallet off the counter, and stared at it like it held the answer to everything.
He didn’t know how yet… but he was going to get her that phone.
A shattered man staring at the ceiling | Source: Pexels
For the next three months, Paul worked nearly every day, often taking double shifts. He saw Samara only in passing, with brief exchanges in the morning or late at night. Their conversations were stilted, carefully avoiding any mention of the crystal ballerina incident.
Finally, after 92 days of relentless work, Paul had saved enough for the phone. On a sunny Thursday afternoon, he drove to Gadgets & Gizmos, his heart pounding with anticipation.
The same salesperson helped him. “Back for another special gift?”
“Yes, I want that phone,” Paul said, feeling both pride and nervousness.
A salesman in the store | Source: Pexels
“Excellent choice! Would you like it in Midnight Black or Stellar Silver?”
“Which is more popular with teenagers?”
“Definitely the Stellar Silver.”
“I’ll take it.”
The phone was wrapped in vibrant blue paper with a silver bow. As Paul left the store, he felt lighter than he had in months. He couldn’t wait to see Samara’s face when she opened this gift.
A blue gift box with a silver bow | Source: Midjourney
Maybe they’d order pizza to celebrate, or watch a movie together like they used to. Something silly she’d pretend to hate but secretly loved. Maybe she’d hug him without pulling away, and for a moment, she’d be that little girl again who used to chirp, “I love you, Daddy!” every time he brought home her favorite candy.
Maybe… just maybe, she’d be proud of him.
Paul was so absorbed in his thoughts that he didn’t notice the car running the red light until it was too late. He stepped into the crosswalk just as the vehicle barreled through the intersection. There was a screech of tires, a sickening impact… and then darkness.
Aerial view of speeding vehicles on a street | Source: Unsplash
Samara was walking to her classroom when her phone buzzed with an unknown number. After ignoring several calls, she finally answered.
“Is this Samara? This is Nurse Jenkins from Westlake Memorial Hospital. I’m calling about your father, Paul.”
Samara stopped walking, her blood turning cold. “My… father?”
“I’m afraid there’s been an accident. Your father was hit by a car. We need you to come to the hospital as soon as possible.”
Samara stood frozen in the hallway, her pulse roaring in her ears. For a second, she couldn’t speak or move… just stared at the lockers across from her like they might tell her it wasn’t real.
A young lady holding her phone | Source: Unsplash
“Wait… what happened? Is he okay?” she asked but the nurse had already hung up.
Samara’s sneakers squeaked against the tile as she burst into the class. Lily looked up in alarm, halfway through a worksheet.
“Lily, I need you. It’s my dad… he’s in the hospital.”
Without asking another question, Lily grabbed her backpack and followed her out.
***
The car ride was a blur. Samara stared straight ahead, knuckles white against her thighs. She didn’t say much, just whispered, “Drive faster,” and wiped her face with her sleeve when she thought Lily wasn’t looking.
A speeding car on the road | Source: Unsplash
At the hospital, Samara rushed to the front desk, her voice already trembling. “My dad… Paul. He was in an accident. Please… can I see him?”
A doctor appeared from the double doors, his expression grave.
“You must be his daughter,” he said, stepping closer.
Samara’s stomach dropped.
A doctor holding a file | Source: Pexels
“Samara? I’m Dr. Reese. Let’s sit down.”
“Just tell me if he’s okay.”
“I’m very sorry. Your father sustained severe trauma from the impact. Despite our best efforts, he passed away a few minutes ago.”
The words didn’t make sense. Her father couldn’t be gone. He was invincible, always there, always working… and always trying.
“No. That’s not right. Check again. Please.”
Grayscale shot of a startled girl’s eyes | Source: Pexels
“Would you like to see him?”
Samara nodded numbly, allowing herself to be led to a quiet room. Her father lay on a bed, his face peaceful but unnaturally still.
“Dad?” she whispered. “Dad, I’m here.”
No response came. The reality began to sink in, wave after crushing wave of grief and regret.
“Dad?” Samara stepped closer to the hospital bed. “No, no… no. Dad, please… wake up.”
She clutched his hand, cold and still. “Don’t do this to me. Dad? Dad?”
The beeping of machines filled the silence Paul wasn’t breaking.
A man lying still | Source: Pexels
A nurse entered quietly, carrying a plastic bag. “These are your father’s personal effects. And this was with him at the time of the accident.” She handed Samara a gift-wrapped package, its blue paper stained with crimson streaks.
Inside was a box for the phone… the exact model she had coveted for months. Attached to it was a handwritten note:
“Sweetheart,
I know you’re ashamed to be my daughter, but I’ve always been proud to be your father. Hope this makes you happy & hope you forgive me… for everything. I’m trying. But I need some time to be able to get back on my feet again. But I promise to make you happy… even if it would cost my life.
Love, Dad.”
A primal scream tore from Samara’s throat. “He worked extra shifts,” she gasped between sobs. “He was working himself to death for this stupid phone. For me.”
A girl crying | Source: Pexels
In the days that followed, Samara moved through the funeral arrangements in a fog of grief. The restaurant staff and glass factory workers attended the service, sharing stories of Paul’s dedication.
“Your dad talked about you all the time,” Miguel told her. “Every shift, he’d say how this extra money was going to make his girl happy.”
After the funeral, Samara returned to the empty apartment. In the kitchen trash, she spotted a familiar glint… fragments of the crystal ballerina. With painstaking care, she collected every piece she could find.
A lonely young lady sitting on the floor in her house | Source: Pexels
Over the next few days, she worked meticulously with super glue, piecing the ballerina back together. It was imperfect. The cracks were visible and some tiny pieces were missing. But there was beauty in its brokenness… a reminder of what had been lost and could never be fully restored.
Samara placed the repaired ballerina on her bedside table, next to a framed photo of her parents.
The new phone remained in its box, untouched in her desk drawer. She couldn’t bear to use it, knowing the cost had been so much higher than dollars and cents.
Close-up shot of a phone in a box | Source: Unsplash
That night, as the apartment sat quiet, Samara opened her old phone and typed a message to her dad’s number.
“I’m proud of you, Dad.”
She hit send, knowing it would go nowhere. But seeing his name light up on the screen one last time… it felt like he was still with her, if only for a moment.
A girl using her phone | Source: Pexels
Depois da morte do meu filho, minha nora empacotou minhas coisas e me disse para deixar minha própria casa
Depois de perder seu filho, Daniel, em um trágico acidente, Janet se vê afogada em tristeza e memórias do lar que eles uma vez compartilharam. Mas quando sua nora, Grace, aparece abruptamente e a força a ir embora, Janet fica devastada. O que parece uma traição sem coração se transforma em um ato inesperado de compaixão quando Grace revela suas verdadeiras intenções…
Quando Daniel morreu, meu mundo desabou.
Ele não era apenas meu filho; ele era meu melhor amigo, meu confidente, a única pessoa que fazia a casa parecer viva. O silêncio que se seguiu à sua morte pareceu insuportável. Eu pensei que sua esposa, Grace, e eu encontraríamos consolo na dor um do outro.
Flores em um cemitério | Fonte: Midjourney
Em vez disso, descobri o quão errado eu poderia estar.
Grace e eu sempre fomos estranhas educadas. Claro, compartilhávamos feriados e conversávamos sem graça em jantares de família, mas o único vínculo real que tínhamos era Daniel. Sem ele, éramos apenas duas mulheres orbitando a mesma perda, incapazes ou sem vontade de nos conectar.
Já fazia um mês desde o funeral quando Grace apareceu sem avisar. Eu estava na sala de estar com Bella, minha chihuahua, que imediatamente se arrepiou ao vê-la.
Grace entrou, seus saltos estalando no piso de madeira, seu rosto ilegível como pedra.
Um Chihuahua sentado em um sofá | Fonte: Midjourney
“Precisamos conversar, Janet”, ela disse sem gentilezas.
Coloquei minha xícara de chá na mesa e olhei nos olhos dela, sentindo meu estômago revirar.
“O que está acontecendo, Grace?”
Ela não respondeu. Em vez disso, ela passou por mim, pelo corredor e entrou no quarto.
“Com licença?”, gritei para ela, já de pé. “Você disse que queria conversar? O que diabos você está fazendo?”
Ela se virou para mim, sua expressão fria e calculista.
Uma mulher parada em um corredor | Fonte: Midjourney
“Você precisa fazer as malas. Vou te tirar daqui.”
Meu coração disparou, como se algo grande estivesse prestes a acontecer.
“Do que você está falando? Esta é a minha casa!”
Ela zombou alto, fazendo Bella rosnar da porta.
Uma mulher parada na porta | Fonte: Midjourney
“Esta era a casa do Daniel, Janet. Ele a comprou anos atrás, lembra? Ele insistiu que você se mudasse para que pudéssemos ficar mais próximos. E agora que ele se foi, é minha.”
Entrei na sala com as mãos tremendo.
“Grace, eu moro aqui há anos. Criei meu filho nesta casa! Você não pode simplesmente me expulsar!”
Seu olhar nem sequer vacilou.
Uma mulher parada em frente a um armário | Fonte: Midjourney
“Eu providenciei para que você se mude para uma casa de repouso. Eles permitem animais de estimação, então Bella pode ir com você. Olha, Janet, não adianta brigar. Já está feito.”
Eu só a encarei. Uma unidade de saúde? Como se eu fosse uma velha frágil que não conseguia cuidar de si mesma?
“Você não tem o direito de fazer isso”, eu disse. “Você nem falou comigo sobre isso. Você não perguntou o que eu queria, Grace!”
Uma recepção em uma unidade de saúde | Fonte: Midjourney
“Eu não precisava perguntar”, ela respondeu, sua voz firme, mas não indelicada. “Você não pode ficar aqui, Janet. Não sozinha. Não é bom para você, e você sabe disso também.”
“Não é bom para mim?” Eu cuspi. “Ou não é bom para você ? Você quer apagar todas as memórias de Daniel que não se encaixam na sua nova vida? É isso?”
O rosto dela se contraiu, mas ela não respondeu. Em vez disso, ela pegou uma mala e começou a dobrar minhas roupas nela. Bella choramingou de seu lugar na cama, seus olhos disparando entre mim e Grace.
Um Chihuahua sentado em uma cama de estimação | Fonte: Midjourney
“Pare com isso”, eu disse, dando um passo à frente. “Por favor, Grace. Vamos conversar sobre isso.”
“Eu tentei falar com você”, ela retrucou, sua voz se elevando pela primeira vez. “Mas toda vez que eu vim aqui, você estava… preso. Sentado na mesma cadeira, olhando para as mesmas fotos, se recusando a seguir em frente. Você acha que é isso que Daniel queria para você?”
Suas palavras doeram e lágrimas brotaram dos meus olhos.
Uma mulher chateada sentada perto de uma janela | Fonte: Midjourney
“Não ouse me dizer o que Daniel queria! Você não sabe o que esta casa significa para mim.”
Ela então fez uma pausa, suas mãos agarrando a borda da mala. Por um momento, pensei que ela poderia parar, que ela poderia amolecer e perceber o que estava acontecendo.
Mas quando ela olhou para mim novamente, seu rosto estava rígido como pedra.
Uma mala em cima da cama | Fonte: Midjourney
“Eu sei que você está sofrendo, Janet”, ela disse calmamente. “Mas isso não está em debate. Você vai embora hoje.”
Em uma hora, minhas coisas estavam embaladas e carregadas no carro de Grace. Sentei-me no banco do passageiro, agarrando o canguru de Bella como uma tábua de salvação, atordoado demais para lutar mais.
As ruas pareciam borradas do lado de fora da janela enquanto Grace dirigia em silêncio, com os nós dos dedos brancos no volante.
Malas prontas em um carro | Fonte: Midjourney
“Não acredito que você está fazendo isso”, eu disse finalmente, minha voz falhando. “Daniel ficaria tão decepcionado com você.”
Ela cerrou os dentes, mas não olhou para mim.
“Você acha que estou fazendo isso para te machucar?” ela perguntou depois de um momento, sua voz baixa e firme. “Você acha que isso é fácil para mim?”
“Se não é fácil, por que você está fazendo isso?”
Uma mulher em um carro | Fonte: Midjourney
“Porque estou tentando te salvar, Janet!” ela retrucou, sua voz embargada. “Eu não poderia te deixar naquela casa, se afogando em memórias. Não é bom para você. E não é bom para mim também.”
Olhei para ela, atordoado demais para responder. O resto da viagem passou em silêncio tenso, o ar entre nós pesado.
Não percebi que ela estava tentando me salvar . Não achei que houvesse algo sobre mim que influenciasse a situação. Só pensei que ela me queria fora para que pudesse fazer o que quisesse com a casa.
Uma mulher mais velha sentada em um carro | Fonte: Midjourney
Não achei que Grace se importasse o suficiente…
Quando ela finalmente entrou na garagem, preparei-me para a visão de uma casa de repouso estéril, com vasos de plantas falsas e uma placa dizendo Bem-vindo ao Sunrise Acres ou algo do tipo.
Em vez disso, vi a casa de Grace.
O exterior de uma casa | Fonte: Midjourney
“O quê… por que estamos aqui?” perguntei, com a voz trêmula.
Grace estacionou o carro, mas não respondeu imediatamente. Quando ela finalmente se virou para mim, sua expressão tinha se suavizado, e eu vi algo em seus olhos que não via há semanas.
Vulnerabilidade.
Uma mulher chateada sentada em um carro | Fonte: Midjourney
“Janet”, ela disse calmamente. “Eu não vou te mandar para um lar.”
Pisquei, mas não consegui registrar as palavras.
“O que?”
“Mãe”, ela disse suavemente.
Eu não esperava que ela me chamasse assim. Ela só tinha feito isso uma vez, no dia do casamento deles. Eu não achava que Grace se importasse o suficiente para me ver como uma figura materna em sua vida.
Foto de casamento de um casal | Fonte: Midjourney
“Eu queria você aqui”, ela disse, com a voz embargada. “Eu não sabia como pedir. Pensei que se eu te desse um convite, você diria não. Você me diria que não precisava de mim, que você poderia lidar com tudo sozinha. Então eu fiz assim. Sinto muito se eu te machuquei, mas eu não sabia mais o que fazer.”
Fiquei olhando para ela, minha mente correndo para alcançá-la.
“Você… você queria que eu morasse com você?” Eu suspirei.
Uma mulher surpresa sentada em um carro | Fonte: Midjourney
Ela assentiu, com lágrimas nos olhos.
“Nós dois perdemos Daniel, e eu tenho lutado muito. Pode parecer que estou de volta, mas mal consigo fazer alguma coisa sozinha. Não consigo comer direito porque não quero comer sozinha. Não consigo mais fazer caminhadas, porque não quero andar sozinha… Preciso de você. Por favor. E da Bella também.”
Lá dentro, a casa cheirava a tinta fresca e lavanda. Grace tinha preparado um quarto para mim. Havia cabides no armário, só esperando minhas roupas, e uma pequena cama para Bella enfiada no canto.
Um quarto aconchegante | Fonte: Midjourney
Na cômoda havia fotos emolduradas de Daniel, seu sorriso torto congelado no tempo.
Bella cheirou sua nova cama timidamente, então andou em círculos antes de se enrolar com um gemido suave. Observando-a se acomodar, senti meu peito relaxar pela primeira vez em semanas.
“Você parece faminta, querida”, eu disse a Grace. “Vamos fazer minha famosa torta de carne moída, ok?”
Uma mulher parada na porta | Fonte: Midjourney
Naquela noite, tomando chá e comendo torta de cottage, Grace e eu nos sentamos à mesa da cozinha e conversamos. Pela primeira vez no que pareceu uma eternidade, não evitamos o tópico Daniel.
“Ele sempre costumava ter as piores piadas”, disse Grace, rindo suavemente. “Lembra da vez em que ele tentou nos convencer de que seu karaokê era ‘arte performática’?”
Sorri em meio às lágrimas.
Uma torta de cottage em uma mesa | Fonte: Midjourney
“Ele herdou isso do pai, Grace. Bill era exatamente igual. Piadas terríveis eram seu superpoder. Mas você não conseguia parar de rir de qualquer maneira! Você acha que eles estão fazendo todo mundo rir no céu?”
Ficamos acordados por horas, compartilhando memórias do homem que nós dois amávamos. Grace me contou coisas que eu nunca soube sobre ele — como como ele trazia margaridas para ela toda quarta-feira porque ela não gostava de rosas, ou como ele cantava suas músicas favoritas desafinadas só para fazê-la rir.
Pela primeira vez, vi Grace não como a mulher indiferente que se casou com meu filho, mas como alguém que o amava tão profundamente quanto eu.
Um buquê de flores | Fonte: Midjourney
“Nós nunca deixaremos de sentir falta dele”, ela disse suavemente, suas mãos envolvendo sua caneca. “Mas talvez possamos nos ajudar a encontrar uma maneira de continuar. E, Janet? Podemos voltar para sua casa e pegar todos os seus pertences. Sinto muito por ter feito as coisas desse jeito.”
A abordagem dura de Grace naquele dia tinha sido falha, até mesmo cruel, mas veio de um lugar de cuidado. E no final, ela não me deu apenas um lugar para ficar. Ela me deu esperança.
Duas mulheres sorridentes | Fonte: Midjourney
Se você gostou desta história, aqui vai outra para você |
No jantar de Ação de Graças, minha filha se levantou e gritou: “E onde está a mulher que papai mantém em nosso galpão?”
O jantar de Ação de Graças com a família deveria ser um momento de alegria e conexão, mas inesperadamente se transformou em algo assustador e chocante quando descobri que meu marido estava guardando um segredo que poderia nos separar.
O Dia de Ação de Graças deveria ser perfeito. A mesa estava posta com porcelana fina, o rico aroma de peru enchia a sala, e risadas borbulhavam de todos os cantos.
Meu marido, Peter, estava dando os retoques finais no peru enquanto eu verificava se todos estavam confortáveis. Mal sabia eu que o feriado viria com mais surpresas do que o previsto.
Uma família em um jantar de Ação de Graças | Fonte: Midjourney
Nossa filha, Emma, uma expressiva menina de oito anos com infinita curiosidade, tinha ficado estranhamente quieta a noite toda, embora ela continuasse olhando pela janela como se esperasse alguém, seus dedos mexendo na bainha do vestido. Ela também não conseguia ficar parada.
Não era incomum que Emma estivesse com a cabeça nas nuvens. Presumi que ela estivesse esperando os primos chegarem ou talvez estivesse apenas animada para a refeição de Ação de Graças. Mas quando Peter lhe ofereceu um sorriso do outro lado da mesa, ela não sorriu de volta, e sua inquietação começou a chamar minha atenção.
Uma menina olhando para fora | Fonte: Midjourney
Eu estava prestes a cortar o peru depois que todos se sentaram, e Peter estava pronto ao meu lado para começar a servir as fatias quando, do nada, nossa filha nos surpreendeu ficando de pé na cadeira. Seu corpo minúsculo de alguma forma chamou a atenção de todos na sala.
Este trabalho é inspirado em eventos e pessoas reais, mas foi ficcionalizado para fins criativos. Nomes, personagens e detalhes foram alterados para proteger a privacidade e melhorar a narrativa. Qualquer semelhança com pessoas reais, vivas ou mortas, ou eventos reais é mera coincidência e não intencional do autor.
O autor e a editora não fazem nenhuma reivindicação quanto à precisão dos eventos ou à representação dos personagens e não são responsáveis por nenhuma interpretação errônea. Esta história é fornecida “como está”, e quaisquer opiniões expressas são as dos personagens e não refletem as opiniões do autor ou da editora.
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