As I hurried to my front door, I realized that I only had fifteen minutes left. I quickly headed toward the open window as soon as I thought no one was watching. I was happy that no neighbors were observing when I peered over the windowsill.
Their living area was same to all others. Mike faced away from me while holding a high-end camera. With a subtle smile, Jill turned to face him. My attention was drawn to a brief glimpse of motion near the room’s edge. Mike had my whole attention. His wife yelled, “Someone’s there!,” as our eyes locked, and I lost my breath. There’s someone looking inside!
No, no, no! I pondered. This is not possible!
With my heart racing, I hurried back to my house and secured the door. What was going through my mind? I peeked inside their house, but why? Had I caused them any offense? I thought they were going to call the cops.
The quiet was broken the following day by a knock on my door. Taking a glance through the peephole made my stomach turn. It was Mike. He pulled out a picture from an envelope he was holding. My picture. “Want to elaborate?” he inquired, seeming amused.
I admitted, embarrassed. To my astonishment, Mike grinned and extended an invitation to visit, stating that he loves Jill by taking her picture every day. I treasured their endearing custom and never looked out the window again after that day.
My Brother Kicked Our Grandma out Because She Had No Money Left – She Taught Him a Lesson He Will Never Forget
When my brother Paul kicked Grandma Eleanor out for not contributing financially, I took her in, driven by love and loyalty. As she rebuilt her life and found unexpected success, Paul’s regret surfaced, but I wondered if it would be enough to mend our broken bonds.
“Rachel, I can’t keep doing this,” Paul said, slamming his cup down on the table. “She’s costing too much.”
“Paul, she’s our grandmother. She raised us, remember?” I replied, trying to keep my voice steady. I could see the tension in his jaw, the frustration in his eyes.
“That was then. Things are different now,” he said, crossing his arms. “She doesn’t bring anything to the table anymore. She just sits there, painting and wasting time.”
“Those paintings mean something to her,” I said. “And they could mean something to us if we let them.”
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