When a grouchy old man slams the door on a persistent teen, he thinks he’s rid of her for good. But when a hurricane traps them together, the storm outside reveals the truth about her shocking connection to his past.
Frank had lived alone for many years. The quiet suited him, and he’d long accepted the absence of friends or family in his life. So, when he heard a knock at the door one Saturday morning, he was startled but more annoyed than curious.
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With a heavy groan, he pushed himself out of his recliner. When he opened the door, he saw a teenage girl standing on the porch, no older than sixteen.
Before she could speak, Frank snapped, “I don’t want to buy anything, I don’t want to join any church, I don’t support homeless kids or kittens, and I’m not interested in environmental issues.” Without waiting for a response, he slammed the door shut.
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He turned to leave but froze when the doorbell rang again. With a sigh, he shuffled back to his chair, grabbed the remote, and turned up the TV volume.
The weather report showed a hurricane warning for the city. Frank glanced at it briefly, then shook his head.
“Doesn’t matter to me,” he mumbled. His basement was built to withstand anything.
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The doorbell didn’t stop. It kept ringing, over and over. Five minutes passed, then ten, then fifteen. Each ring grated on Frank’s nerves. Finally, he stomped back to the door, muttering to himself. He flung it open with a scowl.
“What?! What do you want?!” he barked, his voice echoing down the quiet street.
The girl stood there, calm, her eyes fixed on him. “You’re Frank, right? I need to talk to you,” she said.
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Frank narrowed his eyes. “Let’s say I am. Who are you, and why are you on my porch? Where are your parents?”
“My name is Zoe. My mom died recently. I don’t have any parents now,” she said, her voice steady.
“I couldn’t care less,” Frank snapped. He grabbed the edge of the door and started to push it closed.
Before it could shut, Zoe pressed her hand against it. “Aren’t you curious why I’m here?” she asked, her tone unwavering.
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“The only thing I’m curious about,” Frank growled, “is how long it’ll take you to leave my property and never come back!” He shoved her hand off the door and slammed it so hard the frame rattled.
The doorbell stopped. Frank peered through the curtains, checking the yard. It was empty.
With a deep sigh, he turned away, feeling victorious. Little did he know, this was only the beginning of his nightmare.
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The next morning, Frank woke up, grumbling as he dragged himself to the front door to grab his newspaper.
His jaw dropped when he saw the state of his house. Smashed eggs dripped down the walls, their sticky residue glinting in the sunlight.
Large, crude words were scrawled across the paint in messy black letters, making his blood boil.
“What in the world?!” he shouted, looking around the street, but it was empty.
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Grinding his teeth, he stormed back inside, grabbed his cleaning supplies, and spent the entire day scrubbing.
His hands ached, his back throbbed, and he swore under his breath with every stroke.
By evening, exhausted but relieved to see the walls clean, he stepped onto his porch with a cup of tea.
But his relief was short-lived. Garbage was scattered across his yard—cans, old food, and torn papers littered the lawn.
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“Stupid girl!” he shouted at no one in particular, his voice echoing through the quiet neighborhood.
He stomped down the steps, grabbed some trash bags, and began cleaning. As he bent to pick up a rotten tomato, his eyes caught a note taped to his mailbox.
He yanked it off and read aloud, “Just listen to me, and I’ll stop bothering you. —Zoe.” At the bottom, scrawled in bold numbers, was a phone number.
Frank crumpled the note and hurled it into the trash.
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The next morning, loud shouting woke him. He looked outside to see a group of people waving signs.
“Who the hell are you?!” he yelled, opening the window.
“We’re here for the environment! Thanks for letting us use your yard!” a hippie-looking woman called.
Fuming, Frank grabbed a broom and chased them off. Once they were gone, he noticed a caricature of himself drawn on the driveway with the caption, “I hate everyone.”
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On his front door was another note:
“Just listen to me, or I’ll come up with more ways to annoy you.
—Zoe.
P.S. The paint doesn’t wash off.”
And again at the bottom was a phone number.
Frank stormed inside, slamming the door behind him. He grabbed the phone and dialed Zoe’s number with shaking hands. “Come to my house. Now,” he barked and hung up before she could respond.
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When Zoe arrived, her jaw dropped. Two police officers stood on the porch beside Frank, their expressions serious.
“What the—? Are you kidding me?!” Zoe shouted, glaring at him.
Frank folded his arms and smirked. “You think you’re so clever, don’t you? Guess what? You’re not.”
The officers cuffed Zoe. “You old jerk!” she yelled as they led her to the car. Frank watched, smug, believing this was the end of his troubles.
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The next day, the city issued a hurricane warning. The winds howled, bending trees and tossing debris down the empty streets.
Frank looked out the window as he prepared to head for his basement. His eyes widened when he spotted Zoe outside, clutching her backpack and stumbling against the wind.
“What are you doing out there?!” Frank shouted, flinging open the door. The wind nearly tore it from his hand.
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Zoe turned, her hair whipping around her face. “What does it look like?! I’m looking for shelter!” she yelled, her voice barely audible over the roar of the storm. “I have nowhere else to go!”
“Then come inside!” Frank barked, stepping onto the porch.
“No way!” Zoe snapped. “I’d rather face this hurricane than go in your house!”
Frank gritted his teeth. “You were desperate to talk to me yesterday. What changed now?”
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“I realized you’re a selfish, grumpy idiot!” Zoe shot back.
Frank had enough. He stomped down the steps, grabbed her backpack, and hauled her toward the door.
“Let me go!” Zoe screamed, twisting against his grip. “I’m not going with you! Let me go!”
“Are you out of your mind?!” Frank bellowed, slamming the door behind them. “Stay out there, and you’ll die!”
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“Maybe that’s fine! I have nothing left anyway! ” Zoe yelled, her face red. “And do you think your stupid house is some kind of fortress?!”
“My basement is fortified,” Frank growled. “It’s survived worse than this. Follow me.”
Zoe glared at him but hesitated. After a moment, she sighed and trudged after him toward the basement.
The basement was surprisingly cozy. It looked like a small, well-used living room. A single bed sat tucked in one corner, with shelves of old books lining the walls.
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A pile of paintings leaned against the far side, their colors muted by age. Zoe glanced around, unimpressed, then dropped onto the couch with a loud sigh.
“You wanted to say something? Now’s your chance,” Frank said, standing stiffly near the stairs.
“Now you’re ready to listen?” Zoe asked, raising an eyebrow.
“We’re stuck here for who knows how long. Might as well get it over with,” Frank replied, leaning against a shelf and folding his arms.
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“Fine,” Zoe said. She reached into her backpack, pulled out some folded papers, and handed them to him.
Frank frowned as he took them. “What’s this?”
“My emancipation papers,” Zoe said, her tone matter-of-fact.
Frank blinked. “What?”
“It’s so I can live on my own,” Zoe explained. “Without parents. Without guardians.”
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“How old are you?” Frank asked, squinting at the documents.
“Sixteen… almost,” Zoe replied, her voice firm.
“And why do you need my signature?” Frank asked, looking at her sharply.
Zoe met his eyes without hesitation. “Because you’re my only living relative. I’m your granddaughter. Remember your wife? Your daughter?”
Frank’s face paled. “That’s impossible.”
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“It’s very possible,” Zoe said with a cold laugh. “Social services gave me your address. When Grandma talked about you, I thought she was exaggerating. Now I see she didn’t tell me half of it.”
“I’m not signing this. You’re still a child. The system can take care of you.”
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“You’re joking, right?” Zoe snapped. “You were a terrible father and husband! You left Grandma and Mom to chase some fantasy about painting. Your art isn’t even good—I was better at five! And now, after all that, you won’t even sign a piece of paper to help me?”
Frank’s hands clenched. “It was my dream to be an artist!” he shouted.
“It was my dream too!” Zoe shot back. “But Grandma’s gone. Mom’s gone. And you’re the only family I have. You’re also the worst person I’ve ever met!”
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They sat in silence after that, the tension heavy in the room. Frank knew Zoe was right. He had been selfish. Back then, he had seen only his art, blind to everything else.
After two hours, Frank finally spoke. “Do you even have a place to stay?”
“I’m working on it,” Zoe muttered. “I’ve got a job. I still have Mom’s car. I can manage.”
“You should be in school, not figuring out how to survive,” Frank said.
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“Life doesn’t work out the way we want,” Zoe replied, her voice soft but firm.
For the next few hours, Frank sat silently, watching Zoe sketch in her notebook. Her pencil moved with confidence, every stroke purposeful.
He hated to admit it, but her art was bold, creative, and alive. It was far better than anything he had ever painted.
The radio crackled to life, its monotone voice announcing the hurricane had passed. The storm was over.
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Frank stood, his joints stiff, and gestured toward the stairs. “Let’s go up,” he said. Once upstairs, he glanced at Zoe and handed her the signed documents without a word.
“You were right,” he said, his voice low. “I was a terrible husband. A lousy father too. I can’t change any of that. But maybe I can help change someone’s future.”
Zoe stared at the papers for a moment, then slipped them into her backpack. “Thanks,” she said quietly.
Frank looked at her and nodded. “Don’t stop painting. You’ve got talent.”
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Zoe slung the bag over her shoulder. “Life decided otherwise,” she said, heading for the door.
“You can stay here,” Frank said suddenly.
Zoe froze. “What?”
“You can live here,” Frank said. “I can’t undo my mistakes, but I also can’t throw my own granddaughter out on the street.”
“Do you really want me to stay?” Zoe asked.
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“Not exactly,” Frank admitted. “But I think we might both learn something.”
Zoe smirked. “Fine. Thanks. But I’m taking all your art supplies. I’m way better than you.”
She turned toward the basement. Frank shook his head. “Stubborn and arrogant. You get that from me.”
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My Ex-husband Got Our House, Car and All Our Money After Divorce – I Laughed Because That Was Exactly What I Planned
After a bitter marriage marked by Mike’s obsession with material wealth, Nicole shockingly agrees to give him everything in their divorce. But as Mike revels in his “victory,” Nicole’s laughter reveals a secret plan in motion. What Mike doesn’t know is that she’s about to make her final move.I stepped out of the lawyer’s office with a blank expression, my shoulders slumped, looking every bit the defeated ex-wife. The rain was coming down hard, and the gray sky matched my mood — or at least the mood I wanted people to think I was in.A woman walking past a window Inside, I was buzzing. My hands clenched the cold steel of the door handle as I headed toward the elevator. No one was around. Good. The elevator door closed behind me with a soft ding, and as soon as I was alone, I let out a little giggle. It wasn’t something I planned; it bubbled up from deep inside like champagne finally uncorked. The more I thought about what I’d just done the more it built up until I was cackling in the elevator like a lunatic.A woman laughing in an elevator | Source: Midjourney If anyone saw me right then, they’d think I had finally snapped, gone over the edge from all the stress, but oh no, this was just the beginning. Everything was falling perfectly into place. The house, the car, the savings — Mike could have them all. It was exactly what I wanted. He thought he’d won, and that was the best part. He didn’t have a clue what was coming. The elevator stopped with a jolt, and I pulled myself together. I glanced at my reflection in the elevator’s mirrored wall: messy hair, tired eyes,and a faint smile still lingering on my lips. I didn’t even care. This was going to be fun.A woman in an elevator | Source: Midjourney A few weeks earlier… Mike and I hadn’t been happy for years, but it wasn’t just the regular kind of falling out of love. Mike was obsessed with his image. He was all about the flashy cars, having the biggest house on the block, and wearing only designer clothes. All of it was a performance, and I had played my part for too long. The cracks had started to show, and when the arguments became more frequent, I knew it wasn’t long before the inevitable happened.A thoughtful woman | Source: Midjourney The thing is,I wasn’t scared of the divorce. I knew Mike, and I knew exactly how this would play out. He didn’t care about saving the marriage. No, what he wanted was to win — win the house, win the money, win the divorce. All I wanted was to be free of this pretentious lifestyle. But that didn’t mean I was going to let him screw me over, either. So, I’d let Mike have what he wanted, but with a catch as sharp as a fishhook.A thoughtful woman | Source: Midjourney It happened on a Tuesday. Mike came home late, again. I was in the kitchen, pretending to scroll through my phone, not bothering to look up when he stormed in. We need to talk.” I sighed, barely masking the boredom in my voice. “What now?” He slammed his keys on the counter, and I could practically feel the frustration radiating off him. He always got like this when things didn’t go his way at work, and of course, I was the easiest target.An irritated man | Source: Midjourney “I’m done,” he said, his voice low and tight. “I want a divorce.” I blinked up at him. Finally. I nodded slowly, like it was sinking in, but really, I had been prepared for this moment for weeks. “Okay,” I said simply. He frowned, clearly taken aback. “That’s it? No fight? No begging?” I shrugged. “What’s the point?”A woman staring ahead | Source: Midjourney For a second, he looked confused, like I had taken the wind out of his sails. He was expecting resistance, expecting me to plead with him to stay. But I just needed to give him enough rope to hang himself with. The divorce negotiations were as awful as I expected. We sat across from each other in a sterile conference room, lawyers flanking us, as Mike outlined every little thing he wanted. The house, the car, the savings; it was like he was reading off a grocery list.Close up of a man’s eyes | Source: Midjourney And the entire time, he had this smug little grin on his face, like he thought I’d break down and cry at any moment. “Fine,” I said, barely listening. “You can have it all.” My lawyer shot me a look, one that clearly said, “Are you sure?” But I just nodded. Mike blinked. “Wait, what?” “I said, you can have it. I don’t want any of it, except for my personal possessions.”A woman | Source: Midjourney He looked stunned. “You… you don’t want the house? Or the money?” “Nope,” I said, leaning back in my chair. “It’s all yours.” His shock quickly morphed into glee. “Great. Then take this afternoon to pack up your belongings. It’s not much, so that should be plenty of time.” Mike glanced at his watch. “I’ll expect you to be out by six.” “No problem,” I replied.A smiling woman | Source: Midjourney He sat up straighter, his chest puffing out like he’d just won the lottery. And I let him think it. And that brings me back to that moment when I stepped into the elevator in the lawyer’s office building, and couldn’t contain my laughter anymore. As I stepped out of the elevator, I pulled out my phone. My fingers hovered over the screen for a second before I typed out a quick message: I’m heading to the house to pack up my things. I’ll call you when it’s time to make your move. I hit send and smiled. Time for the real fun to begin.A cell phone | Source: PexelsPacking up the house was easier than I thought it would be. I didn’t want much, just a few personal things, mostly items that held memories that weren’t tainted by Mike. The house was too big for just the two of us anyway, and it always felt more like his house than mine. I was taping up the last box when I picked up the phone to make the call. My mom, Barbara, answered on the second ring. “Hey,” I said, keeping my voice light. “It’s time.”A woman making a phone call | Source: Midjourney There was a pause, and then Mom’s familiar, no-nonsense tone came through. “Finally. I’ve been waiting for this moment.” Mom couldn’t stand Mike. She saw right through his flashy facade the day I introduced them. But the best part? She had helped us buy this house. She was the reason Mike thought he had scored such a great deal on it, and now she was going to be the reason he lost it. I hung up, feeling a strange sense of relief as I looked around. I was done pretending.A woman holding her phone | Source: Midjourney The next morning, I was making breakfast in my new little apartment when my phone rang. I smirked as Mike’s name flashed across the screen. “Hello?” I answered sweetly. “You set me up!” Mike’s voice was furious, practically frothing at the mouth. I put the phone on speaker, grabbing a piece of toast as I leaned against the counter. “I’m sorry, what are you talking about?”A slice of toast | Source: Midjourney “Your mother!” he spat. “She’s… she’s in my house! She’s taken over everything!” “Oh, right,” I said, biting into my toast. “Remember that agreement we signed when she gave us the down payment? The one that lets her live there whenever she wants, for as long as she wants?” There was a long pause, and I could practically hear the gears turning in his brain. I could imagine the look on his face, realization dawning.A woman speaking on the phone | Source: Midjourney He had signed that paper years ago, too blinded by the allure of a fancy house to even think twice about the fine print. “You! You cheated me! This isn’t over. I’m getting my lawyers—” Before he could finish, I heard Mom’s voice in the background, sharp and cutting through the phone. “Michael, you better get your feet off that coffee table! And stop hogging the remote!” There was a muffled sound as if Mike had turned away from the phone, trying to whisper. “Barbara, this is my house—”A smiling woman on a phone call | Source: Midjourney “Oh, hush,” Mom interrupted, louder now. “It’s my house just as much as yours. And another thing, what’s with all these cheap snacks? Do you know how to grocery shop? I’m not living off frozen dinners!” I had to bite my lip to keep from laughing. Mike mumbled something incoherent, his frustration barely contained, but before he could get another word in, I heard her again. “And turn down that TV! You think I want to listen to that nonsense all day? If you’re going to watch those ridiculous car shows, at least mute it!”A woman smiling | Source: Midjourney There was a loud crash, followed by some more muttering, and then the phone clicked off abruptly. I took a deep breath, smiling as I sat down at the table. Freedom never tasted so sweet.
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