Chloe visited her sick mother, Helen, every week. One day, while at her mom’s house, she decided to clean the attic. It seemed like no one had been up there for years. While cleaning, she found a box of old letters that could hold the answer to her biggest question—why her father left. But one letter stood out. It was sealed and had never been opened.
Chloe, now 34, had been coming to visit her mother more often recently. Helen’s health had gotten worse, and she was now bedridden and weak.
Chloe couldn’t shake the fear that any visit could be the last. This feeling hung over her heart constantly.
Every week, Chloe would come by with groceries. She cooked meals for her mother and handled the tasks that Helen could no longer do.
It was hard for Chloe to watch her once-strong mother, Helen, grow so weak. But Chloe knew it was important to be there, no matter how difficult it felt.
One chilly afternoon, Chloe stood in the kitchen, stirring a pot of soup. The smell of chicken and herbs filled the room, and the bubbling of the broth was the only sound.
But then Helen’s sharp voice broke the silence from the living room.
“You know, at your age, I already had you,” Helen called, sounding irritated. “When are you going to have children?”
Chloe tensed, gripping the spoon tighter. Her mother had made this comment before, but it always hurt.
Helen had grown more critical with age. She often commented on Chloe’s lack of children, her career, or her relationship. Chloe tried not to let it get to her, but it was tiring.
“Maybe one day, Mom,” Chloe replied softly, not wanting to argue since Helen wasn’t well enough for it.
After feeding Helen and making sure she was comfortable, Chloe tidied up the kitchen. The house was a mess since her mother’s illness had worsened, and there was always so much to do.
When Helen finally fell asleep, Chloe decided to tackle a bigger job—the attic. No one had been up there for years, and it was time to clean it out.
The attic was dimly lit, with thick layers of dust covering everything. Cobwebs hung in the corners, and the air smelled musty.
As Chloe sorted through old belongings, something caught her eye—a small box in the corner. She pulled it out and saw it was locked. After finding a hammer, she gently tapped the rusty lock until it broke.
Inside were dozens of old letters, yellowed with age. Chloe’s breath caught as she realized they were love letters from her father—the man she had never known.
Each letter was filled with love and promises to return soon. Her father had been an actor, traveling with a theater troupe. In his letters, he sent money and wrote about missing Helen. Chloe was completely absorbed, learning about a love story she had never heard.
At the bottom of the box, Chloe found one final letter. It was still sealed, as if waiting all these years. Her heart raced—why hadn’t her mother opened it? What secrets did it hold?
Chloe knew she couldn’t open it without asking her mother first, no matter how badly she wanted to know the truth.
She went to her mother’s room, where Helen was awake. Chloe hesitated, knowing this would upset her.
“Mom, I found a box of letters in the attic. They’re from Dad,” Chloe said carefully.
Helen’s face hardened, and she snapped, “What were you doing going through my things?”
“I was just cleaning,” Chloe answered quickly. “But there’s one letter you never opened. Why?”
Helen’s face flushed with anger. “Burn them! I never opened that letter for a reason. You will never read it! Swear it!”
Chloe was shocked. “But Mom, don’t I have a right to know? He’s my father, and I know nothing about him.”
Helen sighed deeply, too exhausted to argue anymore. Chloe, feeling defeated, left the room, still holding the unopened letter.
Chloe sat in the living room, staring at the sealed envelope. This letter might finally reveal why her father had left, but part of her didn’t want to open it. What if the truth was worse than the mystery?
After a long pause, Chloe took a deep breath and opened the letter. Her heart sank as she saw it was charred, but the message was clear: her father loved Helen and their unborn child. He had promised to come back.
Behind it was another letter, from her father’s best friend, explaining that her father had died a hero, saving people from a fire during one of his performances.
Chloe rushed back to her mother’s room, demanding, “Why didn’t you tell me? Dad loved us!”
Helen’s voice trembled as she explained, “He loved us, but he loved his work more. He stayed behind to help people in a fire and died.”
Chloe was stunned. “He died… a hero?”
Helen nodded. “I couldn’t read that letter. I wanted to forget.”
Chloe sat down beside her mother. “Do you want me to read it to you?”
Helen hesitated but smiled through her tears. “I’d love that.”
With a deep breath, Chloe began to read her father’s final words aloud, letting the love he left behind fill the room.
My Husband Left Me and Our Kids for His Mistress — I Took Revenge after Visiting My MIL
Hannah is startled and heartbroken after she finds shocking photos of her husband, Charles, with his young coworker, Madison. With her world falling apart, Hannah doesn’t know what to do, but a visit to her mother-in-law’s gives her a secret weapon. Can Hannah use this new evidence to get the revenge she deserves?
I couldn’t believe my eyes. Sitting in my living room, I stared at my phone, my hands trembling.
It all started a week ago when my friend Sarah mentioned she had seen Charles with a young woman at a café. I brushed it off, thinking it was a misunderstanding.
But something gnawed at me, and I decided to ask Sarah to keep an eye out.
Now, Sarah’s message popped up with several pictures attached. I opened them, and there they were — Charles and Madison, his 20-year-old coworker, entering a hotel together.
They were laughing and holding hands, the intimacy between them unmistakable.
He shook his head. “No, Hannah. It’s over.”
I realized our life together, the family we built, meant nothing to him.
After Charles left, my life turned upside down.
I moved into a small apartment with the kids, barely scraping by. The settlement I received was meager, barely enough to cover our basic needs. I had hoped to keep things stable for the children, but every month was a struggle to pay rent.
One evening, after putting the kids to bed, I sat down with my laptop to look for ways to make ends meet. My job as a part-time receptionist wasn’t enough, and I started searching for freelance work, anything that could help us get by.
“How could he do this?” I muttered to myself, feeling the sting of injustice.
Charles had lied about the house’s value during the divorce proceedings. He’d manipulated the system to leave me with almost nothing. The unfairness of it all consumed me.
How was I supposed to provide for our children when he had taken everything?
“We did it, Hannah. He’s finally getting what he deserves,” Margaret said, hugging me tightly.
I smiled, tears of gratitude in my eyes. “Thank you, Margaret. I couldn’t have done this without you.”
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