He saw a girl begging on the sidewalk and somehow couldn’t get her face out of his mind. He had to know her story.
Wealthy businessman Roger Landers was often annoyed by the sight of the homeless begging on the street outside his office building. There seemed to be more and more of them each year, he reflected.
As he passed a young woman huddled against a wall, a kindly soul dropped a coin in her cup. The woman looked up and smiled at her benefactor and that smile pierced Roger to the heart. In one second, that huddled anonymous annoyance became a lovely radiant woman.
For illustration purposes only. | Source: Unsplash
Roger walked into the building and that moment when the girl’s face was transformed by her smile replayed over and over in his mind. He found himself wondering who she was, what had driven her to live in the pitiless streets of L.A.?
For the rest of the week, Roger found himself almost obsessed by the young homeless woman. He watched her surreptitiously, and once when he dropped a coin in her cup, watched that miraculous transformation at close quarters.
Love can sometimes lurk in the most unexpected places.
He found himself thinking about her, inventing stories about her, little fantasies in which he discovered she was really a reporter writing about homelessness at close hand, or a deeply committed actress preparing for a role…
Finally, on Friday afternoon, after he wrapped his work for the day and dismissed his employees, Roger did what he’d been longing to do all week. He walked up to the girl sitting on the sidewalk and talked to her.
For illustration purposes only. | Source: Unsplash
“Hi,” he said awkwardly. “Would it be okay if I bought you a cup of coffee? You look really cold.” The girl lifted up her face and smiled at him.
“Thank you,” she said sweetly. “I’d like that.” Roger was struck by her low educated voice and her grace as she got to her feet. She was tiny, he realized, a petite 5′ 3″ next to his towering 6′ 2″.
He walked her to a nearby coffee shop and ordered her hot food to go with her coffee. Once again Roger was surprised by her delicate gestures, her manners. This was an educated girl. How had she ended up on the streets?
When Roger saw color flood back into the girl’s face after she finished her hot soup, her grilled sandwich, and her coffee, he asked her exactly that. “How did this happen to you? Living on the streets?”
The girl looked him straight in the eye. A wry smile twisted her lips. “I was stupid, and trusting,” she said. “It’s not an original story. I was in love with this boy in my hometown — Idaho — if you can believe it.
For illustration purposes only. | Source: Unsplash
“My parents disapproved of him, which only made him even more romantic and attractive to me… To cut a long story short, he convinced me to withdraw my college funds and run away with him to L.A. He was going to be a movie star, and I’d be a screenwriter…”
Roger shook his head sadly. “A lot of people come out here every year, less than a handful make it!” he commented.
“Well, I’ll never know.” A tinge of bitterness colored the girl’s voice. “The first night in L.A., we booked into a motel. When I woke up in the morning Kevin was gone, so was my money and everything I had.”
Roger gasped. “Did you go to the police? Call your family?” The girl was shaking her head, tears in her eyes.
“I was too ashamed. I made a deal with the motel manager. She let me sleep in the storeroom and I cleaned the rooms. Some of the guests gave me tips, and I managed to eat. But then her husband started trying…” The girl shook her head. “You know how it is. I left the motel and ended up here, on the streets.”
For illustration purposes only. | Source: Pixabay
“What’s your name?” Roger asked gently.
“Emma,” the girl said with one of those radiant smiles. “Emma Sinclair from Preston, Idaho!”
“Well, Emma Sinclair from Preston, Idaho,” Roger smiled back. “I’m Roger Landers from Los Angeles, California, and I’m sending you home.”
Roger took Emma into a nearby mall and he bought her several outfits and a suitcase. He waited at the food court while she changed and came out of the restroom transformed.
He drove her to the bus station and bought her a bus ticket home. He tucked a $100 bill in her hand. “Listen,” he said. “Don’t let any more charming rascals talk you into coming to L.A., OK?”
For illustration purposes only. | Source: Unsplash
Emma was crying and smiling through her tears. She reached up and gave Roger a hug. “Thank you, thank you, and God bless you!”
Roger watched her board the bus with a sinking feeling in his heart. Why did he feel that this was a mistake? He wanted to run after that bus, beg Emma to stay… What was happening to him?
That night, Roger realized that the petite waif with the glowing smile had stolen his heart. “If I let her go, I’ll regret it for the rest of my life!” he told himself. “She’s special, and I love her.”
Two days later, Roger was driving into Preston, Idaho. He stopped at the police station and asked where he could find Emma Sinclair. “Emma?” asked one of the deputies suspiciously. “What do you want with Emma?”
For illustration purposes only. | Source: Unsplash
Roger blushed. “Well, you see, I met her in LA, and I wanted to see if she was alright…”
The deputy looked him up and down. “You can find Emma at her mom’s laundromat, two doors down. I’m coming with you. I don’t want any more trouble for Emma!”
Roger’s heart was beating fast as he walked into the laundromat and saw Emma. She looked up and her face lit up. At that moment, Roger knew she had been feeling the same way: they belonged together!
So just three weeks after she returned home, Emma headed back to LA once again, but this time she was with a man who loved and cherished her. By the end of the year, Roger and Emma were married, and she became involved in a program to help runaways find their way home.
For illustration purposes only. | Source: Unsplash
What can we learn from this story?
- Helping others can be a transformative experience. Roger helped Emma, and in the process, he found his own way to life-long happiness.
- Love can sometimes lurk in the most unexpected places. Roger found love with a homeless waif when everyone expected him to marry a socialite.
My Late Wife’s Presumptuous Sister Took Her Dress Without Asking and Damaged It – Karma Swiftly Dealt With Her
Jack is furious when his sister-in-law shows up to a family event in his late wife, Della’s cherished dress. But the final blow comes when she “accidentally” ruins it right in front of him. Jack holds back his anger, but karma has its way of delivering justice in ways no one expects.
It’s been six months since I lost my wife, Della, and some days it feels like I’m drowning in memories. Today was one of those days until karma decided to show up fashionably late to the party.
But I’m getting ahead of myself. Let me rewind a bit to last week.
It was supposed to be a happy day, the 45th wedding anniversary of Della and her sister Lina’s parents. Instead, it turned into a nightmare that had me wishing I’d stayed home nursing my grief with a bottle of whiskey.
I stood in the corner of the living room, nursing a drink and trying to blend into the wallpaper.
The chatter of family and friends washed over me, a dull roar that did nothing to drown out the ache in my chest. Every laugh, every clink of glasses was a reminder that Della should’ve been here, lighting up the room with her smile.
That’s when it happened. The moment that made my blood run cold and then boil in the span of a heartbeat.
Lina appeared at the top of the stairs, and my world tilted on its axis.
She was wearing Della’s engagement dress. The one I’d given her on the night I proposed, the one she’d treasured for years. It was a soft, flowing thing in a shade of blue that matched Della’s eyes perfectly.
Seeing it on Lina felt like a violation.
I couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe. My fingers tightened around my glass as Lina descended the stairs, a smug smile playing on her lips. She knew exactly what she was doing.
“Jack!” she called out, her voice dripping with fake sweetness. “Don’t you think this dress is just perfect for the occasion?”
I opened my mouth, but no words came out. What could I say that wouldn’t cause a scene? That wouldn’t play right into her hands?
Lina sauntered over, her eyes gleaming with malicious delight. “What’s wrong, Jack? Cat got your tongue?”
I took a deep breath, trying to steady myself. “That’s Della’s dress,” I managed to growl.
She laughed, a sound like nails on a chalkboard. “Oh, come on. It’s not like she needs it anymore. And now,” she leaned in close, her breath hot on my ear, “she can’t say no to me.”
Something snapped inside me. I was about to unleash years of pent-up fury when Lina gasped dramatically.
“Oh no!” she cried out. “I’m so clumsy!”
Time seemed to slow as I watched a wave of red wine spread across the front of Della’s dress. Lina’s eyes met mine, filled with mock innocence and very real triumph.
“Oops,” she said, her voice dripping with sarcasm. “I guess I ruined it. Such a shame.”
I don’t remember much of what happened next. Somehow, I made it through the rest of the party without committing murder. But as I drove home that evening, my knuckles white on the steering wheel, I knew something had changed.
Back in our — my — empty house, I paced the floor like a caged animal. Memories of Della flooded my mind, sharp and painful. Her laughter, her strength, the way she always stood up to Lina’s bullshit.
“God, I miss you, Del,” I whispered to the empty room. “You always knew how to handle her.”
I could almost hear Della’s voice in my head, calm and steady. “Don’t let her get to you, Jack. She’s not worth it.”
But it wasn’t just about me anymore.
It was about honoring Della’s memory, about not letting Lina trample all over the life we’d built together.
As I collapsed onto the couch, exhausted and heartsick, a strange calm settled over me. I wouldn’t seek revenge; that’s not what Della would’ve wanted. But I wouldn’t stand in karma’s way either.
Something told me the universe had taken notice of Lina’s behavior, and it was only a matter of time before the scales balanced out.
Little did I know how right I was.
A few days later, I was mindlessly scrolling through social media, trying to distract myself from the gnawing emptiness in my chest, when a post caught my eye. It was from Lina, and it was… dramatic, to say the least.
“My dear friends,” it read, accompanied by a selfie of Lina with tears streaking her mascara, “I was robbed yesterday! They took all my cocktail outfits and branded clothes. I’m devastated!”
I blinked and read it again.
A laugh bubbled up in my throat, unexpected and a little rusty from disuse. Before I could fully process what I was reading, my phone rang. Lina’s name flashed on the screen.
I answered, curiosity getting the better of me. “Hello?”
“You colossal jerk!” Lina’s shrill voice assaulted my ear. “I know it was you! How dare you?”
I held the phone away from my ear, her tirade continuing unabated. When she paused for breath, I jumped in. “Lina, what the hell are you talking about?”
“Don’t play dumb with me, Jack! My clothes, all my designer outfits, they’re gone! And I know you’re behind it!”
I couldn’t help it. I laughed. It was a real laugh, the kind I hadn’t experienced since Della died. “Lina, I hate to burst your bubble, but I had nothing to do with your clothes going missing.”
“Liar! Who else would do this? It’s payback for the dress, isn’t it?”
I sighed, pinching the bridge of my nose.
“Lina, I’ve been home wallowing in my grief. I haven’t left the house in days. How exactly do you think I managed to orchestrate a theft of your wardrobe?”
She sputtered, clearly not expecting logic to enter the conversation. “But… but…”
“Look,” I said, a hint of amusement creeping into my voice, “I’m sorry you were robbed. That sucks. But it wasn’t me.”
“Then explain this!” she shrieked.
My phone pinged with an incoming message.
I pulled it away from my ear to look, and what I saw nearly made me drop it.
There, in living color, were photos of Lina’s missing clothes. But they weren’t in some thief’s lair or a pawn shop. No, they were being worn by homeless women on the street.
I saw a Gucci blazer draped over the shoulders of an elderly woman pushing a shopping cart. A Prada dress adorned a young mother cradling a baby.
I couldn’t contain myself. Laughter erupted from me, deep and genuine.
It felt foreign, almost painful, but God, it felt good.
“What’s so funny?” Lina demanded. “This isn’t a joke, Jack!”
“Oh, Lina,” I managed between chuckles, “trust me, karma works in mysterious ways.”
“What’s that supposed to mean? I swear, Jack, if I find out you had anything to do with this—”
“You’ll what?” I cut her off, suddenly tired of her threats. “Look, Lina, I didn’t take your clothes. Maybe the universe decided it was time for you to learn a lesson about taking things that don’t belong to you.”
She gasped, indignant. “How dare you! I’m calling the police!”
“Go ahead,” I said, surprising myself with how calm I felt. “I’m sure they’ll be very interested in your theory about your grieving brother-in-law masterminding a charitable redistribution of your wardrobe.”
I hung up before she could respond, feeling lighter than I had in months. As I set my phone down, a memory surfaced: Della, rolling her eyes after yet another confrontation with her sister.
“One of these days,” she’d said, “Lina’s going to push too far, and it’s going to bite her in the rear.”
I smiled, raising an imaginary glass to the ceiling. “You called it, babe,” I murmured. “You always did.”
I thought that was the end of it. A bit of karmic justice, a much-needed laugh, and maybe a lesson learned for Lina. But the universe, it seemed, wasn’t quite done.
The next morning, I opened my front door to grab the newspaper and nearly tripped over a plain white envelope on the welcome mat. No address, no stamp. Just my name scrawled across the front in unfamiliar handwriting.
Curious, I tore it open. Inside was a single sheet of paper with three words:
“Don’t thank me.”
I stared at the note, my mind racing. Someone in the family, someone I didn’t know, or at least didn’t suspect, had taken matters into their own hands. They’d done what I’d only dreamed of doing, exacting a revenge that was as poetic as it was just.
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