Richard buys a bus ticket for a desperate mother of three and finds dozens of boxes from her on his doorstep the next day. He has no idea her gift will land him in trouble until his daughter opens one of the boxes.
It was a bright, sunny morning. Richard was engrossed in the song playing on his headphones while he mopped the bus station floors. For the last 10 years, the bus station had been his world.
Suddenly, a voice distracted him. “Excuse me,” it said.
Richard turned around to see a woman, probably 35 years old. She looked frail, and from her red, puffy eyes and tear-stained cheeks, Richard could sense she was crying not long ago. She held a baby in her arms, and two older children stood beside her.
For illustration purposes only | Source: Pexels
“Can I help you with something?” Richard worriedly asked as he removed his headphones.
“I-I need to get to New York. Can you please help me buy a ticket?” she asked tremblingly.
“Is everything OK? You look tense,” he said.
The woman hesitated. “I-I want to escape my husband. I shouldn’t be telling you this, but he’s… not a good man. I’ve not been able to reach him for days, and the things he’s said and done… scare me. I just want to go to my sister who lives in New York. I lost my wallet. Please help us.”
Noticing her plight, Richard couldn’t refuse her, although he knew he’d have to let go of the last money he had. He went to the counter and bought the ticket.
For illustration purposes only | Source: Pexels
“Thank you from the bottom of my heart,” she sniffled as he handed her the ticket.
“Please take care of your children,” he said.
“Can you give me your address?” she asked.
“Why would you need that?”
“I want to repay you. Please,” she said.
Richard relented, and soon, the bus the woman and her children boarded disappeared down the road.
For illustration purposes only | Source: Pexels
Richard finished his shift and went home to his daughter, Amanda. She was all he had after his wife walked out on them. Richard was devastated by his wife’s decision, but he had pulled himself together for his daughter’s sake.
By the age of 10, Amanda had taken on responsibilities far beyond her years. After school, she would tie her hair up in a ponytail and dive into household chores, even helping Richard cook.
In their tiny kitchen, they danced together and tried new recipes. Then, they settled onto the couch by the evening, sharing the tales of their days. That evening was no different. But the next morning was.
Richard was startled awake by Amanda’s voice. “Dad! Wake up!” she exclaimed, shaking his shoulders gently.
He sat up groggily, rubbing his eyes. “What is it, sweetie?”
“There’s something odd outside! Come with me!” she insisted, pulling him out of the bed.
For illustration purposes only | Source: Pexels
Richard stepped out into the yard to see a dozen boxes. He assumed it was someone’s shipment gone astray, but then he noticed the envelope atop one of the boxes. It had a letter. He ignored that Amanda had already started opening the boxes as he began reading.
“Hi! It’s me, the woman you helped yesterday. I wanted to express my gratitude for your kindness. These boxes hold the possessions I wanted to bring to New York, but I decided to leave them to you so you could sell them and make some good money. All the best.”
Richard was still processing the letter when the sound of shattering porcelain distracted him. He spun around to see Amanda had dropped a vase on the ground. For a moment, he was annoyed at her recklessness. She had broken the woman’s vase!
But then he noticed the sparking object among the porcelain shards. He picked it up. Richard had read somewhere that diamond didn’t fog when you breathed on it. He was shocked to realize the shiny stone was a REAL diamond.
“Oh god! We’re rich!” he exclaimed joyfully, his eyes fixed on the shining gem.
For illustration purposes only | Source: Unsplash
“We need to return it, Dad!” Amanda skimmed the shipping documents and found the sender’s address. “It’s not ours!”
“Think about the bright future, Amanda! We could send you to a good school!”
“No, Dad! What if we are taking away someone’s last hopes?”
Richard insisted on keeping the diamond, but Amanda talked him into returning it. Richard told her he would, but he had something else on his mind. On the pretext of returning the diamond, he visited an antique shop.
“How can I help you, sir?” the proprietor, Mr. Lambert, asked as Richard approached the counter.
“I wanted to get something appraised,” he replied and placed the diamond on the counter.
Mr. Lambert adjusted the focus of his loupe. “This is a magnificent piece,” he said, examining the stone. “The clarity, the cut…it’s an exception. I’d estimate its value to be at least $100,000. If I may ask, where did you get it?”
Richard’s eyes widened at the estimate, but he quickly composed himself. “Uh, it was… an inheritance,” he said. “So…can you buy it?”
“I think I’ll need to consult a colleague. Can you wait a moment?” Mr. Lambert asked. Richard nodded, and Mr. Lambert stepped away for a call.
For illustration purposes only | Source: Pexels
“Good news!” he exclaimed as he returned. “We can proceed with the purchase! Can I take a look?” He extended his hand so that Richard could hand him the diamond. But there was a moment of negligence, and the diamond landed on the floor. Mr. Lambert quickly bent down and picked it up.
“Don’t worry. It’s one of the strongest substances on Earth. It’s definitely not harmed!” he said, taking a look, and returned the diamond to Richard. “I can offer you $10,000!” he said.
“Wait, but you just told me it’s worth ten times that!” Richard argued.
Mr. Lambert explained that he could only offer Richard a fraction of the market value because Richard didn’t have any documents proving the diamond’s origin. Richard asked Mr. Lambert if there was a way they could work it out, but Mr. Lambert was adamant he would offer at most $10,000.
Richard decided he didn’t want the money and drove home with the diamond. But he had a plan. Richard decided to move to another town, make fake documents for the diamond’s origin, and sell it for its full market value. He would need to persuade Amanda, but he’d manage.
For illustration purposes only | Source: Pexels
As he arrived home, Richard sensed an eerie silence. “Amanda?” he called out, but there was no response. Usually, Amanda would come running at one call.
Richard sensed something was off. He searched the whole house, but there was no sign of Amanda. He began panicking, wondering where his daughter was, when he noticed a note on the kitchen countertop.
“You have my gem! If you want your daughter back, bring it to the address below.No police or you’ll regret it.”
Richard’s heart sank, and his hands shook. Then his mind raced to the woman he’d met at the bus stop. “My husband isn’t a good man…” Her words kept ringing in his ears. He raced to the kitchen drawer and pulled out the shipping documents. The address mentioned by the kidnapper matched the shipping address.
A chill ran down Richard’s spine. He had no time to lose or doubt if the woman was an accomplice in her husband’s nasty schemes. He drove to the address and found himself in front of an old two-story structure.
For illustration purposes only | Source: Pexels
Richard’s heart throbbed in his chest as he approached the entrance. Taking a deep breath, he knocked on the door, which swung open. A man in a dark overcoat appeared in the doorway, aiming his gun at Richard’s temple. He was probably 40 and bore a scar on his left cheek.
“You…Richard?” he asked in a gruff voice.
“Yes, I am. Where’s my daughter?”
“Did you bring what I asked for?” the man asked.
“Yes, I did. Where’s Amanda? I need to see her!”
“All in good time!” grinned the man as he leaned closer to Richard. “First, the diamond.”
For illustration purposes only | Source: Pexels
Richard pulled it out from his pocket and raised it in the air. The kidnapper asked him to place it on the table. Richard entered the house and did as instructed.
The man picked up the diamond and examined it. It wasn’t long before his face contorted with fury. “This is glass! Where’s the real diamond?”
Richard was shocked. Then, he recalled the moment when Mr. Lambert had dropped the diamond. Could he have switched the gem?
“You either bring me $10,000 in a few days, or you’ll never hear your daughter’s voice again!” The kidnapper warned him.
Richard had no time to lose and quickly drove to the antique shop.
For illustration purposes only | Source: Pexels
“Oh, Mr. Richard! Back so soon?” Mr. Lambert smiled.
“I’m ready to sell the diamond for $10,000. I changed my mind!” he said, but Mr. Lambert refused.
“How about $7,000?” Richard further proposed.
“I’m sorry, but the diamond no longer interests me!” said Mr. Lambert.
Richard realized Mr. Lambert had indeed switched the diamonds. A strange fury gripped him. He landed a strong punch on the expert’s head, causing him to stumble. Then he grabbed a cord from a nearby table and tied the man.
“WHERE IS THE DIAMOND?” he asked angrily. “My daughter’s life is on the line, and you’re playing games?” He raised his fist, and finally, the expert spilled the truth.
For illustration purposes only | Source: Unsplash
The expert revealed he and the kidnapper were in it together. They were planning on extorting $100,000 from Richard for Amanda’s release. And then it dawned on Richard that the “colleague” the expert had contacted was none other than the kidnapper.
“He lifted the diamond from a billionaire’s mansion! Every cop has been looking for it!”
The expert tried to move away from Richard but stumbled and fell, losing consciousness. Richard didn’t know what to do at first, but then he came up with a cunning plan. First, he took a picture of the unconscious expert. Wasting no time, he called the cops and left a note near the expert. Richard then drove back to the kidnapper.
As the door of the old house swung open, he approached the kidnapper. “I went to the antique shop, but guess what? Your buddy spilled quite a few beans! I know you plotted the kidnapping together.
“And well, turns out you’ve been played as much as me. He has the real diamond in a safe at the shop. I tried to get the combination from him, but things got heated, and he’s no more.”
Richard then showed him the expert’s photo to ensure the man bought his story.
The kidnapper lost his cool. “That prick!” he yelled.
For illustration purposes only | Source: Pexels
In a rage, the kidnapper stormed out of the house and sped off to the antique shop. Richard took advantage of the situation, found his daughter, and freed her.
“Dad…I heard the confrontation. Did you really…k-kill someone?” she asked, the tape across her mouth removed.
“No, honey. It was a ruse, a bluff. I had to make him believe it so he’d act recklessly,” Richard said with a smile, trying to comfort her. “But, knowing him, I’d wager he’s about to walk right into a trap. When I called the police earlier, I alerted them to the expert’s involvement, and they were headed to the antique shop.”
Amanda’s eyes widened with realization. “So, he’s going to be arrested?”
“Yes, and you are safe,” Richard said, recalling the note he had left for the cops.
“In an hour, the man who stole the diamond you’re looking for will be here,” it read.
And Richard’s plan worked. The kidnapper and expert were arrested. But there was a strange fear in his heart because he knew he would get in trouble with the law for not going to the cops immediately when he found the diamond. But at least he saved his daughter.
For illustration purposes only | Source: Pexels
Tell us what you think about this story, and share it with your friends. It might inspire them and brighten their day.
If you enjoyed this story, then you might like this one about a boy who finds a box hidden inside the sofa he inherited from his granny. The letters and legal papers inside force him to make a life-altering choice.
This piece is inspired by stories from the everyday lives of our readers and written by a professional writer. Any resemblance to actual names or locations is purely coincidental. All images are for illustration purposes only. Share your story with us; maybe it will change someone’s life.
Our Late Father Left Me Only an Apiary While My Sister Took the House and Shut Me Out, but One Beehive Hid a Game-Changing Secret — Story of the Day
I lost everything in one day—my job, my home, and then my father. At his will reading, my sister took the house and shut me out. I was left with nothing but an old apiary… and a secret I never saw coming.
Routine. That was the foundation of my life. I stocked shelves, greeted customers with a polite smile, and memorized who always bought which brand of cereal or how often they ran out of milk.
At the end of every shift, I counted my wages, setting aside a little each week without a clear purpose. It was more a habit than a plan.
For illustration purposes only | Source: Pexels
And then, in a single day, everything crumbled like a dry cookie between careless fingers.
“We’re making cuts, Adele,” my manager said. “I’m sorry.”
She didn’t wait for a response. There was nothing to discuss. I took off my name tag and placed it on the counter.
I walked home silently, but as soon as I reached my apartment building, something felt off. The front door was unlocked, and a faint trace of unfamiliar female perfume lingered in the air.
For illustration purposes only | Source: Midjourney
My boyfriend, Ethan, stood beside my suitcase in the living room.
“Oh, you’re home. We need to talk.”
“I am listening.”
“Adele, you’re a great person, really. But I feel like I’m… evolving. And you’re just… staying the same.”
“Oh, I see,” I muttered.
“I need someone who pushes me to be better,” he added, glancing toward the window.
For illustration purposes only | Source: Pexels
That “someone” was currently waiting outside in his car.
I didn’t argue. I didn’t beg. I picked up my suitcase and walked out. The city felt enormous, and suddenly, I had nowhere to go. Then my phone rang.
“I’m calling about Mr. Howard. I’m very sorry, but he has passed away.”
Mr. Howard. That’s what they called him. But to me, he was Dad. And just like that, my route was set.
For illustration purposes only | Source: Pexels
In half an hour, I bought a bus ticket and left the city behind, heading to the place where my childhood had been rewritten. Howard had never been my father by blood. He had been my father by choice.
When I was almost grown, after years of drifting through foster care, he and my adoptive mother took me in. I wasn’t a cute, wide-eyed toddler who would easily mold into a family. I was a teenager.
For illustration purposes only | Source: Pexels
But they loved me anyway. They taught me what home felt like. And finally, that home was gone. My mother had passed away a year ago. And then… my father had followed.
I was an orphan again.
For illustration purposes only | Source: Midjourney
***
The funeral service was quiet. I stood in the back, too consumed by grief to acknowledge the sharp glances my adoptive sister, Synthia, kept throwing my way. She wasn’t happy I was еhere, but I didn’t care.
After the service, I went straight to the lawyer’s office, expecting nothing more than a few tools from Dad’s garage, something small to remember him by.
The lawyer unfolded the will.
For illustration purposes only | Source: Pexels
“As per the last testament of Mr. Howard, his residence, including all belongings within, is to be inherited by his biological daughter, Synthia Howard.”
Synthia smirked as if she had just won something she always knew was hers. Then, the lawyer continued.
“The apiary, including all its contents, is hereby granted to my other daughter Adele.”
“Excuse me?”
For illustration purposes only | Source: Pexels
“The beekeeping estate,” the lawyer repeated. “As per Mr. Howard’s request, Adele is to take ownership of the land, its hives, and any proceeds from future honey production. Furthermore, she has the right to reside on the property as long as she maintains and cares for the beekeeping operation.”
Synthia let out a short, bitter laugh.
“You’re joking.”
For illustration purposes only | Source: Pexels
“It’s all outlined in the document.” The lawyer held up the papers.
Synthia’s gaze sliced through me. “You? Taking care of bees? You don’t even know how to keep a houseplant alive, let alone an entire apiary.”
“It’s what Dad wanted,” I said finally, though my voice lacked conviction.
For illustration purposes only | Source: Midjourney
“Fine. You want to stay? You can have your damn bees. But don’t think you’re moving into the house.”
“What?”
“The house is mine, Adele. You want to live on this property? Then you’ll take what you’ve been given.”
A slow dread crept into my stomach.
“And where exactly do you expect me to sleep?”
For illustration purposes only | Source: Midjourney
“There’s a perfectly good barn out back. Consider it part of your new rustic lifestyle.”
I could have fought her. Could have argued. But I had nowhere else to go. I had lost my job. My life. My father. And even though I was supposed to have a place there, I was treated like a stranger.
“Fine.”
Synthia let out another laugh, standing up and grabbing her purse.
For illustration purposes only | Source: Pexels
“Well, I hope you like the smell of hay.”
That evening, I carried my bag toward the barn. The scent of dry hay and earth greeted me as I stepped inside. Somewhere outside, chickens clucked, settling in for the night.
The sounds of the farm surrounded me. I found a corner, dropped my bag, and sank onto the straw.
The tears came silently, hot streaks against my cheeks. I had nothing left. But I wasn’t going to leave. I was going to stay. I was going to fight.
For illustration purposes only | Source: Midjourney
***
The nights were still cold, even as spring stretched its fingers across the land. So, in the morning, I walked into town and spent the last of my savings on a small tent. It wasn’t much, but it was mine.
When I arrived back at the estate, dragging the box behind me, Synthia was standing on the porch. She watched as I unpacked the metal rods and fabric, amusement dancing in her eyes.
“This is hilarious,” she said, leaning against the wooden railing. “You’re really doing this? Playing the rugged farm girl now?”
For illustration purposes only | Source: Midjourney
I ignored her and continued setting up.
I remembered the camping trips I used to take with Dad: how he had shown me how to build a fire pit, set up a proper shelter, and store food safely outdoors. Those memories fueled me at that moment.
I gathered stones from the edge of the property and built a small fire ring. I set up a simple outdoor cooking area using an old iron grate I found in the barn. It wasn’t a house. But it was a home.
For illustration purposes only | Source: Midjourney
Synthia, watching the whole time, shook her head.
“Springtime camping is one thing, Adele. But what’s your plan when it gets colder?”
I didn’t take the bait. I had bigger things to worry about.
That afternoon, I met Greg, the beekeeper my father had worked with for years. I had been told he was the one who had maintained the apiary after Dad passed, but I hadn’t had the chance to meet him yet.
Greg was standing by the hives when I approached. He frowned when he saw me.
For illustration purposes only | Source: Midjourney
“Oh, it’s you.”
“I need your help,” I said, straight to the point. “I want to learn how to keep the bees.”
Greg let out a short laugh, shaking his head. “You?”
He eyed me up and down, taking in my entire existence that screamed city girl.
“No offense, but do you even know how to approach a hive without getting stung to death?”
I straightened my shoulders. “Not yet. But I’m willing to learn.”
For illustration purposes only | Source: Midjourney
“Yeah? And what makes you think you’ll last?”
I could feel Synthia’s voice echoing in my head, her constant sneers, her dismissive laughter.
“Because I don’t have a choice.”
Greg, to my surprise, let out a low chuckle.
“Alright, then. Let’s see what you’ve got.”
For illustration purposes only | Source: Midjourney
Learning was harder than I had expected.
I had to get past my fear of the bees first—the way they swarmed, the low hum of their bodies vibrating through the air. The first time I put on the protective suit, my hands trembled so badly that Greg had to redo the straps for me.
“Relax,” Greg said. “They can sense fear.”
“Great. Just what I needed.”
For illustration purposes only | Source: Midjourney
He laughed at that.
“If you don’t want them to sting you, don’t act like prey.”
Over the next few weeks, Greg taught me everything: how to install foundation sheets into the frames, inspect a hive without disturbing the colony, and spot the queen among thousands of identical bees.
For illustration purposes only | Source: Pexels
Some days, I was exhausted before noon. My body ached from carrying the heavy frames. I smelled like smoke and sweat and earth. And yet, I had a purpose.
That evening, the air smelled wrong.
I had just stepped onto the property, my arms full of groceries, when a sharp, acrid scent curled into my nostrils.
Smoke. Oh, no! My beehives…
For illustration purposes only | Source: Pexels
***
The fire was raging, orange tongues licking at the darkening sky. Flames crawled over the dry grass, consuming everything in their path.
My tent was in ruins, its fabric curling and melting under the heat. The fire had devoured everything inside—my clothes, bedding, the last remnants of what I had managed to build for myself.
But my eyes locked on the beehives.
For illustration purposes only | Source: Midjourney
They were close to the flames, the thick smoke drifting in their direction. If the fire reached them…
No. I wouldn’t let that happen. I grabbed a bucket beside the well and ran toward the fire, but…
“Adele! Get back!”
Greg.
I turned to see him sprinting across the field. A second later, others followed—neighbors, local farmers, even the older man from the general store. They carried shovels, buckets, and anything they could find.
For illustration purposes only | Source: Midjourney
I barely had time to process what was happening before they moved into action.
“Get the sand!” Greg barked.
And I realized some people were dragging heavy sacks of dry dirt from the barn. They tore them open and started smothering the fire, throwing sand over the flames, cutting off their air.
My lungs burned from the smoke, but I kept going. We worked together until the flames finally died.
I turned toward the house. Synthia stood on the balcony, watching.
For illustration purposes only | Source: Midjourney
She hadn’t lifted a single finger to help. I turned away.
The beehives were safe. But my home was gone.
Greg approached, wiping the soot from his forehead. His gaze drifted toward the window where Synthia had stood just moments ago.
“Kid, you don’t have the safest neighborhood. I’d recommend harvesting that honey sooner rather than later.”
For illustration purposes only | Source: Midjourney
We washed our hands, shook off the exhaustion, and, without another word, got to work.
I lifted the wooden frame from the hive, brushing off the few bees still crawling across the surface. The combs were full, golden, glistening in the soft evening light.
And then I saw it. A small, yellowed envelope was wedged between the wax panels. My breath caught. Carefully, I pulled it free and read the words scrawled across the front.
“For Adele.”
For illustration purposes only | Source: Midjourney
I didn’t move. I didn’t breathe. Inside, folded neatly, was a second will. That was the actual will. I began to read.
“My dearest Adele,
If you are reading this, then you have done exactly what I hoped—you stayed. You fought. You proved, not to me, but to yourself, that you are stronger than anyone ever gave you credit for.
I wanted to leave you this home openly, but I knew I wouldn’t get the chance. Synthia would never allow it. She has always believed that blood is the only thing that makes a family. But you and I both know better.
For illustration purposes only | Source: Pexels
I didn’t have time to file this will officially, but I knew exactly where to place it—somewhere only you would find it. I hid it in the very thing she despises most, the one thing she would never touch. I knew that if you chose to stay and see this through, you would earn what was always meant to be yours.
Adele, this house was never just walls and a roof—it was a promise. A promise that you could always have a place where you belong.
For illustration purposes only | Source: Pexels
As my final wish, I leave you everything. The house, the land, the beekeeping estate—everything now belongs to you. Make it a home. Make it yours.
With all my love,
Dad”
The house had always been mine.
For illustration purposes only | Source: Midjourney
That evening, when Greg and I finished harvesting the honey, I walked up the house’s front steps for the first time. Synthia sat at the kitchen table, sipping tea. I placed the will on the table in front of her.
“Where did you get this?” she asked after reading.
“Dad hid it in the beehives. He knew you’d try to take everything, so he ensured you wouldn’t find it.”
For illustration purposes only | Source: Pexels
For the first time since I arrived, she had nothing to say.
“You can stay,” I said, and she looked up at me, startled. “But we run this place together. We either learn to live like a family or don’t live here at all.”
Synthia scoffed, setting the will down. “You’re serious?”
“Yes.”
For illustration purposes only | Source: Midjourney
Then, finally, she leaned back in her chair, exhaling a slow, tired laugh.
“Fine. But I’m not touching the damn bees.”
“Deal.”
The days passed, and life slowly took shape. I sold my first jars of honey, watching my hard work finally pay off. Synthia took care of the house, keeping it in order while I tended to the bees. And Greg became a friend, someone to sit with on the porch at sunset, sharing quiet moments and stories about the day.
For illustration purposes only | Source: Midjourney
Tell us what you think about this story, and share it with your friends. It might inspire them and brighten their day.
If you enjoyed this story, read this one: When I told my husband I was pregnant, he froze. When he saw the ultrasound, he panicked. The following day, he was gone—no calls, no trace. But I wasn’t about to just let him disappear. I needed answers… and payback.
This piece is inspired by stories from the everyday lives of our readers and written by a professional writer. Any resemblance to actual names or locations is purely coincidental. All images are for illustration purposes only. Share your story with us; maybe it will change someone’s life.
Leave a Reply