I tapped the steering wheel, trying to shake the weight on my chest, when I spotted a disheveled woman digging through a trash can. I slowed down, drawn in by her grim determination.
She looked fragile yet fierce, fighting for survival. Without thinking, I pulled over, rolled down my window, and asked, “Do you need help?”
Her response was sharp but tired: “You offering?”
“I just saw you there,” I admitted, stepping out. “It didn’t seem right.”
“What’s not right is life,” she scoffed, crossing her arms. “You don’t strike me as someone who knows much about that.”
“Maybe not,” I replied, then asked if she had a place to stay.
“No,” she said, and I felt compelled to offer my garage as a temporary home. To my surprise, she accepted, albeit reluctantly.
Over the next few days, we shared meals and conversations. Lexi’s sharp wit broke through my loneliness, but I could sense her hidden pain.
One afternoon, I barged into the garage and froze. There, sprawled across the floor, were grotesque paintings of me—chains, blood, a casket. Nausea hit me.
That night, I confronted her. “What are those paintings?”
Her face went pale. “I didn’t mean for you to see them. I was just… angry.”
“So you painted me as a monster?” I demanded.
She nodded, shame in her eyes. “I’m sorry.”
I struggled to forgive her. “I think it’s time for you to go.”
The next morning, I helped her pack and drove her to a shelter, giving her some money. Weeks passed, and I felt the loss of our connection.
Then, a package arrived—another painting. This one was serene, capturing a peace I hadn’t known. Inside was a note with Lexi’s name and number.
My heart raced as I called her. “I got your painting… it’s beautiful.”
“Thank you. I didn’t know if you’d like it,” she replied.
“You didn’t owe me anything,” I said, reflecting on my own unfairness.
“I’m sorry for what I painted,” she admitted. “You were just… there.”
“I forgave you the moment I saw that painting. Maybe we could start over.”
“I’d like that,” she said, a smile evident in her voice.
We made plans to meet again, and I felt a flicker of hope for what could be.
My son stays quiet as his wife insults me — But he soon teaches her a lesson in front of guests
A woman named Kate posted a story of how her son chose silence instead of defending her when his wife insulted her.
Namely, Kate loved to cook, but since her husband’s passing things changed and she somehow lost hold of that part of her. However, whenever a holiday was around the corner she would prepare the most delicious dishes to her son John, especially for Christmas when he would always come for his annual roast dinner.
This year, however, was a bit different since John’s wife, Liz, attended the family dinner for the first time. The two dated for quite some time, but over the course of a couple of years, she would always spend Christmas at her parents’ house.
Kate woke up early because she knew she needed time to prepare the main course, which was a chicken with gravy on the side, all the side dishes and desserts that her son loved.
As she was preparing the food, Liz entered the kitchen with her phone in her hand and started looking around. At that moment, she made a face as though she smelled something terrible, but Kate, already sweating away, decided to ignore her and didn’t say a word.
Sadly, things turned for the worse when Liz suddenly exclaimed, “Hey, Kate, maybe we should order food. Not everyone wants what you’ve cooked. I don’t know if everyone enjoys your cooking, either. Every aspect of Christmas is supposed to be enjoyed by everyone. They should enjoy the food, too!”
As expected, Kate was shocked by her daughter-in-law’s harsh words.
“I saw John leaning against the archway, nibbling on a carrot. He altogether avoided my gaze, looking over me and out the window across the room. I held back my tears and bit my lip,” she wrote in her post.
As most of the guests arrived and sat on the table, it seemed like they all enjoyed the food Kate prepared for the night.
At one moment, John asked, “The food’s great, right? Everyone’s enjoying it?”
John’s uncle helped himself to another serving of roasted potatoes and asked, “Why wouldn’t we enjoy my sister’s food?”
“Because Liz said that the dinner might be ruined by Mom’s dishes. She wanted us to order in,” John explained.
“Nonsense!” Kate’s brother said as he dipped his potatoes into the gravy.
Hearing this, John looked at his mom and smiled. Kate then realized that her son didn’t react before because he was waiting for the right moment to teach his wife a lesson.
Liz turned red as everyone starred at her and Kate admitted that she even felt bad for her because it was her first Christmas with the family.
Later on, while packing the dishwasher and emptying dishes of food, Liz approached Kate.
“Kate, I’m sorry,” she said. “I was so wrong to do what I did. I am sorry, please understand.”
“Understand what?” Kate asked her.
“I only said that because John loves your food. He always talks about how you make all these special things for him. I can’t make a basic mac and cheese without him saying yours is better. I looked at the food, smelt all the delicious smells from this kitchen, and panicked.”
“Liz, you should know that a boy and his mother’s food is a relationship in and of itself,” Kate said with a laughter as she tried to diffuse the tension. “I can teach you how to cook just like me. My mother taught me everything I know.”
“Really?” Liz asked. “Even after I’ve been so horrible?”
“Yes,” Kate replied.
Thankfully, Kate understood that Liz’s intention wasn’t a nasty one, she simply felt threatened by her mother-in-law, but she soon learned it was for no reason.
Kate then took Liz to the Christmas tree and handed her the present she bough for her.
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