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.
For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney
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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Came Back from Vacation to Find a Stranger Living in My House — He Refused to Leave, So I Took Matters into My Own Handsnew 758
Returning from a blissful Hawaiian vacation, Lisa and her two young children were shocked to find an unwelcome guest comfortably settled in their home. Faced with an uncooperative squatter and little help from the police, Lisa was forced to take drastic measures to reclaim her family’s sanctuary.
A woman and her two children | Source: Midjourney
Hi everyone, I’m Lisa, a 38-year-old single mom of two wonderful kids. There’s Ethan, my energetic 8-year-old son, and Chloe, my thoughtful 10-year-old daughter. We just got back from a dream vacation in Hawaii. It was supposed to be a relaxing break, but what happened when we came home was anything but relaxing.
We’d been looking forward to this trip to Hawaii for months. Chloe had made a whole list of things she wanted to do, and Ethan couldn’t wait to see the volcanoes. I needed this break as much as they did. It had been a tough year, and a week in paradise seemed like the perfect escape.
A tired woman dreaming about her vacation | Source: Midjourney
Before we left, I made sure everything was set at home. I asked my sister, Emily, to take care of our dogs, Luna and Max. She loves them almost as much as we do, and I knew they were in good hands.
Emily was thrilled to help. “Don’t worry about a thing, Lisa. I’ll take good care of Luna and Max. You just enjoy your vacation.”
A woman with her two dogs | Source: Midjourney
“Thanks, Emily. I really appreciate it,” I said, feeling a bit lighter knowing the dogs were in good hands.
A couple of days into our trip, Emily called me.
“Hey, Lisa, can my friend Mark stay at your place for a night? He’s in a bit of a tough spot.”
I hesitated. “Just for one night?”
A woman calling her sister | Source: Midjourney
“Yeah, just one night. I promise.”
“Okay, but only one night,” I agreed, thinking it would be fine.
Hawaii was everything we had hoped for. We hiked through lush forests, swam in the crystal-clear ocean, and even took a helicopter ride over a volcano. Chloe was in awe of the sea turtles, and Ethan couldn’t get enough of the pineapple smoothies. It was a perfect getaway, and for a moment, all our worries seemed to melt away under the Hawaiian sun.
Palm trees during sunset | Source: Pexels
We got back from Hawaii on a sunny afternoon. The kids were exhausted but happy. As soon as we walked in, I felt something was off. The house was too quiet. Usually, Luna and Max would be at the door, tails wagging. Now, they were sitting behind the couch, terrified.
“Stay here with your brother,” I told Chloe, my heart pounding. “I need to check something upstairs.”
A scared woman in her home | Source: Midjourney
I climbed the stairs, my anxiety growing with each step. When I got to my bedroom, I couldn’t believe my eyes. There was Mark, sprawled out on my bed, with his things all over the place.
“What are you doing here?” I demanded.
He looked up lazily. “Oh, hey, Lisa. I just needed to stay a bit longer. I’m job hunting in LA.”
A man in his trashed room | Source: Midjourney
“That wasn’t the deal,” I said, trying to keep my voice steady. “You need to leave. Now.”
He didn’t even flinch. “I need another week. Emily said it’d be okay.”
“No, it’s not okay. Get out,” I insisted.
He just shrugged and went back to his laptop. I couldn’t believe it. I stormed downstairs, my heart racing.
A man working on his laptop in his bed | Source: Midjourney
“Mom, what’s wrong?” Chloe asked, her eyes wide with concern.
I called the police, thinking they’d help me get Mark out. When they arrived, I felt a glimmer of hope.
“Thank goodness you’re here,” I said. “There’s a man in my house who won’t leave.”
One of the officers nodded. “Let’s talk to him.”
The police sirens | Source: Pexels
We all went upstairs, and the officer spoke to Mark. He calmly explained that he needed more time and had nowhere else to go.
“Ma’am, this is a civil matter,” the officer told me. “You’ll need to go through the eviction process.”
“Eviction process? But he’s only been here a few days!” I was shocked and frustrated.
“I’m sorry, ma’am. There’s nothing we can do right now.”
I felt my stomach drop. “So he just gets to stay here?”
A shocked blonde woman talking to a policeman | Source: Midjourney
“Legally, yes. You’ll need to file for eviction.”
The officers left, and I was fuming. This wasn’t how it was supposed to go. I had two kids and a house to protect. I couldn’t let this stranger stay here any longer. I went back downstairs, trying to stay calm for Ethan and Chloe.
“Is everything okay, Mom?” Chloe asked.
“No, sweetheart,” I sighed. “But I’m going to fix it. Don’t worry.”
A mother and her daughter on their front porch | Source: Midjourney
Ethan tugged at my sleeve. “Can we still play outside?”
I forced a smile. “Of course, buddy. Just stay in the backyard where I can see you.”
As they went outside, I took a deep breath, trying to calm my racing heart. I knew I had to come up with a plan, and fast. There was no way I was letting Mark stay in my house another day.
A child running | Source: Pexels
After watching my kids play for some time, I called Emily. She felt awful and apologized repeatedly.
“Lisa, I’m so sorry. I had no idea he’d pull something like this,” she said, her voice full of guilt.
“It’s not your fault, Emily. But we need to get him out. I can’t let him stay here any longer.”
“Let’s think this through,” she replied. “We need a plan that won’t get us in trouble.”
A woman talking on her phone in her living room | Source: Midjourney
We brainstormed ideas and finally came up with a solution. We would wait until Mark left the house, then pack his belongings and leave them outside. We’d lock all the doors and refuse to let him back in. It wasn’t ideal, but it was the best we could do without breaking the law.
“Are you sure this will work?” Emily asked, sounding unsure.
“It has to. I can’t have him here another day,” I said firmly.
A woman talking to her sister on her phone in her living room | Source: Midjourney
The next evening, I watched from the window as Mark left to grab dinner. Emily arrived, and we wasted no time.
“Let’s do this quickly,” I said, trying to stay calm.
We hurried upstairs and started packing his things. Clothes, laptop, toiletries—we stuffed everything into his bags. My heart was pounding, and I could see Emily was just as nervous.
“What if he comes back early?” she whispered.
A blonde woman packing a bag | Source: Midjourney
“We’ll deal with it. Just keep packing,” I replied.
We finished in record time and dragged his bags to the front porch. We locked the doors and windows, then sat down to wait.
Two hours later, Mark returned. I watched from the window as he approached the porch, saw his bags, and realized what had happened. He started pounding on the door, shouting.
An angry young man on the porch | Source: Midjourney
“Open the door! You can’t do this!” he yelled.
I took a deep breath and opened the window just a crack. “You need to leave, Mark. Your things are outside. This is my house.”
“You can’t kick me out! I have rights!” he screamed.
“You were only supposed to stay one night. You’ve overstayed your welcome. Leave now, or I’ll call the police again,” I said, trying to sound firm.
A woman screaming in her living room | Source: Midjourney
Mark wasn’t backing down. He pulled out his phone and called the police. I could hear him ranting about being locked out of the house. A short while later, a different set of officers arrived.
“What seems to be the problem here?” one of them asked.
“She locked me out! I have nowhere to go!” Mark exclaimed.
The officer turned to me. “Ma’am, can you explain what’s going on?”
A police officer | Source: Pexels
I explained everything from the beginning, emphasizing that Mark was only supposed to stay one night. The officer listened carefully, then turned back to Mark.
“Do you have any proof that she gave you permission to stay longer?” he asked.
Mark fumbled, trying to come up with an excuse. “It was verbal. I don’t have it in writing. There might have been a message, but I think I deleted it accidentally.”
“Can I see your ID, sir?” the officer asked.
A bewildered young man | Source: Pexels
Mark handed over his ID, and the officer radioed in to check his background. A moment later, the officer’s expression changed.
“Sir, you have an outstanding warrant for a shoplifting charge. I’m afraid we’ll have to take you in.”
Mark’s face went pale. “What? No, this is a mistake!”
The officer cuffed him and led him to the patrol car. “Ma’am, we’ll handle this from here. He won’t be coming back.”
A policeman arresting a man | Source: Pexels
As the police drove away with Mark, I felt a huge weight lift off my shoulders. I turned to Emily, who looked equally relieved.
“We did it,” I said, finally able to smile.
“Yeah, we did. I’m so sorry for all this, Lisa.”
“It’s okay, Emily. It’s over now.”
Two women hugging | Source: Pexels
When I told Ethan and Chloe, they were happy to hear that everything was back to normal. Chloe gave me a big hug. “I’m glad he’s gone, Mom.”
“Me too, sweetie,” I said, feeling a surge of relief.
That night, we slept peacefully, knowing our home was safe again. We had faced a nightmare, but we came out stronger. Our home was truly ours once more.
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