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.
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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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Julia Roberts Shares Rare Photo of Son Henry on His ‘Beautiful’ 17th Birthday
Henry, Julia Roberts’ “beautiful” son, turns 17 today: a rare look at her youngest Julia Roberts celebrated her youngest son’s 17th birthday on Instagram with a beautiful picture. Despite the unexpected image—Julia is typically known to be reticent about her children—she and her spouse have previously revealed incredible photos of Henry Moder that have left people in awe.ư
Date: June 29, 2024 Writer: James William None to say Henry, Julia Roberts’ “beautiful” son, turns 17 today: a rare look at her youngest Julia Roberts celebrated her youngest son’s 17th birthday on Instagram with a beautiful picture. Despite the unexpected image—Julia is typically known to be reticent about her children—she and her spouse have previously revealed incredible photos of Henry Moder that have left people in awe. A very happy birthday to the kid of Hollywood’s most renowned couple, Julia Roberts and Daniel Moder! Henry Moder, the youngest member of their family, turned seventeen on June 18. A flurry of encouraging remarks have been left on social media by his loving mother, who celebrated the joyous occasion with a number of beautiful mother-son messages. In the photo, the “Pretty Woman” actress is seen looking down at Henry, who is still a newborn. Her eyes are shining with delight and affection. The curious and charming baby seems absorbed in something outside of the frame, cradled in his mother’s protective arms.
Julia expressed both her pride and her shock in a succinct yet beautiful caption she penned for the picture. It’s incredible how this little child has developed into a fantastic 17-year-old! She wrote, “Happy Birthday, Henry! You are beautiful.” Although Julia and Henry’s father, Daniel, respect their children’s privacy, on occasion the pair provides exclusive photos and videos of their children. Daniel in particular has been entertaining fans on social media with videos of Henry, Hazel, and Phinnaeus Moder enjoying a good time, showcasing precious family moments.
Daniel posted a video on Instagram of Henry showing off his skating skills at a skate park. In the slow-motion video, the child can be seen riding his skateboard up an incline while wearing dark pants and an olive-colored t-shirt.Henry succeeds in turning the board around at the top of the ramp, putting his gorgeous face in the frame of the camera. Then, when the camera pans closer, his attractive eyes and face are shown in close-up.Daniel shared the incredible footage on June 18, 2021, in observance of Henry’s 14th birthday. The springs twist and swirl, swaying fourteen times in the air. Ya Henry,” the proud father captioned the photo.
In the post’s comment area, followers of the now-17-year-old were applauding and thanking him in addition to sharing their thoughts on which parent Henry most resembled. “He looks just like you. Nice child, said one of his supporters.In agreement, a second person remarked, “Looks precisely like his Dad!lovely offspring While acknowledging the father-son likeness, the other individual also highlighted Henry’s mother, remarking, “Has mom’s hair.” There is no denying that child. Hehe.On the other hand, a commenter on Instagram said, “This family obviously has no Roberts genes at all!” Once more, after Henry’s father-lookalike shared an earlier picture of his child on social media, people swarmed to the comments area.
Henry is seen in the 2018 picture posing casually stylish in a lighthouse. The boy on skates looked down at the camera, his long hair falling in a carefree way to frame his face.”Look closely to see the star spangled shorts,” Daniel captioned the surreal picture. One cool young person…Happy Fourth of July from a lighthouse near the Cape. Beneath the picture, an admirer remarked, “Handsome Henry,” and another, “Julia’s eyes.”Whether or not Henry and his siblings look alike, Julia is still incredibly in love with them. She has often boasted about them and places her responsibilities as a mother above all else.
During an interview promoting her latest movie, “Ticket to Paradise,” Julia was asked how she defined herself as a homemaker by the interviewer. “When I’m not working, that’s my full-time job,” stated the mother of three. Though it’s not all sunshine and kittens, I am really delighted about it.
She also discussed her unique bond with Henry, whom she refers to as her breakfast partner as they both benefit much from that most important meal of the day. I love breakfast, thus it’s my favorite meal. My morning buddy is my younger son Henry,” Julia remarked.The interviewer was so aware of the “Notting Hill” actress’s love of breakfast that they made a joke about how the interview would keep her from eating with Henry Moder. Yes, in fact! We love eating breakfast! With a smile, Julia Roberts concurred.
Julia loves her twins Phinnaeus and Hazel in addition to Henry. As her lone daughter joined her father, a cinematographer, at the 2021 Cannes Film Festival to promote his film “Flag Day,” Julia spoke affectionately about Hazel. The audience was captivated by the father-daughter exchange and shocked by how much Daniel looked like her.Hazel, then sixteen, wore a stylish yet laid-back outfit for the well-known event. She wore black Mary Janes with big heels and a yellow button-down dress with floral lace embroidery. Her fair hair was likewise tied back into a ponytail by her. On the other hand, her father looked dapper in a black suit.Hazel’s parents, especially her mother, expressed her happiness with her behavior, praising her for her excellent behavior. Recalling the exceptional event, Julia praised her daughter and made fun of their arguments on her appearance and her self-assured refusal to apply eyeliner, remarking, “That girl is unique.”The innocence really is so lovely.
When fans saw pictures of the young lady on her father’s arm, they complimented Hazel’s looks and labeled her pretty, but they also made note of the physical differences between Julia and Hazel. “She’s lovely but you’d never guess who her mom is…they really are not alike at all,” a supporter commented.
Another person said something like, “She doesn’t look anything like her Mum.” While some people stated that Hazel resembles her father more than Julia, others pointed out that the two are not the same. Even while many people thought Hazel and Julia didn’t look identical, many still complimented the 19-year-old on her good looks.
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