For Nancy her son Henry was everything, she never imagined her life without him. It had been 23 years since the horrible accident that took Henry’s life. Every year on that day, she took his favorite pie to his grave to honor his memory. But this year, everything was about to change.
For 23 years, Nancy, now 61, never missed a single day on this date. She baked her late son’s favorite pie and took it to his grave every year since.
The pie, a simple yet delicious apple and cinnamon creation, had been Henry’s favorite since childhood.
The scent of apples and cinnamon brought back memories of when Henry was little, running into the kitchen, his eyes lighting up at the sight of the pie.
For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney
It was his favorite dessert, and baking it had become a tradition they both cherished.
Since Henry’s tragic accident at 17, this ritual had been Nancy’s way of keeping his memory alive.
It gave her a sense of connection to him, like she was still doing something special for her boy. Losing him had been the hardest thing she had ever gone through. The pain of that day never left her.
Even though the years had passed, her grief remained, only softened by time and the small comfort this tradition brought her.
For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney
On this particular day, just like every year before, Nancy carefully carried the freshly baked pie to the graveyard.
The weight of the dish felt heavier, as it always did when she walked toward Henry’s resting place. The grave was neat and covered in flowers, a sign of how much he was still loved.
The stone had become smoother over the years, as she had often run her fingers over it, lost in her memories.
Nancy knelt, placing the pie gently on the gravestone. Her heart ached as she began to speak, her voice quiet, as though Henry might somehow hear her.
For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney
“Henry, I hope you’re at peace, my love. I miss you every day. I baked your favorite pie again. Remember how we used to bake it together? You’d always sneak a taste before it was done.”
She smiled, but her eyes were misty with tears. “I wish we could do that one more time.”
The familiar sorrow welled up inside her, but Nancy had learned over the years to push through the tears.
For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney
She wiped her eyes quickly and managed a small smile. After a few more moments of silence, she kissed her fingers and touched the top of the gravestone as she said her quiet goodbye.
Then, with a heavy but comforted heart, she turned and walked away, knowing she’d be back next year, just like always.
The next day, as part of her routine, Nancy made her way back to Henry’s grave to clean up the remains of the pie.
For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney
Usually, by the time she returned, the pie was either untouched or spoiled by the weather, a quiet reminder of her son’s absence.
She had always found it a bittersweet comfort, knowing the pie stayed where she left it as if waiting for him.
But today, as she approached the grave, something felt different. Nancy’s heart skipped a beat when she saw that the plate was clean—completely empty. For a moment, she stood frozen in disbelief.
Then, she noticed something else. Resting on the plate was a small piece of paper, folded in half.
For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney
Nancy’s hands trembled as she picked up the note. Her breath caught in her throat as she unfolded it.
The handwriting was shaky, as though whoever had written it had struggled to form the letters. The simple words read: “Thank you.”
Her heart pounded with confusion and anger.
“Who would take Henry’s pie?” she muttered under her breath, clutching the note tightly. “This was for my son. No one had the right to touch it!”
For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney
Her private ritual, her way of honoring and remembering her son, had been invaded by a stranger.
She felt violated, as if someone had stolen a piece of her grief.
With her emotions swirling—part outrage, part confusion—Nancy left the cemetery, her mind set on finding the person who had taken her son’s pie. She had to know who had done this, and why.
Determined to catch the culprit, Nancy decided she would take matters into her own hands. She couldn’t let someone continue to disturb the way she honored Henry. So, she devised a plan.
For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney
That night, she baked another of Henry’s favorite pies, the same apple and cinnamon recipe she had been making for over two decades.
The next morning, with renewed resolve, she placed the freshly baked pie on Henry’s grave, just like before, but this time she wasn’t leaving.
She found a large oak tree nearby and hid behind it, close enough to see the grave but far enough to not be noticed.
For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney
The warm aroma of the pie drifted through the air, filling the quiet cemetery.
Time passed slowly as Nancy watched and waited, her heart racing in anticipation.
An hour later, she spotted movement. A small figure cautiously approached the grave. Nancy squinted, leaning forward to get a better look.
It wasn’t the greedy thief she had imagined. No, this was something entirely different.
For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney
A young boy, no older than 9, with ragged clothes and dirt smudged on his face, moved toward the pie with hesitant steps.
Nancy’s heart tightened as she watched him. The boy didn’t immediately take the pie.
Instead, he knelt by the grave and reached into his pocket, pulling out a small scrap of paper and a dull pencil. His hand trembled as he carefully scribbled something on the paper, his brow furrowed with concentration.
It was clear the boy struggled with writing, but he took his time, making sure each word was legible.
For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney
Nancy’s heart softened as she saw him write “Thank you” on the paper, just like before. He wasn’t a thief. He wasn’t someone disrespecting Henry’s memory. He was just a hungry child, grateful for the kindness of a pie left behind.
The anger that had once consumed Nancy melted away in an instant. She realized this boy wasn’t stealing; he was surviving. He was in need, and her son’s favorite pie had somehow brought him comfort.
As the boy began to pick up the pie, his small hands shaking, Nancy stepped out from her hiding spot.
For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney
The rustle of leaves under her feet made him freeze, wide-eyed. Startled, he dropped the pie, and it tumbled onto the grass. His face paled, and he backed away, looking terrified.
“I’m sorry, I’m really sorry!” the boy cried, his voice trembling with panic. “I was just so hungry, and the pie was so good. Please don’t be mad.”
Nancy’s heart softened instantly. The sight of him—thin, dirty, and scared—erased any trace of anger she had felt before.
For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney
She knelt beside him, speaking gently, her voice as comforting as she could make it. “It’s alright, sweetheart. I’m not mad at you, Where are your parents?” she said, her tone soothing. The boy stayed silent and shook his head. “What’s your name?” Nancy asked another question understanding that the boy had nowhere to go.
“Jimmy,” he muttered, still avoiding her eyes, ashamed of what he had done.
“Well, Jimmy,” Nancy smiled softly, trying to reassure him, “it’s okay. You don’t have to steal pies. If you’re hungry, all you had to do was ask.”
For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney
Jimmy looked up at her, his lips quivering as he tried to speak. “I didn’t mean to steal,” he said, his voice small and shaky. “I just… I don’t get to eat much, and that pie was the best thing I’ve ever had.”
Nancy’s heart ached for him, her mind flooded with thoughts of how different this boy’s life must be.
The hunger in his eyes reminded her of her own son, Henry, when he would eagerly wait for that first bite of her freshly baked pie.
But Henry never had to worry about where his next meal would come from. Jimmy, on the other hand, looked like he had been living with hunger for a long time.
For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney
“Come with me,” Nancy said after a moment of thought. She stood up and reached out her hand to him. “I’ll bake you a fresh pie, just for you.”
Jimmy’s eyes widened in disbelief, as if he couldn’t trust his own ears. “Really?” he asked, his voice filled with a mix of hope and doubt.
Nancy nodded, her heart filled with a strange but comforting warmth. “Yes, really. You don’t have to be afraid.”
Slowly, Jimmy reached out and took Nancy’s hand.
For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney
She led him back to her home, the boy walking beside her in silence, his eyes darting around as if he wasn’t sure if this was all real. Nancy’s heart swelled with the thought of what she was about to do.
Baking had always been her way of expressing love, and now, after years of baking for a son she could no longer see, she was about to bake for someone who truly needed it.
When they reached her cozy kitchen, Nancy set to work, rolling out the dough, slicing the apples, and adding the perfect amount of cinnamon—just as she had done so many times before.
For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney
Jimmy watched her quietly from the corner of the kitchen, his eyes wide as he followed every move she made.
The smell of the pie began to fill the room, warm and comforting, like a hug from a long-lost friend.
Once the pie was baked, Nancy placed it in front of Jimmy. “Here you go, sweetheart,” she said softly.
“This one’s all for you.”
Jimmy hesitated for a moment, as if he couldn’t believe what was happening. But then he grabbed a slice and took a bite. His face lit up with joy, his eyes sparkling as he chewed.
For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney
“This is the best pie I’ve ever had,” he said, his mouth still full. He ate with such happiness that it brought tears to Nancy’s eyes.
She watched him in silence, thinking about how something as simple as a pie could bring so much comfort to someone.
As Jimmy devoured the warm slices with obvious delight, Nancy couldn’t help but think of Henry.
She had always dreamed of seeing her son eat his favorite pie again, of watching him enjoy it the way he used to when he was a child.
For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney
But now, in some strange and unexpected way, she was sharing it with another boy who needed it just as much.
Watching Jimmy eat, Nancy felt a deep sense of peace wash over her. Perhaps this was how it was meant to be.
Maybe fate had brought Jimmy into her life for a reason. By feeding him, by offering him kindness when he needed it most, she was honoring Henry’s memory in a way she had never imagined.
For the first time in years, Nancy felt that her grief had led her to something beautiful—a connection, a purpose that gave new meaning to her life.
For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney
Maybe, just maybe, this was Henry’s way of sending her a message—that love and kindness should always find their way back to those in need.
Nancy smiled as she watched Jimmy finish the last slice of pie, her heart full of warmth and gratitude.
She had found an unexpected connection in the most unlikely place, and it filled her soul in a way that nothing else had in years.
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O senhorio da minha filha armou uma cilada para que ela pudesse ser despejada e aumentar o aluguel – nós lhe ensinamos uma lição inteligente
Quando o telefone de Jason toca no meio da noite, ele encontra sua filha chorando. Durante a conversa, ele descobre que o senhorio dela está forçando-a a sair de seu lugar. Jason decide dar uma lição ao senhorio…
Recebi a ligação tarde da noite; foi tão inesperado que atendi sem nem pensar em quem poderia estar do outro lado. Grogue, cliquei no ícone verde e segurei meu telefone no ouvido.
Um homem dormindo | Fonte: Midjourney
“Papai”, Lily, minha filha, soluçou em meu ouvido.
“O que há de errado?”, perguntei, sentando-me imediatamente e colocando meus pés em meus chinelos. “Diga-me, Lily, o que está acontecendo?”
Uma jovem chateada | Fonte: Midjourney
“Meu senhorio descobriu que eu ganhei um aumento no trabalho. Eu estava sentado na varanda com Nolan, e nós estávamos rindo sobre isso e brindando. E, claro, ele ouviu da casa da frente. Desde então, ele continua falando sobre reformas e aluguel mais alto.”
“Ok”, eu disse lentamente, tentando entender apesar da tontura causada pelo sono.
Um close-up de um homem mais velho | Fonte: Midjourney
Claro, era uma maneira nojenta de ganhar dinheiro às custas das pessoas, mas não era algo para chorar.
“Mas querida, por que você está chorando?”, perguntei, tentando manter minha voz firme.
Tudo em mim queria correr para minha filha. Mas eu não faria nada até que ela me desse uma razão para isso.
Uma jovem chateada | Fonte: Midjourney
“Depois que não tive nenhuma reação ao aumento do aluguel, ele secretamente jogou alguns recipientes químicos velhos e proibidos no meu quintal e então me acusou de violar o contrato de locação ao armazenar materiais perigosos na propriedade”, disse ela.
“O quê?”, explodi. “Isso é ilegal!”
Numerosos recipientes de plástico | Fonte: Unsplash
“E ele me deu dois dias para me mudar”, ela continuou.
Eu estava furioso. Minha filha tinha transformado aquele quintal de um terreno árido em um oásis florido. Ela colocou seu coração em cada planta, cada flor e cada vegetal.
Um lindo espaço ao ar livre | Fonte: Unsplash
Ela sempre foi assim. Lily não era o tipo de criança que ficava sentada dentro de casa brincando com seus brinquedos. Ela preferia ficar do lado de fora e sujar as mãos, tentando descobrir como as coisas cresciam.
“Isso é muito divertido, pai”, ela me disse um dia, quando eu estava cortando a grama e a pequena Lily estava plantando flores.
Uma menina em um jardim | Fonte: Unsplash
“Tem algumas minhocas ali”, ela disse, apontando. “Mas eu ainda plantei as mudas de qualquer forma.”
A mãe dela odiava isso. Ela queria que Lily tivesse roupas recém-passadas, unhas limpas e cabelos que ficassem no lugar.
“Você precisa parar de permitir esse comportamento, Jason”, minha esposa, Jenna, dizia. “Incentive-a a ser uma mocinha.”
Uma menina feliz em pé em cima de uma cama | Fonte: Midjourney
“Nem pensar, Jenna”, eu sempre dizia. “Deixe essa doce garota ser ela mesma.”
Agora, depois de tudo que Lily fez para tornar seu jardim seu próprio espaço, tudo que eu queria fazer era tentar poupar seu trabalho duro.
Uma menina subindo em uma árvore | Fonte: Pexels
“Não se preocupe, querida”, eu disse, com um plano já se formando em minha mente.
“Como, pai?” ela perguntou.
“Porque nós resolveremos isso. E faremos isso juntos.”
Um homem mais velho sorridente | Fonte: Midjourney
Na noite seguinte, apareci na casa de Lily com minha caminhonete e alguns amigos. Estávamos armados com lanternas e uma dose saudável de raiva justificada.
“Certo, rapazes”, eu disse. “Vamos fazer isso pela minha filha. Vamos dar uma lição ao Jack. Que, como senhorio, você não pode sair por aí tirando vantagem de mulheres jovens.”
Um grupo de homens mais velhos | Fonte: Midjourney
Nós meticulosamente desmontamos todo o refúgio no quintal que Lily montou.
“Pai?” Lily perguntou quando percebeu que estávamos lá. “O que está acontecendo?”
“Oi, querida”, eu disse. “Vamos dar uma lição ao seu senhorio. Ele não pode fazer isso. Então, vamos desmontar tudo. Vou levar suas plantas para casa também.”
Ferramentas em um banco | Fonte: Midjourney
Lily bocejou e se espreguiçou.
“Vou deixar você com isso, pai”, ela disse. “Vou descansar um pouco e depois voltar a arrumar o lugar quando o sol nascer. Vou ficar com Nolan até encontrar um lugar. Ele vai chegar aqui com mais caixas em breve.”
“Continue”, eu disse. “Nós ficaremos quietos, eu prometo.”
Uma jovem cansada | Fonte: Midjourney
Enquanto trabalhávamos, cada planta carinhosamente cuidada, cada canteiro meticulosamente construído, desaparecia. Quando terminamos, o jardim outrora florescente estava reduzido a um pedaço de terra desolado, um contraste gritante com as fotos exuberantes que Jack, o proprietário, já havia postado para o novo anúncio.
Uma foto de listagem de casa | Fonte: Midjourney
“Obrigado, rapazes”, eu disse. “Vocês podem ir embora. Eu só ajudo Lily a fazer as malas. Vou pegar minha caminhonete mais tarde, Malcolm.”
Eu não tinha terminado. Ainda havia mais trabalho a ser feito.
Dentro da casa, reorganizamos os móveis para destacar todos os defeitos.
Uma mulher cercada por caixas | Fonte: Midjourney
As rachaduras nas paredes não foram escondidas pelas obras de arte de Lily. Os azulejos faltantes foram deixados expostos, sem nenhum utensílio de cozinha para cobri-los.
“Não há nada que possa ser feito sobre o mofo do teto do banheiro”, Lily me disse. “Mas eu tenho dito ao senhorio que precisávamos resolver isso.”
Rachaduras em uma parede | Fonte: Midjourney
Substituímos todas as lâmpadas por outras branco-azuladas muito brilhantes, fazendo com que todo o lugar parecesse sombrio e pouco convidativo.
Enquanto trabalhávamos, Lily e eu conversamos sobre o tempo que ela passou na casa.
Um homem carregando uma caixa | Fonte: Midjourney
“Lembro-me de quando me mudei pela primeira vez”, disse ela, com um toque de nostalgia na voz. “O quintal era só terra e concreto. E eu não achava que alguma coisa pudesse crescer aqui. Mas eventualmente cresceu. E toda vez que sentia saudades de casa, eu vinha aqui e plantava algo novo ou cuidava do que quer que estivesse crescendo.”
“E você fez isso acontecer”, respondi sorrindo. “Você transformou isso em um paraíso.”
Uma jovem plantando | Fonte: Midjourney
Ela suspirou.
“Parece tão injusto. Eu fiz tudo certo, e ele ainda encontrou uma maneira de estragar tudo.”
“Não vamos deixá-lo vencer”, assegurei a ela. “Isso é só um revés. Você tem uma nova aventura esperando por você. O lugar do Nolan é uma boa parada por enquanto, mas sei que ele está falando sério sobre você. Talvez uma nova casa juntos seja o próximo passo.”
Um pai e uma filha sorridentes | Fonte: Midjourney
Saí da casa da minha filha confiante de que o senhorio dela me acordaria muito bem no dia seguinte.
“Pai, você pode vir aqui?”, Lily me pediu no telefone naquela manhã. “Por favor, esteja aqui quando eu tiver que entregar as chaves para Jack.”
“Chego aí em breve”, eu disse, passando manteiga na minha fatia de torrada.
Torrada com manteiga em um prato | Fonte: Midjourney
Lily estava me pedindo para guardar os sapatos dela em uma caixa quando Jack entrou furioso.
“Que diabos, Lily?” ele exigiu. “Onde estão as plantas? As flores? As fotos online mostram claramente como esse lugar deveria ser!”
Ele suspirou profundamente, seu rosto ficando da cor de um tomate particularmente maduro.
Um velho chocado | Fonte: Midjourney
Lily, a imagem da inocência, piscou para ele.
“Que plantas, Jack?”, ela perguntou. “O quintal sempre foi assim, você não percebeu?”
Ela gesticulou em direção ao local desolado, com um sorriso malicioso nos lábios.
Jack, pego em flagrante com seu plano enganoso, balbuciou algumas ameaças incoerentes sobre danos à propriedade. Eu intervim, apontando para as falhas expostas.
Um quintal desolado | Fonte: Midjourney
“Você quer falar sobre danos?” Eu disse, minha voz fria.
“Vamos discutir as rachaduras nas paredes, os azulejos faltando e o mofo no banheiro. Você consegue ver tudo claramente agora, não consegue?”
Os olhos de Jack se arregalaram quando ele olhou para o banheiro.
“Isto é claramente sabotagem!” ele gritou.
Um close-up de um homem mais velho | Fonte: Midjourney
“Não”, respondi, pegando as fotos que tirei quando Lily se mudou.
“Era exatamente assim que o lugar era quando ela se mudou. Se alguma coisa, está mais arrumado agora. Não falta nada, Jack.”
Jack tentou recuperar a compostura, mas os três casais que vieram para a visita naquela tarde viram a casa em seu estado bruto e desagradável. Todos eles foram embora sem fazer um requerimento.
Uma jovem sorridente | Fonte: Midjourney
Enquanto isso, depois de alguns meses, Lily encontrou um novo lugar com um senhorio que apreciava seu polegar verde, não apenas o potencial de lucro. Conforme minha filha se acomodava em sua nova casa, não pude deixar de me sentir orgulhosa.
Lily e eu estávamos sentados em sua nova varanda, olhando para o quintal espaçoso que logo se tornaria seu próximo projeto de jardinagem.
Um homem mais velho sorridente | Fonte: Unsplash
“Pai, não tenho palavras para agradecer”, ela disse, com os olhos brilhando de alívio e excitação. “Eu estava tão assustada, mas você sabia exatamente o que fazer.”
Sorri, apertando a mão dela enquanto balançávamos no balanço da varanda. “Você fez a parte difícil, garota. Você o enfrentou. E agora, você tem um novo começo.”
Um balanço de varanda | Fonte: Unsplash
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