A widowed man travels a long way to retrieve his newborn baby, but when he tries to return home with the child, he is refused entry into the plane.
Bob Hollis was running late. The 40-year-old had just received a call from a Florida hospital telling him a girl had just been born and he was listed as the father.
He would have discounted it as a prank, but he knew his wife was in Florida for a short holiday he organized for her while he renovated their home — it was a surprise.
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The two had no kids of their own and had adopted three because adoption was something they both wanted to be involved in, so they needed to add more rooms to their house, which was why he was renovating.
Among the two, Bob was more particular about getting a foster child because he was one himself, and he had grown up promising himself to take in as many kids as he could.
“If I can help those kids grow up to be the best of themselves then I feel like I’ve made a huge difference,” he told his wife while they were discussing it.
Bob was also father to two grown kids whom he conceived while he was with his former wife, Ellen. The two went their separate ways after the woman decided to cheat with their pool boy, and she was caught.
He met his second wife, Mary, two years later, and after dating for several months, they got married. They tried to have kids but were unsuccessful, and this motivated them to look into adoption, but they never stopped trying to make babies.
One day, their persistence paid off, and Mary conceived a child. It was in preparation of the baby’s arrival that Bob decided to expand the house to include a nursery and an extra room.
After making the decision, he got Mary, who was due in two months, on a plane to Florida — a place she had always wanted to visit. But when she arrived in Florida, the woman immediately went into labor and was subsequently rushed to the hospital.
Unfortunately, she died during childbirth, so Bob was told that because the child was a newborn, it was necessary to fly out immediately. He packed his suitcases and flew to Florida to pick up her daughter.
When his plane landed, he rented a car and made his way to the hospital, where his wife had allegedly passed away.
The news of her death still ate at him, but he knew there would be time to grieve later, so he focused on bringing home their only child together.
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When he arrived at the hospital, he met with the volunteer at the intensive care unit, a woman who was 82 years old and recently widowed.
Her name was Mrs. Sticks, and she had things to tell Bob. “What happened?” he asked her as soon as he entered her office.
“Have a seat Mr. Hollis,” she said calmly.
“I’m better off standing, he replied.
“I’m sorry for your loss Mr. Hollis, but your wife suffered some complications giving birth to your child.”
At that, Bob cried bitterly, and Mrs. Sticks quietly watched him, choosing to let him grieve. After a few minutes, she cleared her throat and spoke.
“As I understand you have come for the child, but I have to make sure that you have what it takes to care for one,” Mrs. Sticks said.
Bob let her know that he was already a father and Mrs. Meredith Sticks nodded appreciatively as if to say, “You’ll do,” but she still gave him her phone number.
“Call me if you need anything,” she said. The kind woman also offered her new acquaintance a ride to the airport on the day of departure.
Things went on smoothly for Bob until it was time to board the plane. When he got to the boarding gate, the woman at the counter refused to let him through.
“Is this your child sir?” she asked.
“Of course she is,” he said.
“I’m sorry but she seems too young to be on an airplane. How old is she?”
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“She’s four days old. Now can I get through?” Bob said.
“I’m sorry sir, but you’ll have to present her birth certificate and wait till she is at least seven days old before traveling with her,” the woman said sternly.
“What’s this?” Bob asked angrily. “Are you saying I have to remain here for the next couple of days? I have no family here to stay with which is why I must get home today.”
“I’m sorry, it’s the policy,” the woman said and turned her attention to the next person in line.
Bob knew that it would take him quite some time to obtain the document but he also had nowhere to go in Florida and no one to ask for help.
He was preparing to spend the night at the airport when he remembered Mrs. Sticks, the kind woman from the medical center. He would rather not have bothered her, but he had no choice, and the night was quickly approaching.
“Hello Meredith,” he said. “I need your help.”
When Mrs. Sticks found out about Bob’s problem, she immediately promised to return to the airport and bring them to her home — it was an offer that astounded Bob, who knew he would most likely have refused to help if he was in her place.
“Compassion still thrives in this world,” he thought to himself.
Bob stayed at Mrs. Sticks’ house for more than a week before he returned to Texas. The woman didn’t just welcome Bob and his daughter into her home. She helped him cope with the newborn baby as well as the death of his wife by talking to him and comforting him. She even helped him arrange for the proper transportation of his wife’s body, making things easier for him.
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The man could not believe how generous she was and would always call her a real angel — even his daughter seemed to love the woman because the girl would start to glow and giggle just from hearing the woman’s voice.
During his stay, Bob learned that the woman had four grown children, seven grandchildren, and three great-grandchildren.
Together they looked after the baby, took relieving walks, and even went to honor the memory of Mrs. Sticks’ departed husband — activities that brought the two even closer.
The man saw in Mrs. Sticks his mother who had passed away a long time ago, and he knew he would miss her a lot when he flew home.
After receiving his daughter’s birth certificate, he was permitted to return home, but Bob continued to keep in touch with the old lady who had helped him.
He had no idea how things would have worked out without her, and he never forgot her kindness, so he visited her every year with his little daughter until she passed away a few years later.
A lawyer reached out to him at her funeral and told him that Mrs. Sticks had left him part of her inheritance, just like she did for her kids.
In honor of her kindness, Bob donated the money to a charity he founded together with her four kids, including her oldest daughter Shirley, whom he fell in love with due to constant exposure to her charms. Later, the two got married, and she became a mother to his six kids.
For illustration purposes only. | Source: Pexels
What did we gain from this story?
- Kindness leaves a lasting impression. Bob could never forget Mrs. Sticks, who was there for him in his difficult times. Her heart inspired him to found the charity organization, which was a way to share more kindness around.
- Imbibe the culture of giving back. Bob adopted three kids with his late wife because he was from a foster home himself and wanted to find a way to make the lives of kids in orphanages better. It is an act worthy of emulation.
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This account is inspired by our reader’s story 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.
My parents forced me to pay for my own dinner while they covered the bill for everyone else – Their justification was absurd
Jennifer’s parents caught her off guard during a family dinner by unexpectedly asking her to cover the cost of her meal, while they paid for everyone else. Jennifer’s resentment brews as the sting of unfairness deepens, setting the stage for a confrontation the family won’t forget.
The night I got the text from Mom about a “special family dinner,” I nearly choked on my microwaved ramen. It had been ages since we’d all gotten together, and even longer since it felt like my parents actually wanted me there.
love my family, but being the middle child is like being the bologna in a sandwich where everyone’s fighting over the bread.
I stared at my phone, thumb hovering over the keyboard. Part of me wanted to make up some lame excuse, but then I thought about Tina and Cameron, my perfect older sister and my can-do-no-wrong little brother.
They’d be there, basking in Mom and Dad’s approval, like always. And I’d remain the perpetual afterthought if I didn’t show up.
“Count me in,” I typed, hitting send before I could change my mind.
Mom replied instantly. “Great! Le Petit Château, 7 p.m. next Friday. Don’t be late!”
Le Petit Château. Fancy. I whistled low, already mentally tallying up my savings. This wasn’t going to be cheap, but hey, maybe it was a sign things were changing. Maybe they actually wanted to spend time with me, Jennifer the Forgettable.
That Friday, I arrived at the restaurant ten minutes early, feeling nervous. Just as I was about to go in, Mom and Dad showed up. Mom was all smiles, while Dad wore his usual concerned expression.
Inside, we found a cozy table, and soon after, Tina and Robert joined us. Tina looked stunning, as always, making me feel like a potato by comparison. Finally, Cameron arrived, late as usual, and complaining about traffic.
Now we were all settled, Mom wasted no time in making me feel insignificant.
“So, Jennifer,” Mom said, peering at me over her menu, “how’s work going? Still at that little marketing firm?”
I nodded, trying not to bristle at the ‘little’ part. “Yeah, it’s good. We just landed a pretty big client, actually. I’m heading up the campaign.”
“Oh, that’s nice,” Mom said, her attention already drifting back to Tina, who was regaling Dad with tales of her son’s latest soccer game.
That stung, but the atmosphere improved while we ate. The food was great, and soon we were talking and laughing like we used to when I was a kid.
I was enjoying the meal and the rare feeling of being part of the family, but then the check came.
Dad reached for it and started going over the bill, like he always did. But then he frowned, looking directly at me.
“Jennifer,” he said, his voice oddly formal, “you’ll be covering your portion tonight.”
I blinked, sure I’d heard him wrong. “What?”
“You’re an adult now,” he continued, as if explaining something to a child. “It’s time you start paying your own way.”
“But…” I started, my voice small, “I thought this was a family dinner. You’re paying for everyone else.”
Dad’s frown deepened. “Your sister and brother have families to support. You’re single, so it’s only fair.”
Fair. The word echoed in my head, mocking me. I swallowed hard, fighting back the tears that threatened to spill over. Without a word, I pulled out my credit card and handed it to the waiter, praying it wouldn’t get declined.
The rest of the night was a blur. As I drove home, the hurt began to curdle into something else. Something harder, angrier.
The next morning, I woke up with a headache and a heart full of resentment. I spent the day alternating between moping on the couch and pacing my apartment like a caged animal. By evening, something inside me had shifted.
I wasn’t just going to let this go. Not this time.
An idea started to form. Crazy at first, but the more I thought about it, the more it made sense. I was going to give them a taste of their own medicine.
I invited Mom and Dad over for dinner and then spent days perfecting the menu. I cleaned my apartment until it sparkled, bought fancy candles, and even splurged on a tablecloth that didn’t come from the dollar store.
The night of the dinner arrived, and I was eerily calm. I had a plan, and I was sticking to it.
The doorbell rang at 7 p.m. sharp. I took a deep breath and opened the door with a smile plastered on my face.
“Mom, Dad! Come in!”
Dad handed me a bottle of wine. “Place looks nice, Jennifer.”
“Thanks,” I said, ushering them to the living room. “Dinner’s almost ready. Can I get you something to drink?”
As I poured their wine, Mom settled onto the couch, her eyes roaming over my bookshelf. “So, how have you been, dear? We haven’t heard much from you since… well, since our last dinner.”
I forced a light laugh. “Oh, you know how it is. Work’s been crazy busy.”
We made small talk for a while, the conversation stilted and full of long pauses. Finally, the oven timer beeped, saving us all.
“Dinner’s ready!” I announced, perhaps a bit too cheerfully.
I’d outdone myself with the meal: herb-crusted salmon, roasted vegetables, and a quinoa salad that had taken forever to get right. Mom and Dad made appropriate noises of appreciation as they ate.
“This is delicious, Jennifer,” Mom said, sounding genuinely impressed. “I didn’t know you could cook like this.”
I shrugged, tamping down the flare of resentment at her surprise. “I’ve picked up a few things over the years.”
The dinner progressed smoothly, almost pleasantly. I almost forgot why I’d invited them over in the first place. Then Dad started with one of his lectures about financial responsibility, and I knew it was time.
As I cleared the plates and brought out a fancy tiramisu for dessert, I steeled myself. This was it.
“So,” I said casually, setting down the dessert plates, “I hope you enjoyed the meal.”
They both nodded, smiling. “It was wonderful, dear,” Mom said.
I smiled back, but it didn’t reach my eyes. “Great. That’ll be $47.50 each, please.”
The silence that followed was deafening. Mom’s fork clattered against her plate, and Dad’s face went through a rapid series of emotions – confusion, disbelief, and then anger.
“I’m sorry, what?” he sputtered.
I kept my voice calm, channeling Dad’s tone from that night at the restaurant. “Well, you’re both adults. It’s time you started paying your own way.”
Mom’s mouth opened and closed like a fish out of water. “But… but this is your home. You invited us.”
“Yes,” I said, my voice hardening slightly. “Just like you invited me to Le Petit Château. And then made me pay for my meal while covering everyone else’s.”
Understanding dawned on their faces, quickly followed by shame.
“Jennifer,” Dad started, his voice gruff. “That’s not… we didn’t mean…”
“Didn’t mean what?” I interrupted, years of pent-up frustration finally boiling over.
“Didn’t mean to make me feel like I’m worth less than Tina or Cameron? Didn’t mean to constantly overlook me? Or did you just not mean to get called out on it?”
Mom reached out, trying to take my hand, but I pulled away. “Sweetie, we had no idea you felt this way.”
I laughed, but there was no humor in it. “Of course you didn’t. Do you have any idea what it’s like to always be the afterthought in your own family?”
Dad shifted uncomfortably in his seat.
“We love you just as much as your siblings, Jennifer.”
“Do you?” I challenged. “Because it doesn’t feel like it. I’m just as successful as Tina, just as hardworking as Cameron. But somehow, I’m always the one who’s expected to ‘act like an adult’ while they get a free pass.”
The room fell silent again, but this time it was heavy with unspoken words and long-ignored feelings.
Finally, Dad cleared his throat. “We… we owe you an apology, Jennifer. A big one.”
Mom nodded, tears in her eyes. “We never meant to make you feel less valued. You’re our daughter, and we love you so much. We’ve just… we’ve done a terrible job of showing it.”
I felt my own eyes welling up, but I blinked back the tears. “I don’t want your apologies. I want you to do better. To be better. To see me.”
Dad stood up, his movements stiff. For a moment, I thought he was going to leave.
Instead, he walked around the table and hugged me. It was awkward and a little too tight, but it was more genuine than any interaction we’d had in years.
“We see you, Jennifer,” he said, his voice rough with emotion. “And we’re so, so proud of you. We’ve been blind and stupid, and we’ve taken you for granted. But that ends now.”
Mom joined the hug, and for a minute, we just stood there, a tangle of arms and unshed tears and long-overdue honesty.
When we finally broke apart, Mom wiped her eyes and gave a watery chuckle. “So, about that bill…”
I couldn’t help but laugh. “Tell you what. This one’s on the house. But next time we go out? We’re splitting the check evenly. All of us.”
Dad nodded solemnly. “Deal.”
As they left that night, things weren’t magically fixed. Years of feeling overlooked and undervalued don’t disappear in one conversation. But it was a start. A crack in the wall I’d built around myself, letting in a glimmer of hope.
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