A mysterious box appears on Evan’s doorstep containing a baby photo with a birthmark identical to his and a faded image of an old house shrouded in trees. Haunted by questions of family and identity, Evan becomes obsessed with finding it. Two years later, he does.
When people ask where I’m from, I always say “here and there.” It’s simpler that way. Nobody really wants to hear about foster homes and sleeping in rooms that never felt mine.
A serious man | Source: Midjourney
But truth be told, I’ve been searching for the true answer to where I came from my whole life.
I remember Mr. Bennett, my 8th-grade history teacher, better than most of the families I lived with. He was the only one who ever looked at me like I wasn’t a lost cause.
I didn’t realize it back then, but his belief in me was the start of everything. He’s the reason I clawed my way to a college grant. But college didn’t care how scrappy I was.
A college class | Source: Pexels
While other students called home for emergency cash, I worked double shifts at the campus café, microwaving three-day-old pizza for dinner. I never complained. Who would listen?
After graduation, I lucked into a job as an assistant to Richard — think Wall Street shark in a luxury suit. He was ruthless but brilliant. He didn’t care where I came from, only that I could keep up.
For five years, I followed him like a shadow, learning everything from negotiation tactics to the art of not flinching in a boardroom.
Businesspeople in a boardroom | Source: Pexels
When I walked away, it wasn’t with bitterness. It was with the blueprint for my logistics company: Cole Freight Solutions.
That company became my pride and proof that I was so much more than just a name on a file in some state database.
I thought I’d finally escaped my past in the foster system. I was 34, too old to be haunted by my mysterious origins when my future lay before me. That’s what I told myself, at any rate. But it turned out my past had more to show me.
A man in a warehouse | Source: Midjourney
I’d just come home from work and the box was sitting on my front step like it had fallen out of the sky. No postage, no address, no delivery slip.
At first, I didn’t touch it. I stood there, hands in my jacket pockets, scanning the street. No one was around. The only movement was the sway of the neighbor’s wind chimes. After a few minutes, I crouched down and ran my fingers along its edges.
It was just a plain old cardboard box, soft at the corners like it had been wet once and dried in the sun.
A slightly damaged cardboard box | Source: Midjourney
I carried it inside, kicking the door shut behind me. It sat on my kitchen table, silent but loud in its own way.
I pulled open the flaps, and I swear, for a second, I stopped breathing.
It was full of toys. Old, battered toys. A wooden car with half its wheels gone, a stuffed rabbit with one button-eye dangling from a loose thread. They smelled like time — musty and sad. Then I saw the photos.
Items in a cardboard box | Source: Midjourney
Faded images spilled out like loose puzzle pieces. The first photo I grabbed stopped me cold. A baby’s chubby face, round cheeks flushed with life. My eyes locked on a small, jagged mark on his arm. My breath hitched.
No. It couldn’t be.
I yanked up my sleeve, heart pounding hard enough to feel it in my ears. There it was — that same odd-shaped birthmark just below my elbow. My fingers hovered over it like I’d never seen it before.
A birthmark on a man’s arm | Source: Midjourney
My gaze flicked back to the table, hands moving with urgency now. Another photo lay beneath the first. This one was different. It showed an old, weathered house half-hidden behind a wall of trees. It looked like something forgotten.
Beneath the photo, faint words scratched across the bottom. I tilted it toward the kitchen light, squinting like that would sharpen the letters.
Two words floated up from the smudges: “Cedar Hollow.”
A man holding a photo | Source: Midjourney
I didn’t have time to process it before I spotted the letter. The paper had the rough texture of an old grocery bag and smelled faintly of mildew. My fingers hesitated as if the letter might burn me. But I opened it anyway.
“This box was meant for you, Evan. It was left with you as a baby at the orphanage. The staff misplaced it, and it was only recently found. We are returning it to you now.”
My legs buckled, and I sat hard on one of the kitchen chairs.
A shocked man | Source: Midjourney
My elbows pressed into the table as I gripped my head with both hands. I read it again, slower this time as if slowing down would change what it said. It didn’t.
The photo, the baby, the birthmark, the house. This box — this stupid, worn-out box — had handed me the key to a question I’d stopped asking myself years ago: “Who are you?”
That night, I sat at my desk with the photo pinned beneath my fingers. I scanned it, enlarged it, and ran it through cheap online tools that promised “enhancement” but only made it worse.
A frustrated man working on a laptop | Source: Midjourney
Every blurry line made me angrier. Every click of the mouse felt like I was pushing further from the truth.
Weeks passed. My search history turned into a rabbit hole of maps, old county registries, and forum posts full of strangers who “knew a guy” who “might know a place.”
Every lead ended in a dead end, but I couldn’t let it go. So I hired professionals. Real investigators with access to records I couldn’t touch.
A detective | Source: Pexels
I told myself it was just curiosity. Just a little unfinished business. But I knew better. I knew I wouldn’t stop.
Months passed. The investigators burned through my savings, but I didn’t care. I was chasing something bigger than logic. I stopped taking client calls and ducked out of friend meetups. People asked if I was sick. I wasn’t sick; I was consumed.
Two years later, my phone buzzed at 2:16 p.m. I answered before the second ring.
A man holding a cell phone | Source: Pexels
“You’re not gonna believe this,” said the investigator. “Cedar Hollow. It’s real, and I found it. It’s a house about 130 miles from you. I’m texting you the address.”
I hung up, hands gripping the phone so tight it squeaked.
It was real… the text with the address flashed up on my screen, followed shortly by a location pin. This was it. I was going home.
An emotional man | Source: Midjourney
I drove three hours through back roads and half-forgotten highways. No music. No distractions. Just me, the hum of the engine, and the low thump of my heartbeat in my ears.
The house wasn’t hard to spot. It sat at the end of a dirt road, surrounded by trees that twisted upward like bony fingers. The boards on the windows and doors were cracked. Vines crawled up the siding. It looked tired, like it had been holding its breath for years.
I parked the car and got out.
A neglected house | Source: Midjourney
The air smelled like damp leaves and old bark. My breath came out in puffs of white mist. I walked up to it slowly, one foot in front of the other.
My fingers dug under the edge of a loose board on the back window. It took three hard pulls before it came free, nails popping loose. I hoisted myself through, landing on creaky floorboards with a thud.
The first thing I saw was the cradle.
An old cradle | Source: Midjourney
It was exactly like the photo. The curve of the wood was identical, and the hand-carved stars on the side were the same. I reached for it, touching the edge with my fingertips.
On the small table beside it, there was a picture frame. A woman holding a baby. Her smile was soft and tired, but there was warmth there. I knew that smile.
I knew it because I’d been waiting for it my whole life.
An emotional man | Source: Midjourney
“Mom,” I whispered, lifting the picture frame.
The frame caught on something, stirring up the dust. There was a letter on the table, folded neatly like someone had taken great care. My fingers shook as I opened it.
“Someday you will come here, son, and you will find all this.”
I sank onto the floor, my back to the wall.
A man reading a letter | Source: Midjourney
My eyes ran over every word, etching them into my mind.
“I am very sick. Your father left me, and I have no relatives. Just like you will not have any, since there’s no way I can keep you now. I’m so sorry, my angel. Be strong and know that I had no other choice. I love you.”
My tears hit the paper.
A letter | Source: Pexels
I tried to wipe them away, but they left faint stains on the ink. I read it again. Then again.
“I love you.” I wiped the dust off the picture and stared at my mother’s face. I had her eyes and her chin, her letter, and her love, but it wasn’t enough.
Grief only drowns you if you stay under too long. I stayed under for a week, maybe two. Then I did something I never thought I’d do.
A determined man | Source: Midjourney
I called a construction crew.
The first day, they thought I was nuts. The place was a wreck, a “tear-down” as one guy put it. But I shook my head.
“We rebuild it. Everything.”
So, they put in new walls, new windows, and new floors. I took out a loan and worked like a man possessed to make it happen, but it was worth it.
A house | Source: Midjourney
One year later, I stood on the front porch, hands on my hips. The air smelled like fresh pine and clean paint.
But not everything was new.
I kept the cradle. I cleaned it by hand, sanding the rough edges, and staining it until it gleamed. I also kept the photo of her and me and put it on the mantel.
A mantel | Source: Pexels
It took me a lifetime to find it, but I was finally home.
Here’s another story: When Lucy moves into her childhood home, she hopes for a fresh start after her painful divorce. But cryptic comments from her neighbors about the attic stir her unease. The devastating betrayal she discovers up there forces her to flee the house.
This work is inspired by real events and people, but it has been fictionalized for creative purposes. Names, characters, and details have been changed to protect privacy and enhance the narrative. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.
The author and publisher make no claims to the accuracy of events or the portrayal of characters and are not liable for any misinterpretation. This story is provided “as is,” and any opinions expressed are those of the characters and do not reflect the views of the author or publisher.
To Pick up a New Girl, My Widower Dad Told Her I Was His Housekeeper, Not His Daughter – I Taught Him a Harsh Lesson
Clara and her widowed Dad share a close bond, but his latest romantic move shakes things up. When her Dad calls her the housekeeper to impress his new girlfriend, Clara is left hurt and angry. Determined to teach her Dad a harsh lesson, Clara decides to show that this “house cleaner” knows how to tidy up more than just rooms.
The “mess” really started ten years ago when I was just seven.
A happy mom and daughter | Source: Pexels
After Mom passed away, it was just me and Dad in our big old house. I missed her every day, but I knew Dad needed me, so I tried to be strong.
I became pretty good at making simple meals like peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. Sometimes, I’d pour cereal and milk for breakfast or help Dad with the laundry by folding clothes and matching socks. I wanted to help him as much as I could.
A father and daughter cooking together | Source: Pexels
The house felt emptier without Mom, and I knew Dad felt it, too.
But the loneliness also brought Dad and me together, and we became best friends. We would spend evenings talking about our day, watching movies, or just sitting on the porch.
A father playing with his daughter | Source: Pexels
I really loved those moments. They made me feel close to him like we were a team. He would tell me stories about Mom, and I’d share my school adventures with him. Those talks helped us both heal a little each day.
One day, I found Dad staring at his computer with a puzzled look. “What’s wrong, Dad?” I asked.
A man using his laptop | Source: Pexels
He sighed, “I’m trying to set up a profile on this dating site, Clara, but I have no idea what to write.”
I giggled. “Let me help you, Dad!” I said. I hopped onto his lap and looked at the screen. “Tell them you like fishing and reading.”
He laughed. “You think that’s a good idea?”
A girl and her dad using a laptop | Source: Freepik
“Yeah! And say you’re a great cook,” I added with a grin, knowing he could only make spaghetti and scrambled eggs.
Dad took my advice, and it became our little game. He’d show me messages from women, and I’d help him reply. Sometimes, I’d make silly suggestions just to see him laugh. “Tell her you can cook a mean peanut butter sandwich,” I’d say, and we’d both crack up. It felt good to see him smile again.
Peanut butter and jam on bread slices | Source: Unsplash
Even though life without Mom was hard, Dad and I found ways to make it better. We leaned on each other and grew closer every day. Helping him navigate the dating world was just one of the ways I showed him I cared. I wanted him to be happy, and he wanted the same for me.
We were a team, and together, we could handle anything. But one night, that changed.
A happy father and daughter | Source: Freepik
I had just come back from a fun night at my friend Emma’s house. As I walked into our living room, I was stunned to see Dad and a woman I didn’t recognize. They were snuggled up on the couch, and Dad was whispering something in her ear. I almost dropped my backpack in shock.
Dad’s face turned bright red when he saw me. He jumped up, looking like a deer caught in headlights. “Uh, Clara! Hi! Um, this is, uh…” He was stuttering so much that I almost felt sorry for him.
An elderly couple enjoying wine | Source: Pexels
“Who is this, Daniel?” the woman asked, breaking the awkward silence.
In his nervousness, Dad blurted out, “This is Clara, my housekeeper… the maid!”
My eyes widened in surprise. Maid? Seriously, Dad? I felt a mix of shock and betrayal.
A shocked teen girl | Source: Midjourney
“Oh, is she?” the woman said with a big smile. “Great! Clara, today you have to clean up the bedroom. After our night there, it needs a good tidy-up!”
My jaw dropped to the floor. I couldn’t believe this was happening. Clean the bedroom after their night together?
I glanced at Dad, and he looked like he wanted the ground to swallow him up.
“Da–I mean, Mr. Daniels, the bedroom?” I asked, trying to control my anger.
An angry teen | Source: Midjourney
“Yes…” he sighed sadly. “That’s all for today.”
“Sure thing, Mr. Daniel,” I finally said, trying to keep a straight face.
I grabbed a nearby dust cloth and went upstairs, glaring at both of them. This wasn’t like Dad at all, and I couldn’t believe he introduced me as the house cleaner.
Entering the bedroom, I saw it was a complete mess.
A messy bedroom | Source: Freepik
Clothes were strewn everywhere, and the bed was unmade. The lingering scent of the woman’s perfume filled the air, making me wrinkle my nose. I didn’t want to clean the place, especially not after that awkward situation.
I sat there, thinking about what to do. I needed to teach Dad a lesson for putting me in such an awkward position.
A sad teen girl | Source: Midjourney
If his new girlfriend didn’t like kids, she needed to know that I was a big part of Dad’s life. And if Dad was hiding me because of that, it wasn’t fair to either of us. Why would Dad be with someone who couldn’t accept me?
Then it hit me. I had to confront Dad in a way that would expose his dishonesty without making things worse. I needed to be smart about this. It had to be something he couldn’t wriggle out of.
An elderly couple at home | Source: Pexels
I sat on the bed, the mess around me mirroring the whirlwind of thoughts in my head. Soon, an idea popped into my mind.
This “house cleaner” was about to clean up Dad’s mess in a way he’d never forget!
Walking back into the living room, I saw Dad and the woman chatting, completely unaware of what was coming.
An elderly couple chatting | Source: Pexels
With a mischievous glint in my eye, I said loudly, “It seems that your last night together was not as hot as the day before yesterday, Mr. Daniel! The day before yesterday, I had to clean up for three hours after your night! Oh, apologies for my language.”
The woman’s face turned bright red with anger. “I wasn’t here the day before yesterday! Who were you in the bedroom with the day before yesterday?” she shouted at Dad.
An angry woman yelling at her partner | Source: Midjourney
Dad’s eyes widened, and he looked like he was about to faint. “Clara, what are you talking about?” he stammered.
I feigned confusion, tilting my head. “I’m sorry, ma’am, but you must be Jessica, right? Mr. Daniels wouldn’t stop talking about how amazing you are!”
The woman’s fury reached a boiling point. “I’m MARTHA!” she shouted, turning to Dad. “Who the hell is this Jessica?”
An angry woman yelling at a man | Source: Midjourney
Dad opened and closed his mouth like a fish out of water, unable to come up with a response. Martha’s face twisted in rage as she slapped him hard across the face, the sound echoing through the room. She stormed out of the house, slamming the door behind her.
I stood there, watching Dad rub his cheek. He finally looked at me, his expression a blend of anger and helplessness. “Clara, why did you do that?”
A sad man touching his cheek | Source: Midjourney
I crossed my arms, feeling a sense of satisfaction. “Because, Dad, you lied about me and put me in an awkward position. If you’re going to date, be honest about it. And don’t ever introduce me as your house cleaner again. So, Mr. Daniel, is there anything else I need to clean up?” I asked, a mischievous grin spreading across my face.
For a moment, Dad just stared at me, then he started to chuckle.
A man laughing | Source: Midjourney
The chuckle turned into a full-blown laugh, and before long, we were both laughing so hard we could barely stand. The tension melted away, replaced by the familiar warmth of our bond.
“Really, Dad, you brought home a woman like her? She’s so annoying! And why did you lie about me?”
Dad shrugged, looking a bit sheepish. “She wasn’t very fond of kids. I guess that’s why I didn’t mention you.”
A sad elderly man | Source: Midjourney
I rolled my eyes. “Dad, if someone doesn’t like kids, they’re not worth your time. You know that, right?”
“I know, Clara. I’m sorry for acting the way I did. I should’ve been honest with you and with her.”
I walked over and gave him a hug. “It’s okay, Dad. Just remember, we’re a team. No more secrets, okay?”
He hugged me back tightly. “No more secrets. I promise.”
A dad and daughter hugging | Source: Midjourney
We pulled apart, and I looked around the living room. “Now, about that cleaning…”
Dad laughed again, shaking his head. “I think we’ve had enough cleaning for one day. How about we order some pizza and watch a movie instead?”
I grinned. “That sounds perfect.”
What would you have done?
A pizza | Source: Pexels
Leave a Reply