A man is accused of being the father of a baby abandoned on his doorstep and it costs him his marriage and his way of life.
Kyle Greenbecker had spent a year working on an oil pipeline in Alaska, but finally, he was on his way home to his beautiful wife. He and Lisa met in high school, and Kyle had never regretted marrying her at nineteen.
Maybe he was old-fashioned, but Kyle was proud that Lisa was the only woman he’d been intimate with in his life. He didn’t need and didn’t want anyone else. It never occurred to him that Lisa would ever doubt him — and with good reason.
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When his plane landed, Kyle collected his luggage and walked out with the other passengers, scanning the crowd for Lisa’s beloved face, but she wasn’t there to pick him up.
Probably, Kyle thought, she’d been held up at work with some emergency. He sent her a quick text telling her he was on his way home but got no reply. He hopped into an Uber and in an hour he was walking up to his front door.
The lights were on in the lounge, but Lisa wasn’t there. He made his way to the kitchen and stopped in the doorway, stunned. Resting on top of the kitchen table was a bassinet, and Kyle could see a small arm waving aimlessly.
He took a step closer. There was a bassinet with a baby on his kitchen table! The child was looking back at Kyle with that astonished look babies have, and Kyle stared back just as astonished.
Then he saw a folded paper on the table next to the bassinet. He picked it up and unfolded it. Inside was another sheet of paper with a message in a handwriting he didn’t recognize: “You had your fun, now take responsibility for your child.”
Meanwhile, the note addressed to him in Lisa’s elegant script read:
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“Kyle, yesterday I found this child on our doorstep with that note attached. I always suspected you cheated on me during your business trips, but I didn’t hold a grudge on you for that — after all, I had plenty of flings while you were away — but saddling me with someone else’s byblow is too much. I’ve filed for a divorce, and I earnestly hope I will never see you again.
“P.S. And about the baby, don’t worry, I only left when I saw you walk up the drive. Enjoy your life, Kyle, I certainly intend to enjoy mine.”
Kyle sat down and dropped his head in his hands. He couldn’t believe this was happening to him. This child wasn’t his, he’d never cheated on Lisa, ever! A soft cooing sound made him raise his head.
The baby was waving its little hand in the air, so Kyle brought his own hand closer and to his surprise, the child grabbed onto his index finger with incredible strength.
“Well, baby,” Kyle said. “I guess it’s just us two, and I don’t know what to do with you!”
The baby cooed again and gurgled, then screwed up his face in an alarming way and turned bright red. “Oh my God!” cried Kyle. “What’s happening?” A certain smell quickly elucidated him.
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Yep, it was diaper time. But was there even a diaper? On the floor next to the table was a large backpack with several snap pockets that he’d never seen before. Kyle found a bewildering array of items inside and the diapers.
He quickly googled diaper change and watched carefully as a woman on YouTube demonstrated on a life-like doll how to change a diaper.
Kyle started following her instructions but things didn’t run that smoothly. The woman’s life-like doll didn’t move its legs, or sink its kicking heels in the stinking and unmentionable contents of the dirty diaper! After wiping the baby clean, Kyle realized it was a girl, and he didn’t know anything about girls!
“I won’t be giving you dating advice,” he told the baby solemnly. “But I can teach you how to ride a bike.”
Kyle realized in that moment that he intended to keep this baby.
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He picked up the freshly diapered baby and said, “You need me, and I guess I need you too. So how about it, kid?”
Kyle once again consulted the YouTube baby-guru to prepare the formula and settled the baby in the crook of his arm for her feed.
“You need a name, you know that? How about… Celeste? Do you like that? Or Lily…”
If anyone had told Kyle that he would settle into fatherhood so easily and so smoothly he would never have believed it. Lily had her moments and her tantrums, but somehow things worked out.
Kyle registered Lily as his child and enrolled her in daycare. For him, her birthday was on the day he’d found her. But it was on Lily’s second birthday that Kyle’s world fell apart.
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A woman knocked on her door. “I’ve come for my baby,” she said. Kyle just looked at her. She was tall, blonde, and thin, with huge breasts that were obviously a product of a plastic surgeon’s art.
“Your what?” Kyle asked.
A real parent is the one who loves and cherishes the child.
“My baby,” she snapped. “I left her here two years ago? Sorry about that, but I was a bit stoned and my boyfriend lives on the next block over and I got confused. You know how it is!”
“Sorry, I don’t know how that is because I’ve never abandoned a child on anyone’s doorstep,” Kyle said coldly. “I’d get a move on if I were you, or I’ll call the police.”
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“Now look here,” the woman said sharply. “I figured I made a mistake about a week later when Burt didn’t take my calls, but now I need that baby!”
“You need her?” asked Kyle angrily. “What do you need her for?”
“Burt just got himself a Major League contract,” the woman said. “And that baby’s gone make sure some of those millions land in my bank account!”
Kyle ran the woman off, but he had a feeling he hadn’t seen the last of her. He was right. A week later he was summoned to family court. A Miss Cherish Vegas was contesting his adoption of baby Lily.
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Suddenly, Kyle was showered with injunctions, was visited by Social Services at odd hours of the day or night, and his friends and co-workers were being questioned. Cherish really meant to get her hands on those millions!
Finally, the day of the hearing arrived. Kyle nervously handed over Lily to the social worker for the duration of the hearing and walked in. Cherish was there, of course, and a tall man with Lily’s blue eyes was on her side of the court. This could only be the famous Burt!
Cherish cried and sniveled and told the judge how much she loved and missed her baby, and how her wild college days (now long past and deeply regretted) had led her to place her in Kyle’s care.
The judge looked down at the papers in front of her. “By in his care, you mean on his porch, isn’t that right, Miss Vegas?” asked the judge.
For illustration purposes only | Source: Pexels
Cherish flushed red. “Well, I’m still her mama! No one can deny that!” she screamed.
The judge looked at Burt. “You sir, you are the father?”
Burt lumbered to his feet and said, “I guess I must be…”
The judge fixed him with a flinty eye. “Are you prepared and able to take on the parental responsibilities for this child?”
Cherish screamed, “You bet he is, judge, he just signed a three million dollar contract to play ball…”
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“Oh!” cried the judge. “Finally, the truth is out! Tell me, Miss Vegas, what name did you give your daughter?”
“Name?” asked Cherish, confused. “Why, she’ll have her daddy’s name., since he’ll be paying child support!”
Kyle stood up. “Your honor,” he said. “May I address the court?”
“Yes, Mr. Greenbecker,” said the judge. “Please do.”
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“Ma’am, my daughter’s name is Lily, and she does have her father’s name — mine. Since the moment that child came into my life I’ve loved her, and she loves me.”
At that moment, Lily, who had been playing with the social worker’s necklace noticed that Kyle was standing up. “Daddy!” she cried and stretched out her arms.
“Well, ladies and gentlemen, it seems to me that the case has been decided by the principal party,” the judge said. “I hereby overturn all claims of custody of the child Lily Grennbecker and confirm Kyle Greenbecker’s custody and adoption.
That night, Kyle celebrated his victory in court and he and Lily spent the evening catching lightning bugs in the garden. “Stars!” cried Lily. But for Kyle, the brightest star of all was his little girl.
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What can we learn from this story?
- A real parent is one who loves and cherishes the child. Kyle took care of Lily and loved her as if she were his own.
- A heartless woman will use anyone, even her child, for profit. Cherish didn’t want Lily, she just wanted Burt’s money.
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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.
Father Got Mad When Mom Painted Instead of Doing Chores – What I Saw in Her House after the Divorce Made Me Gasp
My Dad always hated my Mom’s painting obsession, believing she was only fit to cook and clean. After their divorce, I stepped into her new home and discovered something that took my breath away.
I never thought I’d be grateful for my parents’ divorce, but life has a way of surprising you. I’m Iva, 25 years old. What I found in my Mom’s new home after the split completely changed my perspective on what true love really looks like and it made me cry…
Grayscale photo of a young woman covering her face | Source: Pexels
Growing up, our house was filled with the smell of oil paints and the sweet scent of turpentine. My Mom, Florence, would always create something beautiful.
But for my Dad, Benjamin, it was just noise and mess.
“Florence! When are you gonna be done with that damn painting?” Dad’s voice would boom from the kitchen. “This place is a pigsty, and dinner’s not even started!”
Side view of a woman painting a picture | Source: Pexels
Mom’s shoulders would tense, but her brush wouldn’t stop moving. “Just a few more minutes, Ben. I’m almost finished with this section.”
Dad would stomp into her workspace, his face red. “You and your silly hobby! When are you gonna grow up and act like a REAL WIFE?”
I’d watch from the doorway, my heart pounding. Mom’s eyes would meet mine, filled with a sadness I couldn’t comprehend as a ten-year-old.
An angry man pointing his finger | Source: Pexels
“Iva, honey, why don’t you go set the table?” she’d say softly.
I’d nod and scurry away, the sound of their argument following me down the hall.
Years passed, and the arguments only got worse. When I was fourteen, they finally called it quits. Dad got custody, and I only saw Mom on weekends.
Close-up of divorce papers on a table | Source: Pexels
The first time I visited her new apartment, my heart sank. It was tiny, with barely enough room for a bed and a small easel in the corner.
“Oh, sweetie, don’t look so sad,” Mom said, pulling me into a hug. “This place may be small, but it’s full of possibilities.”
I tried to smile, but it felt forced. “Do you miss us, Mom?”
Rear view of a woman sketching a picture on a white board | Source: Pexels
Her eyes glistened. “Every day, Iva. But sometimes, we have to make hard choices to find happiness.”
As I left that day, I heard her humming as she unpacked her paints. It was a sound I hadn’t heard in years.
“I’ll see you next weekend, okay?” Mom called out as I reached the door.
I turned back, forcing a smile. “Yeah, Mom. Next weekend.”
Close-up of a woman tearing up | Source: Pexels
Dad wasted no time moving on. His new wife, Karen, was everything he wanted Mom to be — organized, practical, and completely unartistic.
“See, Iva? This is how a real household should run,” Dad said one evening, gesturing around the spotless kitchen.
I nodded absently, my eyes drawn to the near-bare walls where Mom’s paintings used to hang. “It’s… nice, Dad.”
Front angle view of a spotless kitchen | Source: Unsplash
Karen beamed. “I’ve been teaching Iva some great cleaning tips, haven’t I, dear?”
I forced a smile, thinking of the weekends spent with Mom, hands covered in paint, creating worlds on canvas. “Yeah, it’s… really useful. Thanks, Karen.”
Dad clapped his hands together. “That’s my girl. Now, who wants to watch some TV?”
As we settled in the living room, I couldn’t help but feel a pang of longing for the messy, colorful evenings of my childhood.
Rear view of a woman painting a picture in the garden | Source: Pexels
The years rolled by, and I grew used to the new normal. Weekdays with Dad and Karen in their immaculate house and weekends with Mom in her cramped apartment. But something was always missing.
One Friday evening, as I was packing for my weekend visit, Dad knocked on my door.
“Iva, honey, can we talk?”
I looked up, surprised. “Sure, Dad. What’s up?”
A serious-looking man sitting on a chair | Source: Pexels
He sat on the edge of my bed, looking uncomfortable. “Your Mom called. She… she’s getting married again.”
My heart skipped a beat. “Married? To who?”
“Some guy named John. They’ve been dating for a while, apparently.”
I sat down hard, my mind reeling. “Why didn’t she tell me?”
Dad shrugged. “You know your mother. Always living in her own little world.”
A shocked young woman covering her face | Source: Pexels
I bristled at his tone but said nothing. As he left the room, I stared at my half-packed bag, wondering what this would mean for our weekends together.
Fast forward to last weekend. I hadn’t seen Mom in months, busy with college and work. But now, here I was, pulling up to her new house, my stomach churning with nerves.
What if this John guy was just another version of Dad?
A car parked outside a house | Source: Pexels
Mom greeted me at the door, practically glowing. “Iva! Oh, I’ve missed you!” She hugged me tight, smelling of lavender and linseed oil, a scent that instantly brought me back to childhood.
John appeared behind her, a warm smile on his face. “So this is the famous Iva! Your Mom’s told me so much about you.”
We chatted for a while, and I couldn’t help but notice how Mom seemed to stand taller and laugh easier. There was a spark in her eyes I hadn’t seen in years.
A happy senior woman smiling | Source: Pexels
“How’s college going?” Mom asked, pouring me a cup of tea.
“It’s good. Busy, but good,” I replied, watching her closely. “Mom, why didn’t you tell me about John earlier?”
She looked down, a faint blush coloring her cheeks. “Oh, honey. I wanted to, but… I guess I was scared.”
“Scared? Of what?”
“That you wouldn’t approve. That you’d think I was replacing your father.”
A smiling senior woman wearing eyeglasses | Source: Pexels
I reached out and took her hand. “Mom, all I want is for you to be happy.”
She squeezed my hand, her eyes shining. “I am, Iva. I really am.”
“Iva,” John said suddenly, “there’s something I’d like to show you. Follow me.”
Curious, I followed John down a hallway. He stopped at a closed door, his hand on the knob. “Your Mom’s been working on something special,” he said, grinning. “Ready?”
He swung the door open, and as I stepped inside, my jaw dropped.
Grayscale close-up of a man’s hand on a doorknob | Source: Pexels
The room was a gallery. Mom’s gallery.
Her paintings covered every wall, beautifully framed and lit. Easels displayed works in progress, and there were even a few sculptures of porcelain dolls scattered around.
“John converted this room for me,” Mom said softly from behind me. “He calls it my ‘creativity hub’.”
I turned to her, speechless. She looked… radiant.
A young woman looking at paintings displayed on the wall | Source: Pexels
John wrapped an arm around her waist. “I organize shows here sometimes. Invite friends, family, and local art lovers. Florence’s work deserves to be seen.”
Mom blushed. “John even set up a website to sell my paintings. He handles all the business stuff so I can focus on painting and sculpting.”
I felt tears prick my eyes. “Mom, this is… amazing.”
Grayscale of a teary-eyed young woman looking up | Source: Pexels
“Your Mom’s talent is extraordinary,” John said, his voice full of pride. “I just wanted to give her a space where she could really shine.”
I walked around the room, taking in each piece. There were landscapes I recognized from our old neighborhood, portraits of people I’d never met, and abstract pieces that seemed to pulse with emotion.
“Do you remember this one?” Mom asked, pointing to a small canvas in the corner.
Close-up display of paintings and assorted artwork | Source: Pexels
I leaned in, my breath catching. It was a painting of me as a little girl, sitting at our old kitchen table, coloring. The details were perfect — my messy pigtails, the crayon smudges on my cheeks, the look of intense concentration on my face.
“You painted this?” I whispered.
Mom nodded. “It’s one of my favorites. I painted it right after… well, after the divorce. It reminded me of happier times.”
A little girl coloring on a book | Source: Pexels
I hugged her then and there, overcome with emotion. “I’m so proud of you, Mom.”
As we stood there, surrounded by my Mom’s art, memories flooded back. Dad’s angry voice, Mom’s quiet sighs, the tension that had filled our house for so long.
And now, this. A room filled with light and color… and love.
A young woman embracing a senior woman | Source: Pexels
“You know,” John said, his voice gentle, “when I first met your Mom, she was so hesitant to show me her work. Can you believe that?”
Mom laughed softly. “I was scared you’d think it was silly.”
“Silly?” John looked at her like she’d hung the moon. “Flo, your art is what made me fall in love with you. It’s a part of who you are.”
A man smiling | Source: Pexels
I watched them, the way they looked at each other, the easy affection between them. This was what love was supposed to look like.
“I’m so happy for you, Mom,” I whispered, tears welling up in my eyes.
Mom pulled me into a hug, her arms strong and sure. “Oh, sweetie. I’m happy too. Happier than I’ve been in a long, long time.”
Close-up of a happy senior couple holding flowers | Source: Pexels
As we stood there, surrounded by canvases bursting with color and life, I realized something profound. Mom’s art, once stifled and undervalued, was now flourishing, and so was she. And I knew, without a doubt, that she had found her true love.
“So,” John said, clapping his hands together. “Who’s hungry? I was thinking we could grill out on the patio.”
Mom’s eyes lit up. “Oh, that sounds wonderful! Iva, will you stay for dinner?”
A cheerful senior woman smiling | Source: Pexels
I looked at them both, feeling a warmth spread through my chest. “I’d love to,” I said, smiling. “I’d really love to.”
As we walked out of the gallery, I took one last look around. The room was more than just a showcase for Mom’s talent. It was a testament to the power of love… real love… to nurture and uplift.
And as I followed Mom and John to the kitchen, laughing at some joke he’d made, I felt truly at home for the first time in years.
A gallery of paintings | Source: Unsplash
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