He saw a girl begging on the sidewalk and somehow couldn’t get her face out of his mind. He had to know her story.
Wealthy businessman Roger Landers was often annoyed by the sight of the homeless begging on the street outside his office building. There seemed to be more and more of them each year, he reflected.
As he passed a young woman huddled against a wall, a kindly soul dropped a coin in her cup. The woman looked up and smiled at her benefactor and that smile pierced Roger to the heart. In one second, that huddled anonymous annoyance became a lovely radiant woman.
For illustration purposes only. | Source: Unsplash
Roger walked into the building and that moment when the girl’s face was transformed by her smile replayed over and over in his mind. He found himself wondering who she was, what had driven her to live in the pitiless streets of L.A.?
For the rest of the week, Roger found himself almost obsessed by the young homeless woman. He watched her surreptitiously, and once when he dropped a coin in her cup, watched that miraculous transformation at close quarters.
Love can sometimes lurk in the most unexpected places.
He found himself thinking about her, inventing stories about her, little fantasies in which he discovered she was really a reporter writing about homelessness at close hand, or a deeply committed actress preparing for a role…
Finally, on Friday afternoon, after he wrapped his work for the day and dismissed his employees, Roger did what he’d been longing to do all week. He walked up to the girl sitting on the sidewalk and talked to her.
For illustration purposes only. | Source: Unsplash
“Hi,” he said awkwardly. “Would it be okay if I bought you a cup of coffee? You look really cold.” The girl lifted up her face and smiled at him.
“Thank you,” she said sweetly. “I’d like that.” Roger was struck by her low educated voice and her grace as she got to her feet. She was tiny, he realized, a petite 5′ 3″ next to his towering 6′ 2″.
He walked her to a nearby coffee shop and ordered her hot food to go with her coffee. Once again Roger was surprised by her delicate gestures, her manners. This was an educated girl. How had she ended up on the streets?
When Roger saw color flood back into the girl’s face after she finished her hot soup, her grilled sandwich, and her coffee, he asked her exactly that. “How did this happen to you? Living on the streets?”
The girl looked him straight in the eye. A wry smile twisted her lips. “I was stupid, and trusting,” she said. “It’s not an original story. I was in love with this boy in my hometown — Idaho — if you can believe it.
For illustration purposes only. | Source: Unsplash
“My parents disapproved of him, which only made him even more romantic and attractive to me… To cut a long story short, he convinced me to withdraw my college funds and run away with him to L.A. He was going to be a movie star, and I’d be a screenwriter…”
Roger shook his head sadly. “A lot of people come out here every year, less than a handful make it!” he commented.
“Well, I’ll never know.” A tinge of bitterness colored the girl’s voice. “The first night in L.A., we booked into a motel. When I woke up in the morning Kevin was gone, so was my money and everything I had.”
Roger gasped. “Did you go to the police? Call your family?” The girl was shaking her head, tears in her eyes.
“I was too ashamed. I made a deal with the motel manager. She let me sleep in the storeroom and I cleaned the rooms. Some of the guests gave me tips, and I managed to eat. But then her husband started trying…” The girl shook her head. “You know how it is. I left the motel and ended up here, on the streets.”
For illustration purposes only. | Source: Pixabay
“What’s your name?” Roger asked gently.
“Emma,” the girl said with one of those radiant smiles. “Emma Sinclair from Preston, Idaho!”
“Well, Emma Sinclair from Preston, Idaho,” Roger smiled back. “I’m Roger Landers from Los Angeles, California, and I’m sending you home.”
Roger took Emma into a nearby mall and he bought her several outfits and a suitcase. He waited at the food court while she changed and came out of the restroom transformed.
He drove her to the bus station and bought her a bus ticket home. He tucked a $100 bill in her hand. “Listen,” he said. “Don’t let any more charming rascals talk you into coming to L.A., OK?”
For illustration purposes only. | Source: Unsplash
Emma was crying and smiling through her tears. She reached up and gave Roger a hug. “Thank you, thank you, and God bless you!”
Roger watched her board the bus with a sinking feeling in his heart. Why did he feel that this was a mistake? He wanted to run after that bus, beg Emma to stay… What was happening to him?
That night, Roger realized that the petite waif with the glowing smile had stolen his heart. “If I let her go, I’ll regret it for the rest of my life!” he told himself. “She’s special, and I love her.”
Two days later, Roger was driving into Preston, Idaho. He stopped at the police station and asked where he could find Emma Sinclair. “Emma?” asked one of the deputies suspiciously. “What do you want with Emma?”
For illustration purposes only. | Source: Unsplash
Roger blushed. “Well, you see, I met her in LA, and I wanted to see if she was alright…”
The deputy looked him up and down. “You can find Emma at her mom’s laundromat, two doors down. I’m coming with you. I don’t want any more trouble for Emma!”
Roger’s heart was beating fast as he walked into the laundromat and saw Emma. She looked up and her face lit up. At that moment, Roger knew she had been feeling the same way: they belonged together!
So just three weeks after she returned home, Emma headed back to LA once again, but this time she was with a man who loved and cherished her. By the end of the year, Roger and Emma were married, and she became involved in a program to help runaways find their way home.
For illustration purposes only. | Source: Unsplash
What can we learn from this story?
- Helping others can be a transformative experience. Roger helped Emma, and in the process, he found his own way to life-long happiness.
- Love can sometimes lurk in the most unexpected places. Roger found love with a homeless waif when everyone expected him to marry a socialite.
My Husband Called Me Lazy for Buying a Robot Vacuum While on Maternity Leave—So I Made Him Regret His Every Word
While on maternity leave, I juggle diapers, dishes, and exhaustion — only for my husband, Trey, to scoff at the mess and call me lazy for buying a robot vacuum. He thinks I do nothing all day. He has no idea what I have in store for him.
The baby monitor crackles to life at 3:28 a.m., a sound that has become more reliable than any alarm clock I’ve ever owned.
A baby monitor on a nightstand | Source: DALL-E
Darkness still clings to the edges of the room, but my world has long since stopped operating on normal schedules.
Averaging more than four hours of sleep at a time is a distant memory, a luxury I can barely recall.
I lift Sean from his crib, his tiny fingers already reaching for me with an urgency that both breaks and fills my heart. His soft whimpers quickly escalate into full-blown hunger cries.
A crying baby | Source: Pexels
The nursing chair has become my command center, my battlefield, my moment of both connection and exhaustion.
Before Sean, I was a marketing executive who could juggle client presentations, strategic planning, and home management with surgical precision.
Now, my world has shrunk to this house, this routine of diapers, feedings, and an ongoing war to maintain myself and my home. The contrast is jarring.
A woman sitting in a chair holding a baby | Source: Midjourney
These days, I measure success by how long the baby naps and whether I remember to eat lunch.
Trey, my husband, doesn’t understand. How could he? He leaves every morning, dressed in crisp shirts that haven’t been stretched or stained, hair perfectly styled, briefcase in hand.
He enters a world of adult conversations, of problems that can be solved with a meeting, a spreadsheet, or a strategic email.
A tired woman | Source: Midjourney
By the time Trey gets home, the house looks like a disaster that would make Marie Kondo shiver.
Dishes tower in the sink, and laundry spills onto the floor. The crumbs and spills I haven’t wiped up on the kitchen counter form a map of some unknown land. The dust bunnies in the living room are on the verge of forming their own civilization.
The chaos is breathtaking — and completely avoidable, if only a certain someone else ever lifted a finger.
Dirty dishes in a kitchen sink | Source: Pexels
Trey’s reaction is predictable.
“Wow,” he says, dropping his briefcase with a heavy sigh. “It looks like a tornado hit.”
The words slice through me.
I’m folding tiny onesies and booties that seem to multiply faster than rabbits, my back aching, and my hair (which hasn’t seen a proper brush in days) tucked behind my ears.
Folded baby clothes | Source: Pexels
“I’ve been a bit busy,” I say, holding back tears.
I may be done with baby hormones, but I never fully realized why sleep deprivation is considered torture until Sean came along.
I foolishly ignored the advice to nap when the baby naps for the first month after Sean was born, so I could keep up with the mess. Because if I didn’t do it, who would?
A woman glancing over her shoulder | Source: Midjourney
So instead of resting, I scrubbed poop stains out of changing mats, folded onesies, wiped down counters, and tried to keep some sense of order.
And now? My body feels like it’s running on fumes, my eyelids burn, and some days, I swear I can hear smells.
Trey kicks off his shoes, changes his clothes, and flops onto the couch, transforming effortlessly from a professional to a man claiming his kingdom.
A man relaxing on a sofa | Source: Midjourney
“You could help, you know,” I say. “Maybe tackle the dishes, do a load of laundry…”
Trey looks at me like I’m mad.
“Why? You don’t work like I do. What else do you do all day besides housework? Don’t ask me for help — I’M tired.”
A man staring at someone | Source: Midjourney
“Trey, I’m caring for our son, and it’s very demanding. Even work wasn’t this stressful.”
He pulls a face like I just told him the sky is green. “Caring for our son, who basically just eats and sleeps, is stressful?”
“It’s not that simple. Sometimes I have to walk laps around the house just to get him to stop crying—”
“Right, but you’re still home,” he says, frowning.
A frowning man | Source: Midjourney
“You could throw in a load of laundry while you’re at it,” he adds.
My stomach clenches. “I do laundry, Trey. But then Sean wakes up and needs me, or he spits up on me, or I realize I haven’t eaten, and suddenly, it’s 3 p.m. and I haven’t even sat down—”
“Okay, but if you planned your time better…” He trailed off, nodding at the dishes in the sink. “You could clean up as you go instead of letting everything pile up.”
An earnest man | Source: Midjourney
My grip tightens around the onesie in my hand. He still doesn’t get it. He doesn’t even want to get it.
“You should be grateful, you know. You’re practically on vacation. I wish I could just hang out at home in my pajamas all day,” he mutters, scrolling through his phone.
Something inside me begins to boil. Not a sudden eruption, but a slow, steady heat that’s been building for months.
A woman staring at someone | Source: Midjourney
Before Sean, our division of labor was manageable. Not equal, but workable. Trey would occasionally do a load of laundry, cook when he felt like it, and handle the dishes sometimes.
I managed most of the housework, but it still felt collaborative. Now, I’m invisible. A ghost in my own home, existing solely to serve.
When my parents give me birthday money, I make a strategic decision.
A thoughtful woman | Source: Midjourney
I bought a robot vacuum. I was so relieved to have something to help me, even if all it did was prevent me from drowning in crushed Cheerios and pet hair, that I cried when I opened it. I even considered naming it.
Trey’s reaction was explosive.
“A robot vacuum? Really?” he snaps. His face contorts with a mixture of disbelief and anger. “That’s so lazy, and wasteful. We’re supposed to be saving for vacation with my family, not buying toys for moms who don’t want to clean.”
A woman staring in shock | Source: Midjourney
I feel like I’ve been slapped. Don’t want to clean? I’m drowning in cleaning. Cleaning and motherhood are my entire existence.
I stare at him as he rants on about the vacuum, and how foolish I was to buy something like that with a no-returns policy.
But I don’t argue or defend myself, because why bother? He’s already proven he won’t listen.
A woman with emotive eyes | Source: Midjourney
I don’t even feel the urge to cry. Instead, I smile.
Something inside me cracks at that moment. Exhaustion has worn me down to my last nub of sanity, and I decide then that my husband needs to learn a lesson.
The next morning, Trey’s phone vanishes.
When he asks about it, I offer sweet, calculated innocence.
A woman in a home nursery | Source: Midjourney
“People used to send letters,” I say. “Let’s stop being wasteful with all these electronics.”
Three days of mounting frustration follow. He searches everywhere, becoming increasingly agitated.
By the end of day three, he’s snapping at shadows, muttering about responsibility and communication.
Just as he adjusts to a phoneless life, his car keys disappear.
Car keys on a table | Source: Pexels
He has work. Panic sets in, so he borrows my phone and orders an Uber. I cancel it.
“People used to walk five miles to work,” I remind him, my voice dripping with the same condescension he’s used on me for months. “You should embrace a simpler lifestyle.”
“But I’m going to be late—!” he stammers. “This isn’t funny!”
“Don’t be so lazy, Trey,” I echo, throwing his own words back at him like weapons.
A woman looking calmly at someone | Source: Midjourney
He storms out, fuming, and walks the mile and a half to his office.
I can’t help but feel a small, vindictive satisfaction, but I’m far from done. He thinks I do nothing all day? Fine. Let him see what it looks like when I really do nothing all day.
From that day, all I did was take care of Sean. By the end of the week, the house is a war zone of domestic chaos.
A huge pile of laundry | Source: Pexels
“Babe… what happened to the laundry? I have no clean shirts, and why is the fridge empty?” he asks, eyes wide with disbelief.
I look up from feeding Sean, serene and unbothered. “Oh, it’s because I’m just so lazy and don’t want to clean, do nothing all day, can’t plan my time… did I miss anything?”
He’s smart enough not to answer.
A man staring at someone from a hallway | Source: Midjourney
The next day, Trey comes home with wilted gas station roses, looking like someone who has been through battle, which, in a way, he has.
“You were right,” he mutters. “I’m sorry. I didn’t realize how hard you’ve been working.”
“No, you really don’t.” I hand him a detailed two-page schedule documenting everything I do in a single day. From 5:00 a.m. baby feeds to potential midnight wake-ups, every minute is accounted for.
A woman holding a paper page | Source: Midjourney
He reads in silence, his face a canvas of growing understanding and horror.
“I’m exhausted just reading this,” he whispers.
“Welcome to my life,” I respond.
Luckily, things are starting to improve after that, but we soon realize understanding isn’t enough.
An emotional man in a doorway | Source: Midjourney
We start therapy, and Trey begins to truly participate, learning what it means to be an equal partner.
And the robot vacuum? It stays. A small, mechanical trophy of my silent rebellion.
Motherhood isn’t a vacation. It’s a full-time job with overtime, no sick days, and the most demanding boss imaginable: a tiny human who depends on you for absolutely everything.
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