When Daniel saw his older neighbor fighting with her son over her plants, he offered to help and volunteered to water her garden for her. Sometime later, he found a note buried in the soil that changed everything in the most surprising way.
“I can’t believe you would ask that of me! I can’t come here every day to water your plants! If you gave me the house, I would do it!” Daniel heard someone shouting and stopped his bike in front of a pretty little house with a lovely garden. He knew that an older woman, Mrs. Carrino, lived there, but he had never talked to her, and he had no idea who was yelling.
Suddenly, Daniel saw a man exiting the house, still yelling, and the older woman was following him behind. “Arnold, I asked you to come and help me, and all you’ve talked about is getting this house! Are you crazy? Do you want me to die so you can have my house?”
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Daniel’s eyebrows went up, and he thought he should leave, but he was rooted in place.
Suddenly, the sound of metal crashing against each other made him flinch. “What the –”
“You’re being a drama queen, mother. This house will go to me anyway. I can’t believe you’re giving me this attitude when I came to help you move!”
“Leave now if that’s how you’re going to act!” Mrs. Carrino stated, which made Arnold stomp to his car and drive off in a huff. They were so engrossed in their fight that they didn’t even notice Daniel standing there with his bike.
Finally, the older woman saw him. “Oh, boy. What are you doing here? Do I know you?” she asked.
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“I live two houses down the street. I’m Daniel, Caroline’s son,” he stated, pointing back to his house. “I’m sorry, but I was biking around and heard the yelling. I got worried. Are you alright, Mrs. Carrino?”
“Oh, I recognize you now, and it’s so nice that you know my name. Don’t worry about that. It was just my son being a brat,” she explained.
“Why?”
“Well… I’m moving to a nursing home, and I asked him to come and help me. But he only came here to ask if I could give him the house. He said he was going to move in here. But I know he’s just going to sell it because he doesn’t value investment like I do. I worked hard to earn this place, and as long as I’m alive, I’m not selling it,” Mrs. Carrino revealed. “But then he made a scene after I asked him to water my plants. And I believe you saw the rest of the fight.”
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“I can do that,” Daniel said, shrugging his shoulders.
“Do what?”
“Water your plants.”
“I can’t pay you, dear,” Mrs. Carrino said, her eyes apologetic.
“I know. But I live so close. It’s not a problem,” Daniel insisted, and the older woman smiled brightly at him.
A few days later, Mrs. Carrino moved to a nearby nursing home in Florida, and Daniel kept his promise. He visited her home almost every day to water her plants and was happy to do so. Soon enough, he started to love gardening and would visit Mrs. Carrino to ask about adding some new plants.
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“Of course! And make sure to watch out for the soil,” she said, winking at him, although Daniel had no idea why she was acting cheeky.
Daniel began buying and adding new plants to the garden, thinking it would be great to start a gardening company in the future so his family wouldn’t have to struggle so much. His mother worked two jobs on the weekdays and one on weekends to keep him and his siblings fed and to pay rent. But it was not enough.
He only had a bike because he had found an old one and had taken side gigs to repair it. But gardening gave him an escape from all those money worries, and he felt terrific after planting something new and seeing how it started to grow. He never expected what he would find in the garden one day.
He had gotten some azaleas, which he read thrived in the Florida weather, and had started digging with a tiny shovel on a specific spot of the grass. Suddenly, the sound of metal crashing against each other made him flinch. “What the –”
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Dropping the shovel, he used his hands to unearth a mason jar with a metal top and found a note inside.
“Dear Daniel! Thank you for your help, this house is now yours! Go inside and find all the paperwork. You and your family can move in whenever you want!”
Daniel couldn’t believe his eyes, but he rushed inside, using the key Mrs. Carrino left him. On the kitchen counter, he saw the title to the house. Although he couldn’t understand what most of it said, he saw his name at the bottom.
Still in shock, he called Mrs. Carrino, who confirmed everything. “You’re going to need to sign it to complete the transfer. But I wanted you to find the note first!” Mrs. Carrino said.
His mother couldn’t believe it. They could move into the house and stop paying rent. There was no mortgage either, which would help his family immensely. They were so grateful for the older woman’s gift that his mother and other siblings started visiting her often, thinking of her as a grandmother.
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But during their move, Daniel discovered something even more curious. In Mrs. Carrino’s old room, there was another note. It was the same as the one he had found, but instead, it said “Arnold.” The older woman was actually planning to give her son the house if he helped her with her plants. But she changed her mind, and Daniel received a huge present just for being kind.
It was a lesson he would never forget.
What can we learn from this story?
- Aspire to be someone like Daniel, not Arnold. Arnold pretended to want to help his mother, but he only wanted her house. Meanwhile, Daniel did it out of the goodness of his heart.
- You should never feel entitled to an inheritance. While most parents like giving their children the results of their hard work, children should never feel entitled to it. Arnold assumed he was getting his mother’s house but he was wrong.
Share this story with your friends. It might brighten their day and inspire them.
If you enjoyed this story, you might like this one about a boy who helped an older woman carry her groceries and received money later.
This piece is inspired by stories from the everyday lives of our readers 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 12-YEAR-OLD SON DEMANDED WE RETURN THE 2-YEAR-OLD GIRL WE ADOPTED — ONE MORNING, I WOKE UP AND HER CRIB WAS EMPTY
The morning sun streamed through the window, casting long, dancing shadows across the floor. I stretched, a contented sigh escaping my lips. Then, I froze.
Lily’s crib, nestled beside my bed, was empty.
Panic clawed at my throat. I bolted upright, my heart hammering against my ribs. “John!” I yelled, my voice hoarse.
John rushed into the room, his face pale. “What’s wrong? Where’s Lily?”
“She’s gone!” I cried, my voice cracking. “Her crib is empty!”
John’s eyes widened. “Oh God, you don’t think…”
The thought that had been lurking in the shadows of my mind, a fear I had desperately tried to ignore, now solidified into a chilling reality. My son, driven by anger and resentment, had taken Lily.
The ensuing hours were a blur of frantic phone calls to the police, frantic searches of the house, and a growing sense of dread. Every ticking second felt like an eternity. John, his face etched with guilt and fear, was inconsolable.
“I should have been firmer with him,” he kept repeating, “I should have never let him stay home alone.”
But I knew it wasn’t his fault. It was mine. I had allowed my son’s anger to fester, I had underestimated the depth of his resentment. Now, I was paying the price.
The police arrived, their faces grim as they surveyed the scene. They questioned us, searched the house, and offered little comfort. “We’ll find her,” the lead detective assured us, his voice firm, but his eyes held a grim uncertainty.
As the hours turned into days, the initial wave of panic gave way to a chilling despair. I imagined Lily, frightened and alone, wandering the streets, lost and vulnerable. I pictured her small face, her big brown eyes filled with tears, her tiny hand reaching out for comfort that no one could offer.
The search continued, but hope dwindled with each passing day. Volunteers scoured the neighborhood, posters with Lily’s picture plastered on every lamppost. The news channels picked up the story, her face plastered across television screens, a plea for information.
But there was no trace of her.
The guilt gnawed at me relentlessly. I replayed every interaction with my son, every harsh word, every dismissive glance. I had focused on the joy of adopting Lily, on the love I felt for this small, vulnerable child. But I had neglected my son, his feelings, his needs. I had failed him, and now, because of my neglect, Lily was missing.
One evening, while sitting on the porch, staring at the fading light, I heard a faint sound. A soft whimper, barely audible above the rustling leaves. I followed the sound, my heart pounding, my breath catching in my throat.
Hidden behind a large oak tree, I found them. My son, huddled beneath a blanket, was holding Lily close, his face buried in her hair. Lily, her eyes wide with fear, was clinging to him, her small hand clutching his shirt.
Relief washed over me, so intense it almost brought me to my knees. I rushed towards them, tears streaming down my face. “Lily!” I cried, scooping her up into my arms.
My son, his face pale and drawn, looked up at me, his eyes filled with a mixture of shame and relief. “I… I couldn’t let her go,” he mumbled, his voice barely audible. “I know I was mean, but… but I love her too, Mom.”
As I held Lily close, her tiny body trembling against mine, I realized that the past few days had been a painful but ultimately necessary lesson. It had taught me the importance of communication, of empathy, of acknowledging the feelings of those I loved.
That night, as I rocked Lily to sleep, my son curled up beside me, his head resting on my shoulder. We had lost precious time, but we had also found something unexpected – a deeper, more profound connection. We had faced our fears, confronted our mistakes, and emerged stronger, more united than ever before.
The road to healing would be long, but we would face it together, as a family. And in the quiet moments, I would cherish the sound of Lily’s laughter, a sweet melody that filled our home with a joy I had almost lost forever.
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