A young woman’s impulse to help a grieving little girl ended up turning her life around and bringing her happiness.
How many of us can claim that destiny came knocking on our door? Yet that is what happened to Anna Uriel. In Anna’s case, destiny took the shape of a little girl with big brown eyes, her hair in a braid.
Anna answered the doorbell and found herself staring down at a little girl no more than six years old in a pretty gingham dress. “Hi sweetheart,” she said gently. “I think you have the wrong house.”
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The girl shook her head. “No, this is my mommy’s house. Please can you call her?”
“I’m sorry, hun,” Anna said. “I’m the only person who lives here.”
The child started crying. “Please, please! I need my mommy!”
“Hun, where is you daddy?” asked Anna.
“He’s at home. He says mommy’s gone forever, but I know it isn’t true. She’s here!” the girl sobbed.
Anna crouched down and looked the little girl in the eye. “Sweetie, I promise you your mommy’s not here. How about I give you some warm milk and cookies and I take you home to your daddy?”
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The girl looked up at Anna sadly. “Okay,” she whispered.
Anna turned to lead the girl into the house, but when she looked around again she was gone. Had it all been a dream? Anna walked next door and knocked on Mrs. Freman’s door.
She told Mrs. Freman about the mysterious little girl. “She vanished so quickly I almost felt it had all been a dream!” Anna concluded.
Mrs. Freman poured Anna some tea. “Your house used to belong to a little family. They had a little girl. Nice people. But the mother became very ill and after she passed away her husband sold the house. That must be the child.”
“Poor thing!” Anna sighed. “To lose her mother so young!”
“I can’t remember their name…” Mrs. Freman said. “It’s my memory…But the little girl… Her name was Cassie!”
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“Cassie,” Anna said. “If she comes back, I’ll call the police, take her home. She’s much too young to be wandering the streets alone.” But Cassie didn’t come back and Anna’s life continued as planned.
Anna had always believed in making plans. She’d planned to marry at 25 and to become a mother at 28, but for four years she and her husband had tried to conceive, and still there was no baby.
After a lot of painful treatments, Anna became pregnant, but sadly, she lost her baby when he was only a month old. The doctors told her her chances of having another were slim to none.
Her husband told her quite frankly that being childless was not in his plans, and he didn’t want to adopt. He walked out and left Anna devastated and alone with her shattered dreams.
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So Anna could understand Cassie’s pain, the empty place in her life and in her arms where her baby should be. Anna knew how hard it is to let go. She hoped Cassie would come back, but months went by without a visit.
Then one winter evening, there was a knock on her door. There in the doorway stood Cassie huddled in a winter coat, tears freezing on her little cheeks. “Please, lady, I really need my mommy. Daddy’s on the floor and I can’t wake him up. Please, please call my mommy!”
Anna was horrified. She grabbed her coat and her purse. “Honey, Cassie, right? Can you show me where your daddy is?”
Destiny can bring happiness to our door when we least expect it.
The child smiled radially up at Anna. “I knew you’d remember me, mommy! Come!” and she tugged urgently on Anna’s hand and led her to an apartment building three blocks away.
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Anna found the front door open, and lying in the middle of a squalid room was an unconscious man. She tried to shake him awake. He stank of alcohol! She dragged him off the floor and onto the couch and walked into the kitchen. It was a disgrace.
Anna set a pot of coffee brewing and started to clean up. Cassie followed her. “Mommy, are you going to make cookies? I’ve missed your cookies!”
“Cassie, I’m not your mommy, but I’ll make you some cookies,” Anna told the little girl. Over the next hour, Anna restored some much-needed order to the apartment and popped a tray of cookies into the oven.
Soon the delicious aroma of cookies and coffee filled the house. Anna filled a mug with coffee and went back to the man. She shook him. “Wake up!” she ordered, “Your daughter needs you!”
The man opened swollen eyes and for a moment his face reflected a dawning hope. “Bess?” he whispered.
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“I’m Anna, and your daughter came knocking on my door looking for her mother.” Anna’s voice was harsh. “She needs her father, so sober up and pull yourself together!”
The man struggled up off the couch. “I don’t need you or your help! Get out”
“I’m not here for you, you fool. I’m here for Cassie.” Anna snapped. “And remember, while you were here wallowing in self-pity she was knocking on a stranger’s door.”
Anna kissed Cassie goodbye and walked out. She never imagined she’d see Cassie or her awful dad ever again, but a week later, there was a knock on her door. A tall handsome man was standing there.
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“Hi,” he said nervously. “I wanted to thank you and to apologize…”
“I’m sorry,” Anna said bewildered. “Who are you?”
The man blushed. “I’m Jeffrey, Cassie’s dad. I wanted to thank you for what you did for Cassie — and for me. I was so lost in my grief I didn’t realize what Cassie was going through.”
Anna smiled. “It’s okay, I know how hard it is to pull through those dark days.”
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Jeffrey looked into Anna’s sad eyes. “You lost someone too?”
“My son,” Anna whispered, tears in her eyes. “After he died, my husband left…”
From then on, Anna started visiting Cassie and Jeffrey and the three of them helped each other through their grief. One day, Anna and Jeffrey discovered they were in love — Cassie already knew — and they got married.
Two years later, Anna was blessed by an unexpected miracle. She discovered she was pregnant and she and Jeffrey welcomed a beautiful, healthy baby boy. Cassie became the proudest big sister in the world.
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What can we learn from this story?
- Destiny can bring happiness to our door when we least expect it. Anna was sad and lonely until Cassie knocked on her door looking for her mother.
- Sometimes a wake-up call can turn a life around. Anna’s visit showed Jeffrey he had to stop grieving and focus on his daughter.
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 young widower who refused to allow his dead wife’s family to have contact with her daughter.
My MIL Turned My Bathroom Into a Spa Using All My Stuff So I Planned the Perfect Revenge — Story of the Day
I came home to find my MIL soaking in my tub, using my candlelight, my gel, and my towel. That’s when I knew — she hadn’t moved in. She’d taken over. So I smiled… and got creative.
I liked our life.
I really, really did.
There was something deeply satisfying about the way our apartment smelled like vanilla and order. The way the sun hit the kitchen counter at exactly 4 PM.
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The gentle silence after work — no one talking, no TV blaring, just me and the soothing gurgle of my espresso machine. Our space was calm. Predictable. Mine.
Then husband, Daniel walked into the laundry room with that cautious look husbands get when they know they’re about to ruin your day.
I was pulling socks from the dryer, feeling rather proud of my folding technique, when he cleared his throat.
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“Babe… We need to take in my mom for a few days.”
I paused, holding one of his socks.
“She okay?”
“Yeah, she’s fine. But her building had a pipe burst. Whole apartment’s soaked. Just a week. Maybe less.”
A week.
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I nodded. What else could I do? I wasn’t heartless.
“I’ll survive,” I muttered.
He kissed my cheek.
“You’re the best.”
Turns out, I overestimated myself.
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By day two, our apartment was unrecognizable. And not in a “cute makeover” kind of way.
My framed photos — gone. Just gone. Replaced with my MIL’s Linda sepia-toned portraits of her.
And with her first husband (Daniel’s dad, may he rest in peace). And her friend Carol from the hospital.
And a photo of a Chihuahua I’m 90% sure had been dead since the Clinton administration.
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And the smell. It hit you every time you walked into a room.
I found reed diffusers in the bathroom, little perfume balls on my vanity, and even a small pouch of potpourri in my underwear drawer. My underwear drawer.
Still, I didn’t say anything.
Linda was a guest. Until that night.
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I walked into the bathroom and saw her standing there, rubbing something into her décolletage.
It was MY precious, outrageously expensive, only-on-special-occasions, shipped-from-New-York-like-royalty cream.
“Oh, Emily! This cream! It’s divine. Where did you get it?”
My jaw made a noise but no words followed.
“It’s like silk!” she continued, squeezing out more. “You have such amazing taste.”
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She didn’t ask. She didn’t pause. She just helped herself.
I smiled. Nodded. Said nothing.
This is still tolerable. Barely. As long as she doesn’t cross the line.
***
The following day was brutal. Emails, phone calls, two back-to-back meetings, and a passive-aggressive lunch with my manager.
I just wanted peace at home. A shower. Ten minutes of being alone in my skin. I slipped off my shoes, turned on the kettle, and… froze.
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Singing. High-pitched, cheerful, and distinctly coming from the direction of our bedroom. I followed the sound. The door to our ensuite bathroom was cracked open. A thick curl of steam escaped into the hallway.
The scent hit me instantly — sweet, lush, unmistakably familiar. MY passionfruit bath gel. I pushed the door open, and there she was.
Linda. In MY tub!
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Reclining like she was in a commercial. Surrounded by candles, MY candles. Steam rising dramatically as if the universe was mocking me. She had MY bath brush, MY scrub, and MY purple towel folded nearby like a personal butler had placed it there.
“Emily!” she squealed, completely unbothered. “I thought you were asleep already!”
I just stood there.
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“Linda… this is our private bathroom.”
She waved a hand through the steam like she was shooing a fly.
“Oh, come on. We’re both women. You’re not using it right now, and this tub is perfect. Yours is so much nicer than the guest one.”
She picked up MY rose scrub like we were about to have a spa night together.
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“I didn’t think you’d mind. We girls share everything, right?”
I turned. Walked out.
That evening, I told Daniel — calmly. He slurped his soup and shrugged.
“She probably just needed a moment to herself. You know how she is. Besides, don’t women… do that? Share stuff?”
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I stared at him. Long and hard.
“You think this is normal?”
“It’s not not normal.”
I got up, went to the drawer, and found the old key to our bedroom. I had never used it before — but seemed like the time. Or so I thought.
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Because the following morning, I realized…
Locks mean nothing when the intruder has already decided she owns the place.
***
It was supposed to be my Saturday. My one day. No emails, no meetings, no small talk.
Just me, a yoga mat, lemon water, and my favorite playlist humming soft Tibetan bells. And finally — finally — felt like I could exhale.
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Until I heard it. Loud laughter. Music. Something clinked downstairs. Then footsteps — multiple — in heels.
No. No, no, no. Not today.
I grabbed my hoodie and padded down the stairs, barefoot and still slightly zen. But the moment I turned the corner into the living room, all chakra alignment vanished.
It looked like a senior prom with a dash of bingo night.
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There were at least six people — four older women in glittery tops and way-too-bold lipstick, two silver-haired gentlemen in suspenders sipping wine, and at the center of it all…
Linda! Waltzing.
With a tray of cheese cubes and mini crackers.
And what is she wearing? MY blouse.
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The one I bought three weeks ago to wear to my best friend’s birthday — silky, deep blue, low-cut but elegant.
I hadn’t even taken the tags off until the day before when I gently steamed it and hung it in the hall closet so it wouldn’t wrinkle. I felt my soul briefly leave my body.
“Emily, darling!” Linda beamed, spinning with a giggle. “We started without you! Come, meet everyone!”
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I stood frozen. Hair a mess, and barefoot, in my yoga top. One of the older gentlemen approached me with a charming bow.
“Care for a dance, my lady?”
Before I could respond, he took my hand and spun me once, twice, and I awkwardly stumbled right into a sequin-covered bosom.
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The woman he came with gave me a look that could curdle milk.
“Linda, honey… And who is this? What’s she doing in your house?”
My house?
I pulled away gently and marched Linda into the kitchen, still gripping the lemon water bottle like a weapon.
“What is this?” I hissed.
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“A party! Just a little something to lift the spirits. You weren’t using the living room anyway!”
“In my blouse? In my house?”
She gave me a look — sweet, almost maternal.
“I told them it was my home. Just to… you know, avoid questions. They wouldn’t have come if I’d said I was staying with my son and his wife. I just wanted to feel like a hostess again.”
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“And the blouse?”
“It was just hanging there. I thought, why not?”
“Everyone out. Now.”
She tilted her head.
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“Oh Emily, don’t be dramatic. What will Daniel say? Kicking his poor mother out after she’s had such a rough time?”
Her voice turned syrupy.
“He’ll be so disappointed.”
I stared at her. And smiled.
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“Fine. They can stay.”
“Really?”
“Absolutely,” I said, almost amused. “Make yourselves at home.”
Her face lit up with confusion and something that looked a lot like triumph.
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But inside me, something very different lit up.
Because if Linda thought she knew how to be petty… She hadn’t seen me take the tour group of silver-haired gentlemen through Daniel’s office yet.
Let’s just say…
Some people explore museums. I let them explore our home.
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With subtle suggestions and open doors.
And Linda?
She was about to find out what it felt like when someone touched what was mine.
***
The following morning began with a familiar, delicious tension in the air. Like the final act of a play where only I had read the script. Daniel’s voice cracked through the quiet,
“Emily! Why is my cologne bottle empty?!”
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I gently stirred my coffee, not even turning around.
“The brown one?” I asked sweetly.
He appeared in the kitchen doorway, holding the bottle as it had personally betrayed him.
“This was nearly full! Now it’s bone dry. What happened?”
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I squinted thoughtfully.
“Oh. That might’ve been Thomas?”
“Thomas?”
“One of your mother’s gentlemen friends. He said the scent reminded him of his wilder days in Paris. He may have… gone a little overboard.”
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Daniel just stood there, blinking.
“He used my cologne?”
“He seemed really enthusiastic.”
Daniel turned without another word and stormed to the bedroom. I took a sip of coffee. Calm. Serene. Focused.
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Thirty seconds later, his shout echoed through the hall.
“My ties collection! One of my tie pins is bent! Who’s been in my tie drawer?!”
“Oh no,” I said, very gently. “Maybe the gentlemen got curious. You know, your collection impressed them.”
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He looked at me like I had just told him I microwaved his record player.
And then, right on cue, Linda swept into the kitchen in a satin robe, holding a grapefruit half and smiling.
“Morning, sweeties! Isn’t the air just delicious today?”
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Daniel rounded on her.
“Mom. Did your guests go through my stuff?”
“Oh, sweetheart, of course not. They’re perfectly respectful!”
“I’m going to work. I’ll deal with this tonight.”
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“Oh, I’ll walk you to the door,” I said sweetly. “You seem a bit… rattled.”
As he slipped on his coat, he turned to me slowly.
“You didn’t take the car out yesterday, right?”
I widened my eyes.
“Me? No. I thought about getting it washed, but I was too tired. I left the keys on the hallway shelf.”
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Pause.
“Oh no. Oh no. They were admiring the car yesterday. Your mother’s friends…”
Daniel walked out in silence. Two seconds later, I heard a sharp yell from the driveway. I didn’t even flinch.
“What happened, honey?” I called sweetly from the doorway.
“Did you… did you drive it?”
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“No, darling! Like I told you. Keys were on the shelf. I was upstairs. Doing yoga.”
Daniel looked past me, jaw tight. Then he turned to Linda.
“Mom?”
She looked cornered for the first time in days.
“Well… they were admiring the vehicle and… your wife let us…”
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“Emily?” Daniel cut in.
I met his eyes.
“I never left the attic floor, love. Downward Dog was very demanding.”
Silence. Daniel shook his head and rushed out.
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***
By noon, my husband was folding Linda’s cardigans like he was preparing an offering to a volcano god. He drove her to her apartment, and tipped the contractors extra to “wrap it up the next few days.”
Meanwhile, I had a small talk with Linda.
“Oh, Linda,” I called sweetly. “By the way… while you and the girls were sunbathing by the pool yesterday, I gave the gentlemen a proper tour of the house. You inspired me — it felt good to let others experience things that aren’t technically theirs.”
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She opened her mouth, but nothing came out.
When Daniel returned, he dropped onto the couch and stared blankly into space, like a man who had just survived both a war and a bake sale led by his enemies.
I let him rest. Only once he was upstairs, did I allow myself a smirk.
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I could still see them in my head — those silver-haired explorers. Touching the marble paperweight on Daniel’s desk. Opening drawers they thought were just decorative. One of them even asked, “Is this vintage Armani?” while holding up a tie like it was on auction.
I said nothing. Just smiled.
Linda was lounging in her robe by the pool, sipping wine and boasting about her imaginary art collection. And me? I was planting breadcrumbs all over the house. Letting her friends wander. Letting them wonder.
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Of course, it wasn’t Thomas who used the cologne.
I sprayed half the bottle myself and left it uncapped.
No one scratched the car — well, not no one. I may have gently, artistically brushed it against the mailbox.
And the bent tie pin? Gloves on. Very respectful.
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That night, I ran the perfect bath with my passionfruit gel, lit my vanilla candle, and dropped my robe onto the warm floor tiles like a queen shedding armor.
The house was silent.
And somewhere in the distance, I imagined Linda staring at her beige apartment walls, wondering what exactly had just happened.
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Because when a woman touches your cream, your tub — it’s not about the things. It’s about the line she crossed.
And darling, once she crosses it — you don’t lecture. You don’t scream. You win.
And finally, with every breath of peace, I could hear the house itself whisper back to me.
Welcome home.
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