This Halloween was the first one Kate’s daughter would celebrate without her father. Kate was still struggling to cope with her husband’s disappearance. But seeing her daughter smile brought her joy and helped her forget her sadness. However, her heart raced when she spotted a little girl wearing the same dress Carl used to make.
As Halloween approached, the autumn air was crisp and refreshing. Leaves crunched beneath feet outside, and the neighborhood was slowly changing into a festive and spooky place.
Outside her warm home, Kate worked hard on decorations, wanting everything to be just right for her daughter, Holly.
The lawn was already a mix of decorations — plastic bats, fake cobwebs, and glowing pumpkins.
Kate stood on a stool, carefully hanging up the bats while Holly followed her, bringing her own decorations.
Holly’s excitement made Kate smile, but the little girl had her own ideas about Halloween. Holly didn’t really understand what “spooky” meant.
Instead of creepy decorations, she carried her favorite pink dolls and a soft teddy bear, arranging them neatly on the front porch next to the jack-o’-lanterns.
Kate watched with amusement as Holly lined up her toys. She admired her daughter’s creativity but knew it was time to explain once again what Halloween was all about.
“Sweetheart,” Kate began softly, “Halloween is supposed to be spooky, not cute.”
She smiled gently, realizing she had said this many times, but Holly was only five — she had her own ideas.
Holly looked up at her mother with big, curious eyes.
“But why, Mommy? Why does it have to be spooky?” she asked, clutching her beloved teddy bear.
Kate chuckled softly as she stepped down from the stool.
“Well, that’s just how Halloween works,” she explained patiently.
“It’s a time when people dress up in costumes and pretend to be scary, just for fun. But it’s okay if we make it a little cute too.”
Holly still seemed unsure, her brows furrowed in thought. But after a moment, she nodded and shrugged.
“Okay, Mommy.” Then her face lit up. “Can I wear the costume Daddy made me last year?” she asked, her eyes sparkling with excitement.
Kate’s heart tightened at the mention of Carl, her husband who had vanished six months ago.
It felt like a punch to the stomach, wiping the smile from her face.
For a moment, she froze, her hands shaking slightly as she reached for a bat decoration.
“No, sweetheart,” Kate said softly, her voice catching in her throat.
“I’ll make you a new costume this year.”
“But I liked Daddy’s costume,” Holly protested, her voice filled with disappointment.
“Do you think he’ll come back for Halloween?” she added innocently.
The question hung heavily in the air. Kate’s heart ached, but she forced a smile, kneeling to Holly’s level and brushing a strand of hair from her face.
“I don’t think he’ll be back, darling,” Kate said gently but sadly.
The pain of not knowing what had happened to Carl never left her, but she had to be strong for Holly.
Later that evening, the excitement in the air was almost tangible.
Kate knelt before Holly, making sure her daughter’s new costume was perfect.
Holly could hardly stand still, her small feet bouncing with anticipation, her candy bucket gripped tightly in one hand.
“Hold still for just one more second, sweetie,” Kate said with a smile, adjusting the hood of Holly’s cape to make sure it fit just right.
“Do you have everything? Your bucket, your flashlight, your cape — is everything ready?”
“Yes, Mom!” Holly replied, her voice bubbling with excitement. She tugged on her mother’s sleeve impatiently.
“Can I please go now? My friends are waiting!”
Kate couldn’t help but laugh at Holly’s eagerness. The pure joy on her daughter’s face was contagious, and for a moment, all the worry and sadness Kate felt about Carl’s disappearance melted away.
“Alright, go on,” she said, pulling Holly in for a quick hug before letting her go. “Be safe and have fun.”
Holly flashed a wide, bright smile, her eyes shining with excitement, before running off to join her friends.
A small group of kids, all in colorful costumes, was waiting at the end of the street, their laughter echoing in the night.
Kate watched Holly as she disappeared into the crowd, feeling joy at seeing her daughter so happy.
With a contented sigh, Kate turned back toward the house and began preparing a big bowl of candy for the trick-or-treaters who would soon come.
Before long, the doorbell rang, and the familiar chorus of “Trick or treat!” filled the air.
Kate greeted each group of kids with a warm smile, dropping candy into their eager buckets and laughing at their colorful costumes.
But then, a little girl appeared on the doorstep, and Kate’s smile froze.
The girl wore a cute little coat with a bouncy cape, and for a moment, Kate’s breath caught in her throat.
The costume looked so familiar — too familiar. It was just like the ones Carl used to make. The same fabric, the same details, and the same bouncy cape.
Kate’s mind raced back to when Carl would sit at the sewing machine, working on costumes for Holly and explaining how to make the cape float just right.
“That’s a beautiful costume you have, sweetheart,” Kate said, her voice trembling as she tried to keep her emotions in check.
“Where did you get it?”
The little girl smiled up at her.
“My father made it! Do you like it?”
Kate’s heart raced. “Yes,” she replied, her voice barely above a whisper.
“It’s beautiful… and the cape is bouncy, isn’t it?”
The girl nodded eagerly.
“My father says it’s better this way.”
Kate was stunned. Could it be? No, it couldn’t. Carl had been missing for so long.
This had to be a coincidence… right? But no matter how much she tried to convince herself, something deep inside wouldn’t let it go.
Unable to stop herself, Kate leaned down and gently asked the little girl,
“Would you mind showing me where your house is? I’d love to ask your father how he made that costume. Maybe he can help me make one for Holly.”
The girl smiled, her innocence shining through.
“Sure! I live just a few streets away,” she said, pointing in the direction of her home.
Kate’s heart raced as soon as she closed the door behind the girl. She couldn’t shake the feeling that there was something more to this.
Could it really be Carl? After all these months, was he just a few streets away? Her mind spun with a mix of hope and fear.
Without hesitating, she grabbed her coat and followed the girl’s directions.
What if it really was Carl? What would she say? What would he say? As much as she wanted answers, she feared what she might find. Still, she couldn’t turn back now. She had to know.
As Kate approached the house the little girl had described, she felt her breath catch in her throat.
There, standing in the doorway and handing out candy to trick-or-treaters, was Carl. Her Carl.
The man she had loved, the man she had grieved for. He was alive. He was right there in front of her.
Carl spotted her almost immediately, and his face changed. There was no doubt — he recognized her.
His eyes widened in shock, and for a moment, they both stood frozen, staring at each other.
Kate’s heart raced as she took a few hesitant steps toward him. The only word she could manage was, “Hi.”
Carl swallowed hard, his voice barely a whisper.
“Hi,” he replied, just as quietly.
For a moment, they stood there in silence, the air between them thick with unspoken words and emotions.
Kate felt a flood of questions rise inside her, but none came out.
Her voice trembled when she finally spoke again.
“How have you been?”
Carl sighed deeply, running a hand through his hair as if searching for the right words.
“I’m sorry, Kate. I didn’t want to disappear like that. I just… I didn’t know how to tell you the truth.”
Kate’s heart raced.
“The truth?” she repeated, her voice shaking. “What truth?”
Carl looked away, guilt on his face. “I met someone else,” he admitted quietly.
“Her name is Rachel, and… I fell in love with her. That little girl calls me her father now. They’re my family.”
The words hit Kate like a ton of bricks. Her heart shattered. She could barely breathe as the reality of his words sank in.
“And what about me? What about Holly? We’re your family too,” she said, her voice struggling to hold back the hurt.
“I know,” Carl said softly, his eyes full of regret. “But I couldn’t live in two worlds anymore. I had to choose.”
Kate stood in silence, her heart aching with every breath. “And you chose them,” she whispered, her voice barely audible.
“I’m sorry,” Carl said, his voice thick with regret. He looked down, avoiding her gaze. “Is there anything I can do to make it right?”
Kate swallowed hard, forcing herself to stay composed. “Just be happy,” she said, her voice breaking slightly. “That’s all you can do. We’ll try to be happy too.”
Before Carl could respond, a woman appeared in the doorway behind him. “Who is this, Carl? What’s going on?” she asked sharply.
“Rachel, please,” Carl began, turning toward her. But Kate had already made up her mind. She didn’t need to hear more.
Without a word, she turned and walked away, her heart heavy but resolved. The Carl she had known was gone. It was time to let go and move on.
As she approached her house, she saw Holly running toward her, her candy bucket nearly full.
Holly’s smile was bright and full of joy, lighting up the evening. Kate knelt down, wrapping her arms tightly around her daughter.
In that moment, she realized that all she needed was right here, with Holly. It was time to start living again, just the two of them.
During my grandfather’s funeral, a stranger gave me a note — I couldn’t help but laugh after reading it because Grandpa had played a trick on us
At Grandpa’s funeral, 18-year-old Dahlia feels isolated as her family fumes over the pitiful $1 inheritance. But when a stranger slips her a secret note, Dahlia is pulled into a mystery only she can solve.
I stood by the graveside, hands clenched in the pockets of my too-small black dress, listening to the priest’s droning voice blend with the rustle of the wind.
This was the saddest day of my life, but everyone else in the family seemed more concerned with glaring at each other than mourning Grandpa.
I could feel their bitterness lingering in the chilly October air, thick like syrup. One dollar each. That’s all Grandpa left us in his will, and they were furious. But me? I wasn’t angry. Just… hollow.
Grandpa wasn’t supposed to be gone. He was the only person who ever saw me, not the mess-up or the spare kid nobody paid attention to, but me. He let me in when no one else cared.
I stared down at the flowers resting on his coffin. I’d brought him a red rose, and it stood out among the white daisies everyone else had placed on the casket.
“One dollar,” Aunt Nancy hissed from behind me. “One damn dollar! That man was loaded, and this is what we get?”
Uncle Vic let out a bitter laugh. “Right? I swear he did it on purpose, the spiteful old man.”
“Typical Dad,” Mom muttered, crossing her arms tight across her chest. “He always played favorites, and Dahlia here was his little pet. Bet she got something we don’t know about.”
Aunt Nancy’s eyes cut toward me, sharp as glass. “What did he leave you, Dahlia? Anything? Don’t act like you didn’t get something.”
I stiffened. “I got the same as all of you.”
Mom’s fingers tightened over my shoulder. “Are you sure?” she asked in a low voice. “You were always with him. Maybe he told you something… think hard, Dahlia. You owe it to your family to share whatever he gave you.”
Memories came rushing back of Grandpa’s goofy stories about long-lost treasure and the butterscotch candies he always kept in his coat pocket.
Sometimes, he’d wink at me and say, “One day, kiddo, I’m leaving you a treasure. Real treasure!” But it was just a game, a joke between us.
I shook my head and turned my gaze back to the coffin. “What Grandpa gave me was his love, his stories, and a place that felt more like home than my actual home. Those things were worth more than money, and there’s no way I can—”
“Nobody cares about any of that!” Mom snapped. “Think, girl! What happened to all of his money?”
I shrugged. I truly didn’t know the answer to her question and didn’t care. Grandpa was gone. He was my confidant, my safe place, my friend. I’d lost the most important person in the world, but all they cared about was slapping a price tag on his death.
“She knows something,” Vic muttered, loud enough for me to hear.
Their voices twisted together, accusing, scheming — like they could squeeze secrets out of me if they tried hard enough. But I had no secrets that could earn them more money.
The second they realized there’d be no fortune, they turned away from the grave and stormed off. I could still hear them bickering as they walked away, lashing out at each other like vultures. It made me sick.
“You must be Dahlia.”
I looked up to see a woman, maybe in her 60s, with kind eyes and a worn leather bag slung over her shoulder. Her smile was soft and secretive, like she knew something the rest of us didn’t.
“I was a friend of your grandpa’s,” she said, leaning in as if we were co-conspirators. “He asked me to give you this.”
Before I could respond, she slipped a folded piece of paper into my hand and whispered, “Don’t let anyone see it, especially your family.”
Her presence felt surreal, almost dreamlike, and before I could say anything, she was gone, swallowed by the crowd of mourners. My heart pounded in my chest as I unfolded the note.
111 locker — Southern Railway Station.
For a second, I stood frozen, the words blurring in front of me. Then it hit me: Grandpa’s “treasure.” A laugh bubbled up from my throat, inappropriate and wild, but I couldn’t help it. He wasn’t joking after all.
That night, I lay in bed staring at the ceiling. The note was tucked under my pillow like a secret. Grandpa’s voice echoed in my mind, playful yet certain: “Locker number 111… There’s treasure in there, kiddo!”
A weight settled on my chest, something between grief and hope. What if this wasn’t just some wild goose chase? What if Grandpa had really left something for me, hidden away where no one else could reach?
The thought twisted around in my mind until I couldn’t take it anymore. I needed to know what was in that locker.
I called a cab the next morning. It was the first thing I did after I woke up. As I tiptoed past the kitchen, I could hear Mom muttering on the phone about Grandpa’s will, probably trying to squeeze sympathy or cash out of anyone who would listen.
I clenched my jaw and slipped out the door, the chilly morning air hitting my skin like a slap.
The ride to Southern Railway Station felt like the longest 20 minutes of my life.
My knee bounced with nervous energy as the cab wound through narrow streets, past graffiti-covered walls, and empty coffee shops just starting to open. The driver glanced at me in the rearview mirror but didn’t say a word.
When we finally pulled up at the station, I stepped out and asked him to wait for me. I clutched the note tightly as I entered the train station.
The station smelled like diesel and stale popcorn. People rushed past me in every direction — commuters, travelers, strangers with places to go.
I hesitated at the entrance, suddenly feeling small and out of place. But then Grandpa’s voice floated back into my mind, steady and reassuring: “Real treasure, kiddo.”
I took a deep breath and headed toward the lockers and I could hear my heart pounding. Rows of metal boxes lined the wall, each one looking identical: gray, dented, and slightly rusty.
My eyes scanned the numbers until I found number 111.
I reached into my pocket and pulled out the folded note. The key was taped to the back. With trembling fingers, I peeled it off and slid it into the lock.
For a second, it jammed, and I panicked. But then — click! The lock turned, and the door swung open.
Inside was a duffel bag. It was old, faded, and heavy. My hands shook as I pulled it out and unzipped it.
The bag was full of cash. Bundles upon bundles of it!
I gasped, my mind reeling. It couldn’t be real, could it? I reached in and pulled out a stack, flipping through crisp hundred-dollar bills. There had to be at least $150,000 in there.
And tucked inside the bag was another note, written in Grandpa’s messy scrawl:
For my beloved granddaughter, everything I saved is now yours. Take it and live free, kiddo. The rest of the family may not see your worth, but I’ve always believed in you.
Tears blurred my vision, and I hugged the note to my chest, a knot forming in my throat. This wasn’t just money. It was freedom — a way out.
Grandpa always knew how badly I needed to escape this family. And now, he’d given me exactly what I needed and tricked everyone else in the process!
I zipped the bag shut, slung it over my shoulder, and walked out of the station, my heart pounding in tune with my footsteps.
The early morning sun was just starting to peek through the clouds, casting everything in a soft, golden light. For the first time in years, I felt… light.
During the cab ride back, I stared out the window, watching the city come to life. I had options now. No more suffocating family dinners, no more being ignored or treated like an afterthought, no more being the family scapegoat.
I could leave. I could build something new.
The thought scared me as much as it excited me, but Grandpa’s voice echoed in the back of my mind: “Live free, kiddo.”
As the cab pulled up to my house, I made my decision. I wasn’t staying. Not another minute!
I didn’t even bother going inside. I pulled out my phone, booked a ticket to anywhere, and told the driver to head straight to the airport.
With the duffel bag in my lap and Grandpa’s note tucked safely in my pocket, I smiled for the first time in days.
I was free. And for the first time in my life, I knew exactly what that meant.
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