Finding the hidden camera tucked under my bathtub was terrifying, and realizing my son had put it there was even worse. But his tearful explanation made me realize he was on a mission to reawaken a part of me I thought was lost forever.
The jigsaw puzzle on our kitchen table had stayed the same for weeks, and I was getting worried. My son, Drake, and I used to love them, but things were much different now.
A puzzle on a table | Source: Pexels
These days, he would rush straight to his room after school and shut the door firmly behind him. That is… after coming home later than usual.
I stirred the pasta sauce and checked my phone again: 6:45 p.m. Two hours late, just like yesterday. Through the kitchen window, I watched our neighbors walking their dogs and laughing together.
Our house used to buzz with that kind of energy. Now it felt like Drake and I were living in separate worlds, connected only by quick hellos and leftover dinners. Did this happen to all pre-teens?
A woman concerned | Source: Pexels
A few minutes later, the front door creaked open.
“Hey, Mom.” Drake’s voice floated through the hallway, followed by the thud of his backpack hitting the floor.
“Kitchen,” I called out happily. “Dinner’s almost ready.”
He poked his head around the corner. I saw his messy hair covered by a backward baseball cap. Something about his eyes made me feel like my boy was back, even for just a second.
Boy with a backwards baseball cap | Source: Pexels
But they soon darted to the floor when I looked at him. I knew something was going on, but I had no idea how to address it. My boy almost seemed older than his few years.
“Sorry I’m late. Chess club ran long.”
“Chess club?” I raised my eyebrows. “Yesterday it was math tutoring. And Tuesday was yearbook committee.”
“Oh yeah, I do all those now.” He shuffled his feet. “Can I eat in my room? Got tons of homework.”
Math book and notebook | Source: Pexels
I gripped the wooden spoon tighter, accidentally dripping tomato sauce onto the stovetop, and decided enough was enough. “Drake, what’s really going on?” I asked, turning and putting one hand on my hip.
“Nothing! I told you, just busy with school stuff,” he shrugged and moved further into the kitchen. Without meeting my gaze, he grabbed a plate, scooped up some pasta, and disappeared before I could press further.
Pasta dish | Source: Pexels
I sighed and wondered to the heavens for the millionth time if I should intervene. Maybe I wouldn’t get an answer from up above, but I could try to find some of my own.
I checked the hallway, and his door was shut as usual, but he had left his backpack in the living room. It was my chance.
Inside, crumpled between textbooks, I found a piece of paper with an address scrawled in unfamiliar handwriting: “1247 Maple Street. Don’t be late. This is it.”
Backpack on the floor | Source: Unsplash
What was going on? I wondered, horrified.
***
That night, I found myself going through his old baby photos, spread across my bedroom floor like pieces of a life I barely recognized anymore.
There he was, two years old, grinning with spaghetti sauce all over his face. That happy little boy used to tell me everything. Now he barely looked at me.
Toddler covered in spaghetti sauce | Source: Midjourney
The parent-teacher conference from last week played in my head.
“Drake seems… distracted lately,” Mrs. Peterson had said, sliding his failed math test across her desk. “He’s been falling asleep in class. When he’s awake, he’s always scribbling in his notebook, but it’s not notes from the lesson.”
How could he be getting a grade like that with math tutoring? Was it time to pull the plug on all other clubs?
A math test | Source: Pexels
Either way, I knew sleep wouldn’t come, so I decided to take a shower.
The bathroom was my sanctuary, the one place I could relax and belt out old songs without anyone hearing. Tonight’s selection was “Sweet Child O’ Mine.”
The steam rose around me as I hit the chorus, and I remembered how I used to dream of being on stage.
A woman washing her hair | Source: Pexels
“Where do we go now?” I sang, letting my voice soar like it used to at the coffee shop open mics when my future hopes were far grander than what reality allowed.
Sadly, those wishes were extinguished the moment, Tom, Drake’s father and my ex, left us for his new family in Seattle.
But now wasn’t the time to dwell on the past again. The present was much more important. I finished cleaning myself up and exited my shower. As I dried my hair, I felt the pull on my ear and heard a clink on my tiled floor.
A woman drying up | Source: Pexels
My earring! I bent down to get it and saw the crystal’s shining light reflecting from just under the bathtub. Except… something else caught my eye.
There, hidden under the edge, was an old nanny cam I used when Drake was a baby. And it was ON. I immediately went pale. But I examined the angle. It would only be recording my feet. I didn’t get it.
Still, my hands shook as I took it and carefully wrapped myself in a towel to march straight to Drake’s room. The sound of his furious typing stopped when I pounded on the door.
A woman holding a small camera | Source: Pexels
“Just a minute!” he called out, and I heard drawers being opened and shut. What in the world?
“Drake, open this door right now!”
Finally, I heard footsteps and the door swung open.
He stood there in his oversized gaming headphones, and his own face turned white as soon as I held up the nanny cam.
A boy with headphones | Source: Pexels
“Drake, what is this? Why was this hidden in the bathroom?!” I asked, as my anger and bravado turned to extreme worry.
When he remained silent, I gulped and asked, “Have you been… recording me in the bathroom?”
His eyes widened at that. His expression was terrified. “Oh no… Mom, you weren’t supposed to find that. IT’S NOT WHAT YOU THINK. I can explain!”
“Then start explaining.” I pushed past him into his room and looked at his computer. The screen showed some kind of video editing software. Oh, no! What is he doing?
A laptop on a desk | Source: Pexels
But before I could panic more, Drake spoke. “I…” He slumped onto his bed. “You weren’t supposed to find out yet.”
“Find out what? That my son is making videos of…” I couldn’t even say it.
“No! Mom, listen,” he pleaded as tears welled up in his eyes. “Remember when you used to sing at the coffee shop open mics? Before Dad left?”
The question caught me off guard. “What does that have to do with anything?”
A woman looking confused | Source: Pexels
“You were so happy then. Now you only sing in the shower, when you think no one can hear you.” He wiped his nose with his sleeve. “But you’re still amazing, Mom. I wanted to show you that.”
He reached for his laptop and turned it toward me. His fingers pressed play, and suddenly, the screen showed me… well, a music video.
I saw a sunset over the city and streets filled with people chasing their dreams. But the main part was the soundtrack with my voice, clear and strong. It was playing “My Way.”
A sunset over New York | Source: Pexels
“I met an old man, Mr. Arthur. I’ve been going to his studio after school,” Drake continued. “He’s been teaching me video editing. I wanted to surprise you for your birthday, show you that you shouldn’t give up on your dreams just because…”
“Because your father left?” The words stuck in my throat.
“He owns all these old instruments, and he lets me practice drums while he teaches me about making videos.” Drake’s words tumbled out faster now. “I’ve been doing extra chores for neighbors to pay for studio time. Mr. Arthur says I have a good eye for it.”
A drum set | Source: Pexels
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Because you worry about everything now.” His voice cracked. “Ever since Dad left, it’s like you stopped believing in good surprises. I thought if I could just finish the video, show you how amazing you still are…”
Tears welled and fell before I could stop them. All this time, I’d been so worried about what he was hiding. Never once did I consider he might be worried about me too.
A woman crying | Source: Pexels
“You could have just talked to me,” I said softly, wrapping my arms around him.
“Would you have listened?” He looked up at me, suddenly seeming older than 11. “You always say you’re fine, but I hear you crying sometimes. And you never sing anymore, except in the shower.”
I pulled him close, feeling his thin shoulders shake. “I’m sorry, baby. I guess we’ve both been keeping too many things inside.”
We stayed in silence for a few minutes before I remembered something. “Oh! Is Mr. Arthur’s studio on 1247 Maple Street?”
A music studio | Source: Midjourney
“Yes!” Drake said, but then frowned. “How did you know?”
“In the interest of honesty…” I began and confessed to rummaging through his backpack. Shockingly, we just laughed at each other.
***
The next day, we visited Mr. Arthur’s studio together. He turned out to be a gentle giant with calloused hands and kind eyes, surrounded by dusty guitars and vintage recording equipment.
Music equipment | Source: Pexels
“Your boy’s got talent,” he told me and showed me more of Drake’s videos. “And so do you.”
And now that the secrets were out, Drake and I finally finished the jigsaw puzzle together. I also sang outside the shower for the first time in years.
What’s more, next week, I’m singing at the coffee shop again. My son will be there, recording every moment. This time, I won’t be afraid of a little camera.
Impoverished Boy Assisted an Elderly Man in Achieving His Dream, Unaware His Own Life Would Transform the Following Day
I thought I was just going fishing with an old man I’d met by chance, but the letter I received months later revealed a secret that would leave me forever changed—and with a gift that would fulfill my wildest dreams.
Living in an old trailer wasn’t as bad as it sounds, or at least that’s what I told myself. It was just me and Mom. We’ve been on our own since Dad left when I was six. Honestly, I barely remember him, but Mom… well, she never says much about him. We don’t talk about it.
“Adam, can you grab the mail?” Mom would call out from the couch. Her legs were often propped up on a pillow, and she winced with every movement. She’d been in a car accident years ago, and her limp made standing or walking for long periods difficult. Still, she worked long shifts at the gas station just to keep us afloat.
“Sure, Mom,” I would reply grabbing my coat. I didn’t mind doing the little things to help. It made me feel like I was making a difference, even if it was just fetching mail or fixing dinner.
Most days after school, I would find something to do outside the trailer—anything to take my mind off things. But little did I know that at the age of 13, my life would change.
That day, I was tossing an old, deflated soccer ball at some bottles I’d set up like bowling pins. It wasn’t much, but it helped pass the time.
Then, out of nowhere, this shiny black SUV rolled up next to the trailer. The windows were tinted, and I stared at it for a second, wondering who on earth would come around here in something that fancy.
The door creaked open, and out stepped this old man, probably in his 70s or 80s, leaning on a cane but with a warm smile on his face. He waved.
“Hey there,” he said, slowly walking over. “Mind if I take a shot?” He pointed at the bottles I had lined up.
I blinked. “Uh, sure, I guess,” I said, not really sure what to make of him.
He chuckled. “Tell you what, let’s make it interesting. If I get a strike, I’ll ask you for a favor, and you can’t say no. But if I miss, I’ll hand you a hundred bucks. Deal?”
My eyes practically popped out of my head. A hundred bucks? I could almost hear the register in my brain ringing. “Deal,” I said quickly.
The man leaned down, picked up the deflated ball, and with a flick of his wrist, tossed it. The thing rolled straight into the bottles, knocking every last one down. I stood there, jaw dropped. No way.
The old man laughed, clearly pleased with himself. “Looks like I won,” he said. “Now, for that favor.”
I swallowed, curious. “What do you want me to do?”
“Come fishing with me tomorrow at the old pond,” he said, like it was the most natural thing in the world.
“Fishing?” I scratched my head. That was it? Seemed like a strange request, but definitely not as bad as I thought it would be. “Uh, okay, I guess. Let me just ask my mom.”
He smiled and nodded. “I’ll wait.”
I jogged back into the trailer, opening the door quietly. Mom was asleep on the couch, her chest rising and falling slowly. She’d had a long shift at the gas station the night before, and I didn’t want to wake her. I stood there for a moment, biting my lip.
“She won’t even know,” I muttered to myself. “I’ll be back before she notices.”
Decision made, I tiptoed back outside. “Alright, I’ll go,” I told the old man, hoping I wasn’t making a mistake.
“Great,” he said, smiling even wider. “We’ll meet tomorrow at dawn. Don’t be late.”
The next morning, the old man picked me up bright and early in his black SUV. We drove in silence at first, heading out of town. The place looked like no one had been there in years, the water was still, with tall grass growing around it. There wasn’t a single person in sight.
“Why here?” I asked, looking around as I grabbed the fishing rods he’d brought.
The old man smiled softly as he set up the gear. “This place… it means a lot to me,” he said, his voice quieter than usual.
We cast our lines into the water and sat side by side. We didn’t talk much for a while. But after about an hour, with no bites on the line, I couldn’t help but ask.
“So… why did you want to come here to fish?” I asked, curious.
The old man glanced at me, his smile tinged with sadness. “Years ago, I used to come here with my son. He was about your age then.” His voice softened even more.
“We were poor, just like you and your mother. Didn’t have much, but we always found time to come here. Funny thing is, we never caught a single fish, no matter how hard we tried.”
I looked at him. “Where’s your son now?”
He was quiet for a long moment, staring out at the water. I noticed his eyes filled with tears.
“He’s gone,” the old man finally said, his voice heavy. “He got sick. The doctors said he needed an urgent operation, but I didn’t have the money. I couldn’t save him.”
I felt my chest tighten. “I’m sorry.”
He shook his head, blinking back tears. “That’s when I promised myself I’d never be in that position again. I worked, I hustled, I built myself up so I’d never feel that helpless. But… I never had another child.”
I didn’t know what to say at first, but something inside me knew what he needed to hear. I stood up, walked over to him, and placed a hand on his shoulder.
“Your son’s watching you from heaven,” I said softly. “And one day, he’ll see you catch that fish. You just can’t give up.”
He smiled at me, tears still in his eyes. “Thank you, Adam. You remind me so much of him.”
Just then, the float on one of our rods dipped suddenly into the water.
“Hey, the float!” I yelled.
The old man’s eyes widened, and we both grabbed the rod at the same time, pulling hard. But as we yanked, we both lost our balance, tumbling into the pond with a loud splash. I gasped as the cold water hit me, and the old man surfaced beside me, laughing like he hadn’t in years.
“Well, this is one way to catch a fish!” he cackled, struggling to hold onto the rod while I helped pull him up.
We finally managed to drag the rod back to shore, and to our surprise, attached to the end was the biggest fish I’d ever seen. The old man jumped to his feet, soaking wet but grinning like a kid.
“We did it!” he shouted, throwing his hands up in triumph. “We actually caught one!”
I couldn’t help but laugh, watching him dance around like he’d just won the lottery. We were soaked to the bone, but in that moment, it didn’t matter.
Later, he drove me back to the trailer. As we pulled up, he turned to me, his face soft and filled with gratitude.
“Thank you, Adam,” he said, his voice thick with emotion. “Today meant more to me than you’ll ever know.”
I smiled back. “Thanks for taking me fishing. It was fun.”
He reached out and patted my shoulder, a tear sliding down his cheek. “Take care, son. And don’t give up on those dreams.”
With that, he drove off, leaving me standing there with a strange warmth in my chest.
The next day, there was a knock on our trailer door. I opened it to see a man in a suit standing there, holding a package.
“Adam?” he asked.
“Yeah, that’s me,” I said, eyeing the man suspiciously.
“I’m Mr. Johnson, Mr. Thompson’s assistant. He asked me to deliver this to you,” he said, handing over the package.
I opened it right there on the spot and inside was more money than I’d ever seen in my life. My jaw dropped. “W-what is this for?”
Mr. Johnson smiled kindly. “It’s for you and your mother. Enough to move into a proper house, and for her medical care—rehabilitation, so she can walk without pain. There’s also a provision for private tutors to help you prepare for college. Your education, including one of the best colleges in the country, will be fully covered.”
I couldn’t believe it. My head spun as I tried to process what he was saying. “But… why?”
“Mr. Thompson was very moved by you, Adam. He sees a lot of his own son in you. This is his way of saying thank you.”
Tears filled my eyes. I couldn’t speak, so I just nodded, overwhelmed by the kindness of a man who had once been a stranger but had now changed our lives forever.
Several months passed since that fishing trip. One afternoon, I came home to find a letter on the table, addressed to me. I recognized the handwriting instantly. My hands shook as I opened it.
“If you’re reading this,” the letter began, “then I’m already watching you from heaven with my son.”
I stopped, swallowing hard, and read on.
“The day after we went fishing, I had heart surgery. I didn’t survive, but that’s okay. Meeting you gave me more peace than I ever thought possible. You reminded me of my son and showed me there’s still joy in life, even after loss.
I’ve left you everything you need to succeed. Remember what you told me that day by the pond? You’ll catch that fish too—just don’t give up, right?”
I wiped a tear from my cheek, staring at the words. I could almost hear his voice again, and see him smiling next to me by the water.
Fifteen years later, I stood on the porch of the house I built for Mom, watching her laugh with my kids in the yard.
“You never gave up, Adam,” she said, catching my eye with a smile. “He’d be proud.”
“I think about him a lot,” I admitted, my voice soft. “I hope I’ve made him proud.”
“You have,” she said gently. “He gave you everything, and look at you now.”
I smiled, glancing at my own home next door. “It wasn’t just the money, Mom. It was the reminder to never give up. I’ll carry that with me forever.”
She squeezed my hand. “And he’s watching. I know it.”
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