For weeks, I stayed up late, watching camera footage and setting traps, determined to catch the person stealing from my small grocery store. But nothing could have prepared me for what I found when I finally caught them—a truth that had been hidden from me for long years.
At my age, most people were thinking about retirement, buying a little house in Florida, or taking long vacations. But not me.
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I was thinking about how to make my store better. When you owned a business, especially a small grocery store like mine, there was no such thing as rest. I had run this store for many years.
Over time, new shops had opened nearby, and competition had grown, but I never gave up.
I worked hard to make my store more than just a place to buy food. I wanted people to feel welcome, like they were visiting an old friend.
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Some of my customers had been coming for twenty or even thirty years. I watched them grow up, fall in love, and start families.
Then their kids started coming in—and that meant the world to me. It meant I had done something right.
But recently, something felt off. I started noticing little things missing from the shelves.
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Not just one or two items, but enough to make me wonder. I stocked everything myself, so I knew what was there. Something was definitely wrong.
Mr. Green came up to the register with a small basket in his hand. He gave me a friendly smile. “How are you doing today, Margaret?” he asked.
“I’m doing fine, thank you. How about you?” I said with a smile.
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“I’m good,” he said. “But I noticed something. There’s not much dairy on the shelves. You usually have the best selection in town.”
I looked at him, surprised. “That can’t be right. I filled the whole section just yesterday. Every last shelf.”
He raised his eyebrows and shrugged. “Maybe you missed something. Or maybe it’s time to slow down. You ever think about handing the store over to someone else? Do you have kids?”
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His words hit me hard. I froze for a moment, then looked straight at him. I didn’t smile this time. “Goodbye, Mr. Green,” I said firmly. I bagged his items and handed them to him without another word.
As if! I still had plenty of strength. Mr. Green acted like I was ready for a rocking chair and soft food. I was not even sixty yet!
I worked hard every day, lifting boxes, sweeping floors, and dealing with customers. But his words touched a spot deep inside me. A place I tried to keep buried.
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Children.
I had a daughter once. Just one. She ran away from home fifteen years ago. No phone call. No goodbye. Just a note.
She said she was leaving to start a new life. I searched for her everywhere. I called the police, but they said she left on her own, so it was not their job.
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That made me so angry. She was my child. She was still so young. How could they not help?
I shook my head and forced myself back to the present. I walked to the dairy fridge. It was still early, and hardly anyone had come in yet.
But I saw the truth with my own eyes—many items were missing. Yogurt, milk, cheese—whole rows gone.
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It was not just forgetfulness or bad math. Someone was stealing from me.
I always trusted people. That was why I never installed cameras. I believed people were good. I believed they would do the right thing. But now, I had no choice.
The next day, I had cameras installed. It cost me a good bit, but I had to protect my store. The day after that, I sat at the back counter and watched the footage.
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At first, it looked normal. The store was dark and still. But then, a figure appeared. They moved quickly and quietly, taking things off the shelves.
They wore a hood pulled low over their face. I clicked through the video, hoping to see a face, but I never did. Somehow, they stayed hidden.
Still, I knew I had to do something. I put the footage on a flash drive and drove to the police station.
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I walked up to the front desk and told the officer on duty what had happened.
He led me to a small room and plugged in the footage. He watched the screen with a bored look on his face.
“So,” he said, leaning back in his chair, “what do you want from us?”
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I stared at him. “What do I want? I want you to do your job. Someone is breaking into my store and stealing my products. I want you to find out who it is.”
He pointed at the screen. “You can’t even see their face. They’re wearing a hood the whole time. We don’t have anything to go on.”
I felt my hands tighten. “But that’s your job!”
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“My advice? Get an alarm system,” the officer said.
I scoffed, grabbed the footage, and walked out of the station. As if! Giving me advice like I was some lost old lady.
But still, I went ahead and had the alarm system installed. I did not want to take any more chances.
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For a few days, things seemed better. Nothing went missing. The shelves stayed full. I started to breathe easier.
Then, one morning, I walked in and froze. Again, shelves were empty. Not everything, but enough to notice. Yet the alarm had not gone off. My stomach turned.
As I stood by the fridge, Mr. Green walked by with a little shake of his head. “Your selection keeps getting smaller and smaller,” he said. “Maybe my wife and I should start going to another store.”
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Those words stung. My heart pounded. I could not lose customers. This store was my life. It paid my bills and kept a roof over my head.
If I could not stop this thief, I could lose everything. If no one would help me, then I would help myself.
That night, I closed the shop like always, turned off the lights, and walked out the front door.
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But I did not go home. I circled around to the back, unlocked the rear door, and slipped inside. I crouched behind the counter and waited.
It was quiet. Too quiet. I almost dozed off, but then I heard it—the door creaked, and the alarm beeped off.
My heart jumped. I peeked up and saw the same figure moving around the aisles.
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Small, quick, quiet. I crept forward. Step by step. Then I lunged and grabbed the hoodie.
“Got you!” I yelled.
The person dropped everything and struggled. I pulled back the hood. He was just a boy. Fourteen, maybe. Thin. Scared. His eyes locked with mine.
He had her eyes.
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“Who are you? Why are you stealing from me?” I asked.
He did not answer. He pulled down the zipper, slipped out of the hoodie, and ran. I tried to follow but could not. I stood there, breathing hard, holding the hoodie in my hands.
Those eyes. I knew them. They belonged to my daughter. How was that possible? Could he be…?
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After I caught the boy red-handed, the thefts stopped completely, but I could not stop thinking about him.
Every time I looked at the shelves or walked through the store, my mind went back to that night. I kept seeing his face, those eyes that reminded me so much of my daughter.
I felt torn. He was just a child, and part of me wanted to go to the police, but the other part needed to know who he was and why he looked so familiar.
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One evening, as I was driving home from work, I saw a figure in a hoodie coming out of a closed store.
My heart skipped a beat. Was it him? I watched as he walked over to a bicycle, took some groceries out of his hoodie, and put them into a backpack.
He kept his hood up the whole time. I stayed in my car and decided to follow him. I knew if I tried to talk to him, he would run again.
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I kept a safe distance as he rode through the streets. After a while, he stopped near a small but tidy house.
He parked his bicycle behind it and went inside. I sat for a moment, holding the same hoodie he had left behind in my store.
My hands were shaking as I got out of the car and walked to the front door. I knocked softly. No one came. I waited. I was about to leave when I heard footsteps approaching.
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Then the door opened.
And there she was—my daughter. I froze. She looked older, tired maybe, but it was her. My heart almost stopped.
She was no longer the girl who had run away from me. She was a grown woman now, standing in the doorway, staring at me in shock.
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“Alice…” I whispered, my voice barely coming out. My hands were still shaking.
She blinked like she was seeing a ghost. “Mom? What are you doing here?”
I looked into her eyes. They were the same, even after all these years. “So you were nearby all this time, and I couldn’t find you.”
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She looked down. “Not the whole time. I moved around a lot. That’s not important now. Why are you here? How did you find me?”
I didn’t answer right away. I reached into my bag and held up the boy’s hoodie.
Her eyes widened. “Where did you get Travis’s hoodie?”
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Before I could speak, the boy—the same one who stole from my store—appeared in the hallway.
“Mom! Close the door!” he shouted, his voice full of fear.
Alice turned to him. “What? What’s going on?”
I stepped forward. “Travis was stealing from my store.”
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“WHAT?!” she shouted. Her face turned red with shock.
“Please don’t call the police,” Travis said, his voice shaking. “I promise I won’t steal from your store again.”
“I know,” I said softly. “But I saw you today. You were stealing from another store.”
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Alice turned to him, her voice sharp. “Travis, what is this? Why would you steal?”
He looked down at the floor. “Because you work so much. We never have enough money. I wanted to help.”
“So you thought stealing was the answer?” she shouted.
“I sold the stuff. I gave you the money in secret. I thought I was helping,” he said.
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Alice covered her face with her hands. “That is not how we solve problems. Stealing is wrong, Travis. Always.”
She looked at me. Her voice was quieter now. “I’m sorry, Mom. I’ll handle it. He won’t do it again. Please don’t turn him in to the police.”
She reached for the door, but I held it.
“That’s it?” I asked. “I haven’t seen you in fifteen years, and you have nothing more to say? Who is Travis? Is he your son?”
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Alice nodded. Tears filled her eyes. “Yes. He’s my son.”
“May I come in?” I asked, almost in a whisper.
She paused. Then she stepped aside and let me in.
She led me to a small kitchen. I sat down and looked around. It was neat but worn.
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“If you were having money problems, why didn’t you come to me? Why didn’t you ask for help?” I asked.
“Because I was ashamed,” she said.
“I searched for you. I waited fifteen years. I didn’t know you even had a child,” I said.
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“I was already pregnant when I left. That was one of the reasons. You told me to stay away from Travis’s father. You were right. He was no good. But I didn’t listen. He left me soon after,” Alice said.
“Then why didn’t you come home?”
“Because I was ashamed. I thought you hated me.”
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“Oh, Alice,” I said, standing and walking to her. “You’re my daughter. How could I ever hate you?”
I gently wrapped my arms around her, and she held me just as tight. We both cried without saying a word.
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All the pain from the past seemed to melt in that moment. It felt like coming home after being lost for years.
After we calmed down, Alice turned to Travis and scolded him firmly. She made it clear that stealing was never the answer. He nodded, ashamed.
Still, I looked at him with something close to gratitude. I kept thanking him in my heart. If he had not taken from me, I would never have found my family again.
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MARISKA HARGITAY’S MOM AND DAD WERE WELL-KNOWN ACTORS. THEIR NAMES WERE MICKEY HARGITAY AND JAYNE MANSFIELD. SADLY, JAYNE MANSFIELD PASSED AWAY WHEN MARISKA WAS ONLY 3 YEARS OLD.
In the 1950s, Jayne Mansfield became famous in Hollywood. Her daughter, Mariska Hargitay, was just three years old when Jayne had a fatal car accident in 1967, and Mariska was in the car too.
Luckily, Mariska survived and is doing well. She’s now a famous actor in today’s time. She looks a lot like her mom!
Becoming a Hollywood star usually takes a lot of hard work over many years. Most famous people would say it’s worth it in the end,
In under ten years, Jayne Mansfield became a huge star, mainly because of her roles in popular movies. She was a famous and attractive figure in the 1950s and 1960s.
Sometimes people called her “the poor man’s Marilyn Monroe” because she got similar kinds of roles, often playing a character seen as not very smart. But in reality, she was different from those characters.
Sadly, Jayne Mansfield died in a car accident in 1967, leaving behind five kids. Today, her children are working hard to keep her memory alive.
This is the story of the lively life of Jayne Mansfield and her daughter Mariska Hargitay, who looks a lot like her mom.
Jayne Mansfield had a life that was both glamorous and sad.
In the beginning, when she was known as Vera Jayne Palmer and born on April 19, 1933, in Bryn Mawr, Pennsylvania, she experienced the artistic side of life. Her dad, Herbert, who was a musician, taught her to sing and play the violin when she was a little kid.
But when Jayne was only three, her father passed away from a heart attack while they were traveling. This left her mom, Vera, who used to be a schoolteacher, alone with Jayne. Her mom had to go back to work to support the family.
She said, “Something went out of my life. My earliest memories are the best. I always try to remember the good times when Daddy was alive.”
In 1939, Jayne’s mom got married again, and the family moved to Dallas, Texas. At the same time, Jayne dreamed of becoming a Hollywood star. She loved watching Judy Garland’s movies and even dressed like her, hoping t
Jayne Mansfield didn’t finish high school before she met her first husband. She married Paul Mansfield when she was very young, just 20 years old, in 1950. They went to Southern Methodist University together to study acting, and a year later, Jayne had their first daughter, Jayne Marie Mansfield.
She entered a Miss California competition after taking a course at UCLA in Los Angeles, but she decided to leave. The family then chose to go to the University of Texas in Austin, where Jayne acted in several plays.
Even though it was fun, Jayne still wanted to go to Hollywood. So, in 1954, she moved to Los Angeles with her family.
Getting into the acting business is not easy for anyone. When Jayne started modeling, her curvy figure became a problem. Casting directors thought she was too attractive and seductive for commercials or advertisements. She even got cut out of her very first ad, which was for General Electric.
Jayne really wanted to be in movies, and she finally got a chance. She tried out for Paramount and Warner Brothers, but they didn’t choose her.
However, something important happened when she auditioned for Paramount. The person in charge of casting, Milton Lewis, told her something that changed how she saw herself.
“I had been to three different universities and two or three dramatic schools before I went to Hollywood, preparing myself for my hoped career as an actress. I did a soliloquy for Joan of Arc for Milton Lewis, who was head of casting at Paramount Studios to audition. And he seemed to think I was wasting my ‘obvious talents.’ He lightened my hair and tightened my dresses, and this is the result.”
Jayne Mansfield wanted to be as famous as Marilyn Monroe, who was the biggest Hollywood star at that time. But while her Hollywood career was starting, her husband Paul had enough and they got divorced in 1955. Their daughter stayed with Jayne in Los Angeles.
Jayne’s career finally took off when she got a role in a low-budget film called Female Jungle in 1955, which got her a lot of attention. In the same year, she was named “Playmate of the Month” and appeared on the cover of Playboy Magazine.
Her new style – the pinup, provocative blonde bombshell – was supposed to cement her status as the new Marilyn Monroe, and in a way, she definitely succeeded. Pink proved to be her color, with Jayne even buying a pink Cadillac to drive.
Studios wanted more of her and soon she was signed. Fox began to market her as the “Marilyn Monroe King-Size,” and her success grew. By that point she wasn’t just an actress; she was a sex symbol of the 1950s.
One journalist even claimed: “She suffered so many on-stage strap and zipper mishaps that nudity was, for her, a professional hazard.”
Jayne gained even more attention following her appearance in Fox’s 1957 comedy blockbuster Will Success Spoil Rock Hunter?. That same year, she received a Golden Globe Award for Most Promising Newcomer – Female. The following year, she starred alongside Kenneth More in the Western The Sheriff of Fractured Jaw (1958).
Jayne scored several other – for the time being – provocative roles, including The Burglar (1957) and Too Hot to Handle (1960). Sadly, however, she was labelled “The Poor Man’s Marilyn Monroe”.
At that time, Mansfield had gotten married to second-husband, actor and bodybuilder Mickey Hargitay. They tied the knot in 1958, at a press-filled ceremony in Rancho Palos Verdes, California. Before long, the family was growing. In 1959, they welcomed son Mickey Hargitay, and two more children followed. Son Zoltan Hargitay was born in 1960, and daughter Mariska Magdolna Hargitay was welcomed in 1964.
Following her performance in Too Hot to Handle, Jayne went into her first legal battle regarding film censorship. The release date of the film was delayed because of her appearing nude in what was at the time considered a scandalous dress.
A couple of years later, she got into another battle regarding the same thing. Her film Promises! Promises! (1963) sparked a huge talking point when Mansfield became the first American Hollywood movie star to appear nude on screen. The scene was considered to be way too explicit, leading to censoring and, in some cases, it being banned across the world.
By this point, Mansfield was a huge Hollywood star, with an image that at the time was considered to be “owned by the public.”
It was something she enjoyed and thought was mandatory.
”Actually, I feel that a star own it to her public, to bring the public into her life,” she said in 1960.
“The fans feel that they kind of own you and if you kept your life a complete secret it wouldn’t be fair to them. But my private life, and when I say private life, is always very private.”
As quick as Jayne had risen to fame, her career also began to fail. She was dropped from 20th Century Fox in 1962, and instead went on to appear in several TV programs and game shows. Instead of just focusing on Hollywood, Mansfield decided to go International in the 1960s, starring in several German, Italian and British films. She began also appearing onstage at nightclubs, touring both in the US and in the UK.
In 1967, a tour was put together by Don Arden, the legendary music manager, as well as father of Sharon Osbourne. One week, she was performing in the town of Batley.
Her Hollywood glamour sure did something to the people there.
“My dad thought that all these not-so-glamorous ladies would show up at Batley with their hair rollers and headscarves,” explained Neil Sean, an entertainment reporter for NBC News. “But as the week went on, they became more and more glamorous, showing up with their hair done and lipstick.”
At that point, Jayne Mansfield and Mickey Hargitay had gotten divorced, and she married director Matt Cimber. They had her fifth child, Anthony Cimber, in 1965, but they divorced the same year.
The UK tour was the last one Jayne Mansfield did. On the way from a nightclub in Mississippi to New Orleans, she got into a car accident and died at the age of 34. The accident also took the lives of her then-boyfriend Sam Brody and their driver. She was buried next to her father in Fairview Cemetery in Pennsylvania.
In the car were three of her children, who were sleeping in the backseat and thankfully were not hurt. Mariska Hargitay, who was just three years old at the time, went to live with her father, Mickey Hargitay.
So, what happened to Mariska? Well, she followed her mother into acting, and she looks a lot like her!
“Losing my mother at such an early age is the scar of my soul,” she told Redbook in 2009.
“But I feel like it ultimately made me into the person I am today. I understand the journey of life. I had to go through what I did to be here.”
Mariska decided to study theater at UCLA in California. In 1984, she made her film debut in Ghoulies. She spent the 1980s performing in several TV series in order to pursue a career on the bigger stage. But, unlike her mother, she didn’t change her name or the color of her hair. People advised her to change her name and appearance, and even copy her mother’s sexy image. At one point, she turned down doing a nude scene in the movie Jocks (1986).
Being the daughter of a Hollywood icon hasn’t been easy. And sometimes, it even has been a burden for Mariska.
“I used to hate constant references to my mom because I wanted to be known for myself,” she told Closer. “Losing my mother at such a young age is the scar of my soul.”
Before Mariska got her big role, she had been acting for 15 years. She started playing Olivia Benson in the TV show Law & Order: Special Victims Unit in 1999, and she has been in a total of 481 episodes. The show is still being made.
Because of this popular show, Mariska has built a successful career. She won an Emmy Award and a Golden Globe for her role as Outstanding Lead Actress in a Drama Series. She was also nominated for eight other awards.
Mariska Hargitay is now a well-known actress, just like her mother. She even looks a lot like her with that beautiful smile!
In 2004, Mariska married actor and producer Peter Hermann, and they have three children.
Mariska was very young when her mother died in a car accident, but becoming a mom herself has made her feel closer to the mom she lost so early in life.
“Being a wife and mother is my life, and that gives me the most joy,” she said. “I understand [my mother] in a new way that gives me peace. Now I understand the love she had in her, and it makes me feel closer to her.”
When their stars were placed next to each other on the Hollywood Walk of Fame in 2013, Mariska Hargitay and her mother Jayne Mansfield were reconnected in a way.
Jayne Mansfield’s remarkable performances will live on in memory forever.
Although she is no longer with us, she will always be remembered, and Mariska, her daughter, is an amazing actress. Don’t they resemble one another?
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