My husband had taken this snapshot on my phone while I was asleep, which I discovered when I awoke

Moms are those special creatures who guide us, love us, and would give the world for our well-being. They are often the primary caregivers, providing the first model of emotional behavior for the little ones.

However, while they are always there for their children, moms also go through tough times and sleepless nights.

A woman shared the experience of being a mother and how it drained every atom of her energy, but a single look at her children returned her strength and energy every single time.

She started her story by sharing a photo she found in her phone that her husband took the previous night. It showed her and her young daughter sleeping together. She would usually get mad at someone taking a photo of her while asleep, but this one was special because it spoke of the struggles and the joys of motherhood.

She spoke of not normally washing her hair and keeping it in a bun, and that her clothes are often stained with food and spits, her makeup is nowhere to be found, but this image her husband took would always serve as a reminder of how glamorous parenting really is.

Among the crying, the diapers, and all the mess, there are those tiny eyes that look at you as though you are the center of the world, and those gentle hugs that make you forget of all the troubles.

“I won’t mind the hectic evenings as much as holding and snuggling my infants to sleep. I can feel their little chests breathing in and out as their tiny fingers wrap around my own.”

“The ability to calm my children down with only a hug and a kiss on the forehead will bother me more than the weeping outbursts,” she wrote.

“I would like to reflect on this period in my life.

“I don’t want to forget this phase of parenting, no matter how difficult and stressful it might be.”

I Opened a Mysterious Door in My Cellar—Now I Regret Everything

I never believed in hidden doors or secret rooms; those were things from mystery stories. But when Florence and I decided to renovate our cellar, we found more than just a door behind the old wallpaper. It was something we were never meant to discover, and now, I wish I had never opened it.

You never truly understand a house until you’ve lived in it for some time. That’s what I always believed. Florence and I bought this old Victorian house five years ago. We called it our dream home. It had history, charm, and unique details, the kind of house with a past you could feel in every room.

When we started the renovation project, we thought we knew what we were getting into. The cellar was dark, damp, and unused. Peeling wallpaper and cracked tiles told us it hadn’t been touched in years. But we were excited about turning it into a useful space, maybe a wine cellar or storage room. That’s when we noticed something odd—a section of the wall that didn’t match the rest.

In the back corner, we found something even stranger: an old wooden chest, covered in dust and cobwebs. It was locked, but the lock seemed weak, like it could easily break. Florence begged me to leave it alone, but I was too curious. I forced it open, and what I saw made my heart race.

Inside were old documents, letters written in a language I didn’t understand, and something wrapped in a faded cloth. When I unwrapped it, I froze. It was a small, strange object that didn’t belong in this world. Florence screamed and ran out of the cellar, terrified.

I should have followed her, but I was too deep into it. I put everything back in the chest and closed the door, but the feeling that something had changed wouldn’t leave me. Since that day, things have been different. Strange noises, cold drafts, and shadows moving where they shouldn’t.

Now, I regret opening that door. Florence refuses to go back into the cellar, and I can’t sleep at night. I don’t know what we uncovered, but I fear we’ve let something into our home that we can’t control. Every day, I wish I had just left the door hidden behind the wallpaper, where it belonged.

Now, the cellar remains locked. I’ve sealed the door with heavy boards, hoping that will keep whatever we disturbed at bay. Florence refuses to go near it, and our once happy home feels suffocating with the tension between us. It’s like the house itself has changed, like it’s watching us.

At night, I hear whispers coming from the floor below. I try to convince myself it’s just the wind or my imagination, but deep down, I know something’s wrong. The object I found in the chest haunts my thoughts—I’ve hidden it away, but it’s like it calls to me. Florence says I need to get rid of it, but I’m too afraid to touch it again.

I tried contacting the previous owners, but they didn’t know anything about the hidden room. They had lived here briefly before selling the house. No one in the neighborhood seems to know its history, and records of the house are vague. It’s like this part of the house was meant to stay forgotten.

I keep telling myself everything will be fine if I just leave it alone, but the strange occurrences are getting worse. Lights flicker, doors creak open on their own, and sometimes, I catch glimpses of something moving in the dark corners. It feels like the house is alive—angry that we disturbed its secret.

Florence is talking about moving, and maybe she’s right. But part of me knows that whatever we let out, whatever we disturbed, might not stay behind. And now, I wonder if sealing that door was just the beginning of something far more terrifying.