Two drunk teenagers started bothering an old lady on the bus until a homeless man stepped in to stop them – and it changed his life forever.
Molly, an elderly woman, struggled to climb the steps onto the bus. She was relieved when a strong hand helped her up. But when she turned to thank the person, she cringed.
The hand belonged to a tall, thin man who looked homeless and unkempt. Molly quickly pulled her arm away and stiffly said, “Thank you.” Despite her unease, she nodded politely before finding a seat.
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The man smiled sadly. He was used to seeing disgust on people’s faces and facing rejection. But Tom stayed true to himself. He watched as Molly sat down, taking up two seats.
Something about Molly reminded Tom of his mother. His mother would also have been upset to see him in his current state. Tom walked to the back of the bus and sat by himself.
He closed his eyes, thinking about his daughter, Daisy. Two years ago, his wife Valery was diagnosed with stage 4 cancer, and after her death, Tom’s life fell apart.
For 18 months, Tom used all their savings to pay for Valery’s treatments, even borrowing money against their home. But it didn’t save her, and Valery passed away. Tom sold their house to pay off debts.
Tom lost his job after missing too much work while caring for Valery. With his wife gone, he also lost his home, his job, and all that remained was Daisy.
After selling the house, Tom moved with Daisy to a tiny apartment in a rundown building. The place was awful, with graffiti on the walls and bad smells in the hallways.
When Child Services visited, they took Daisy away. Tom was devastated and could only visit her at the group home. Eventually, Tom ended up on the streets, and the only luxury he allowed himself was a bus ticket to see Daisy.
Tom was deep in thought when a loud voice interrupted him. “Hey, driver! This lady should pay for two tickets!” shouted a drunk teenager.
The teen had noticed Molly, sitting quietly. Another teen joined in, making fun of her weight. Molly held onto her purse, looking around, but no one came to her defense.
One of the teens stepped closer and poked Molly’s chest. “You need to move, lady! We want these seats!” he demanded.
Molly lifted her head. “There are plenty of other seats,” she said.
But the second teen sneered, “We want these seats, and you’re going to give them to us.” He leaned in as if to grab her.
Just then, a strong voice rang out. “Get your hands off that lady, or you and I are going to have a problem,” said Tom.
The teens turned and saw Tom approaching. He was thin and ragged, but he stood tall and firm. “You boys can leave quietly, or I can help you off,” Tom said calmly.
The teens, realizing Tom wasn’t someone to mess with, backed down. The bus stopped, and they hurried off, throwing nervous glances over their shoulders.
Tom turned to Molly. “Ma’am, are you alright? Do you need help?” he asked gently.
Molly, with tears in her eyes, thanked him. “I’m fine, thanks to you. Could you walk me home?”
Tom agreed. When they reached her stop, Tom helped Molly off the bus and walked her to her apartment building. Molly invited Tom up for a slice of apple pie and coffee.
As they talked, Molly learned about Tom’s hardships and his lost daughter. She picked up her phone, made a quick call, and smiled.
“My son has a farm, and he’s looking for a reliable worker. I think you’re the man for the job,” she said.
Tom was surprised. “But I don’t know anything about farming.”
“I told him that,” Molly said, “but I also told him you’re strong, determined, and can learn anything. And I know you have a big reason to succeed, right?”
Tom nodded, holding back tears. Molly explained that the job came with a cottage, good pay, and health insurance. She had a feeling he’d get Daisy back soon.
Six months later, Tom was working on the farm, and Child Services allowed him to bring Daisy home. Thanks to Molly’s kindness, Tom and Daisy started a new life together.
My Stepmom Gifted Me a Funerary Urn for My 17th Birthday
I always knew my stepmom, Monica, wasn’t exactly the nicest person—annoying, yes, but not evil. She was the type who would talk over me, forget my birthday, and call me “kiddo” even though I was practically an adult.
But what she did on my 17th birthday? It was the final straw.
It all started after my mom, Sarah, passed away when I was ten. After that, it was just me and Dad. We were a team—movie nights, pizza dinners, and a mutual understanding that we had each other’s backs, always.
Then Monica came along about three years ago. She wasn’t the worst, just kind of… there. She moved in, slowly took over the bathroom with her endless beauty products, and managed to inch her way into Dad’s life, whether I liked it or not.
Monica had dreams—big dreams—of opening a hair salon. I didn’t have a problem with people having dreams, but I had my own, too, and she treated me like I was an inconvenience that came with the house.
But I had a plan. College was my way out, and Dad had promised me from the time I was little that there was a college fund waiting for me. “Your mom and I set it up when you were five, Lila,” he’d say. “It’s all there, and I add to it every year.”
So, I worked hard in school, counting down the days until I could leave for college and start a life of my own.
On the morning of my 17th birthday, I wasn’t expecting much. Maybe some pancakes, a card—Dad was at work, so it was just Monica and me. But when Monica handed me a gift bag, things took a weird turn.
Inside the bag was a pink funerary urn. Yes, you read that right. An urn.
I stared at it, completely confused. “What the hell is this?” I asked.
Monica leaned against the kitchen counter, a smug look on her face. “It’s symbolic,” she said as if that explained anything.
“Symbolic of what?” I asked, already feeling a sinking feeling in my stomach.
Monica smiled wider. “It’s time to bury your college dreams, kiddo. Your dad and I decided to put that fund to better use.”
“Better use?” I repeated, my heart racing.
“Yep. We used it to help me open my salon. College is a gamble, Lila. But a business? That’s a real investment.”
I was frozen. Had they really taken my future, my college fund, and sunk it into Monica’s dream? How could my dad have let this happen?
“Life’s full of disappointments,” she added, as if that was supposed to be comforting.
I ran upstairs and slammed my door, sobbing harder than I ever had. Everything I’d worked for, everything my mom had wanted for me, was gone.
For the next few days, I barely spoke to either of them. Monica pranced around like she owned the house while I sat with the urn on my desk, a twisted reminder of what I had lost.
Then, a few days later, something strange happened.
When I got home from school, there was a note on my desk in Monica’s messy handwriting: Meet me at the salon at 6 P.M. tonight. No questions. Just trust me.
I almost laughed. Trust her? After what she did?
But my curiosity got the better of me, and against my better judgment, I went.
When I arrived at the salon, the lights were off, but the door was unlocked. Hesitant, I stepped inside. There, in the middle of the room, were Monica and my dad, both grinning.
“Surprise!” Monica shouted.
I was speechless.
“Look,” Monica said, stepping aside to reveal a shiny new sign on the wall: Dream Cuts: A Scholarship Fund in Honor of Sarah.
“What is this?” I asked, completely lost.
Monica’s smile softened. “We didn’t use your college fund, Lila. It’s all still there. The salon isn’t just for me—it’s for you, too. And for others like you. A portion of the profits will go toward funding scholarships in your mom’s name.”
I blinked, feeling like the ground was shifting beneath my feet.
“But… why make me think otherwise?” I asked, still trying to wrap my head around it.
Monica winced. “Yeah, the urn thing… That was not my best idea. I thought it would be motivational, like burying the past and embracing the future. Turns out, it was just creepy.”
Dad stepped forward, placing a hand on my shoulder. “We’ve been planning this for months. Your mom always wanted to help kids get to college. This way, her dream lives on.”
I stood there, stunned, my anger melting into something softer.
Monica looked at me earnestly. “I’m not trying to replace your mom, Lila. I just want to build something meaningful, something that helps you and others. I know I haven’t been the best stepmom, but I hope this can be a fresh start.”
For the first time in a long time, I smiled.
It wasn’t perfect, and maybe things with Monica never would be. But in that moment, standing in a salon named for my mom, I realized she wasn’t trying to destroy my future—she was trying to honor it in a way I hadn’t expected.
And yeah, I kept the urn. I planted peace lilies in it. Maybe it wasn’t the symbol Monica had intended, but it had become something new. A symbol of hope.
What would you have done in my shoes?
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