When Emily ordered pizza while her fiancé was out of town, she expected a quiet night alone, not a message that would unravel her life. Little did she know, the delivery would save her from a disastrous marriage.
Living with Jake felt like being stuck in a comfortable routine. Our small apartment, with its cozy throws and mismatched cushions, was our haven—or so I thought. I’m Emily, and for the past three years, Jake and I have made a habit out of simple pleasures.
Emily ordered a pizza | Source: Midjourney
The most frequent one was ordering pizza from the same local spot on our lazy evenings. It was a ritual. Jake would browse through movie listings while I’d dial up our favorite pizzeria.
Tom, the delivery guy, knew us by name. His visits were as regular as clockwork, complete with his cheerful “How’s it going?” that echoed through our small entryway. Tonight, however, it was just me. Jake was out of town on a business trip, and the quiet was louder than usual.
I ordered a single pizza—my usual, pepperoni with extra cheese. When the doorbell rang, it was Tom, as expected, but something about him was off tonight. His smile didn’t reach his eyes, and his hands seemed to shake a bit as he handed me the pizza box.
Tom delivered the pizza | Source: Midjourney
“Evening, Emily. Jake’s not around tonight?” Tom asked, a slight quiver in his voice.
“No, just me tonight,” I responded, trying to sound cheerful. Tom nodded, quickly turning on his heel to leave—too quickly, it seemed.
As I shut the door, his behavior nagged at me. Was he okay? Shaking off the concern, I carried the warm box to the kitchen. The aroma of garlic and tomato sauce filled the air, a comfort that usually felt like a hug.
Emily found the note | Source: Midjourney
But as I opened the box, my heart skipped a beat. There, scrawled across the inside lid of the box with a black Sharpie, was a message that read, “He is not who you think. Check your door camera.”
The pizza suddenly seemed unappetizing as a cold wave of dread washed over me. My hands trembled as I set the box down, the cheerful buzz of the apartment now swallowed by a looming silence. What was I about to find on that camera?
My fingers trembled as I fumbled with the tablet that controlled our door camera. The message in the pizza box had sent chills down my spine, and every second until I opened the app felt like an eternity. I tapped into the camera’s history, my breath catching with each swipe back through the days.
Emily finds the footage | Source: Midjourney
Then, I saw it.
Jake, my Jake, greeted a woman at our door. Not just any woman—this one was laughing as she handed him a bottle of wine. My heart sank. I scrolled further. Another day, another woman, this one carrying a stack of movies.
Every time I was away, it seemed, Jake had company. Different women, each visit documented clearly by the camera he had installed, ironically, for our safety.
Jake meets the other woman on his front porch | Source: Midjourney
I sat frozen, the tablet dropping to my lap. My mind raced. How could he? When had our life together turned into this charade? Tears blurred my vision, each clip on the camera a stab to my heart. The trust I’d placed in him, the love I’d nurtured—were they all just one-sided? Was I the only one in this?
With each woman’s laugh, each shared bottle of wine, it felt as though the apartment shrank, the walls closing in on me. I’d loved this space, our shared life, but now each room screamed of betrayal.
I felt nauseous, a lump forming in my throat as the reality settled like lead in my stomach. This wasn’t just a simple mistake or a misunderstanding. It was a deliberate, repeated betrayal. My hands clenched into fists, my nails digging into my palms.
Emily calms herself before confronting Jake | Source: Midjourney
Rage mingled with my sorrow, heating my tears as they streamed down my face. I had to confront him, to demand answers. But first, I needed to compose myself, to gather the shattered pieces of my dignity. I couldn’t let him see me broken.
I had to be strong, for my own sake. The love I thought we had was gone, and in its place was a cold, hard anger. Jake had some serious explaining to do, and I was going to make sure I got it.
When Jake returned, the apartment was silent, the tension as thick as fog. I sat at the kitchen table, the images from the door camera looping in my mind. He greeted me with his usual casual smile, oblivious to the storm inside me.
Jake returns home | Source: Midjourney
“Hey, Em. Missed you,” he said, hanging up his coat.
I didn’t return the smile. “We need to talk.”
Jake’s smile faltered. “What’s wrong?”
I held up the tablet, showing a pause on a frame of him with one of the women. “Care to explain this?”
Jake glanced at the screen, then shrugged, his posture relaxed. “Emily, you’re making a big deal out of nothing. They’re just friends.”
Jake listens to Emily | Source: Midjourney
“Friends?” I snapped. “Different women, each time I’m away? Really, Jake?”
He sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Look, Em, you’re being paranoid. These women mean nothing.”
“Nothing?” My voice rose, anger searing through my calm façade. “How can you say that?”
Jake’s tone hardened. “I bring a lot to this relationship. You really want to throw this away over some insecurity?”
Shocked Emily | Source: Midjourney
That was it. His dismissal, his arrogance—it crystallized everything I felt. “It’s not insecurity when I have evidence, Jake. I can’t do this. I won’t marry someone who thinks so little of me.”
Jake’s face tightened, the arrogance slipping into shock. “You’re serious? Over some nonsense?”
“Yes,” I said, firm and clear. “I’m done. We’re done.”
He stared at me, then without another word, grabbed his coat and left. The door slammed shut behind him, and just like that, it was over.
Emily sits in front of the closed door | Source: Midjourney
After a few moments alone, gathering my thoughts, I picked up my phone and dialed the pizza place. Tom answered.
“Tom, it’s Emily. I… I wanted to say thank you. You were right about Jake.”
There was a pause on the line. “I’m really sorry, Emily. I thought you should know.”
“I appreciate it,” I said, sincerity heavy in my voice. “Could I… maybe buy you a coffee sometime? To talk?”
Tom talks to Emily | Source: Midjourney
“I’d like that,” Tom replied, a warmth in his voice that comforted my bruised heart.
The next day, as I met Tom at the local café, the anxiety of confronting Jake felt like a distant memory. Tom’s genuine concern was evident in his eyes, making me feel seen for the first time in a long while.
“Thank you for being honest with me, Tom. It must have been hard to decide to tell me,” I said as we sat down with our coffees.
Tom and Emily go out for a coffee | Source: Midjourney
He nodded. “It was, Emily. But it didn’t feel right keeping it from you. Everyone deserves the truth.”
As we talked, I realized how much of my identity had been tied to my relationship with Jake. Now, as I sat across from Tom, a sense of freedom and possibility washed over me. Here was someone who valued honesty over convenience. It was refreshing and, strangely, hopeful.
Our conversation moved from the heavy topics to lighter ones, and laughter soon followed. I hadn’t expected to feel this light after such a heavy blow. It was a reminder that sometimes, out of the wreckage comes a chance to rebuild something better.
Emily laughs with Tom | Source: Midjourney
Sitting there with Tom, laughter bubbling up between us, I felt a weight lift off my shoulders. It was like breathing fresh air after being cooped up indoors too long.
“I never thought a pizza delivery could change my life,” I joked, glancing at Tom. His smile told me he understood.
Tom laughs with Emily | Source: Midjourney
“Life is strange, Emily. Sometimes help comes from where you least expect it,” he replied, his eyes twinkling with kindness.
As we left the café, a new sense of hope filled me. I was ready to move forward, to embrace whatever came next. I wasn’t sure what the future held, but I was certain of one thing: I was on my way to finding happiness again, one slice at a time.
My Boyfriend Went on a Bachelorette Trip with All Women — Karma Struck Hard When the Truth Came Out
Secrets, lies, affairs, drama, and so much more are what make up my sordid tale. I once trusted my boyfriend with having a female best friend but felt uneasy when she asked him to join her bachelorette party. Only to find out that there was more to their “friendship” than I anticipated!
A shocked woman looking at a phone | Source: Pexels
Let me tell you about the time I, Matilda, learned that sometimes the universe knows when to intervene. It all started when my boyfriend, Jake, was invited to be the “man of honor” at his female best friend, Lisa’s, wedding. He was thrilled; I was… less so.
Lisa planned a weekend bachelorette getaway in a quaint cabin by a lake. To my dismay, Jake was the only guy invited! “It’s just a fun trip, babe! You know I love you,” he assured me.
He said this while packing his bags excitedly and ahead of time. This all happened at the apartment he shared with three other guys, as I hovered around.
Read more of this story here.
This work is inspired by real events and people, but it has been fictionalized for creative purposes. Names, characters, and details have been changed to protect privacy and enhance the narrative. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.
The author and publisher make no claims to the accuracy of events or the portrayal of characters and are not liable for any misinterpretation. This story is provided “as is,” and any opinions expressed are those of the characters and do not reflect the views of the author or publisher.
It Took Me 2 Years to Find the House from an Old Photo I Received Anonymously
A mysterious box appears on Evan’s doorstep containing a baby photo with a birthmark identical to his and a faded image of an old house shrouded in trees. Haunted by questions of family and identity, Evan becomes obsessed with finding it. Two years later, he does.
When people ask where I’m from, I always say “here and there.” It’s simpler that way. Nobody really wants to hear about foster homes and sleeping in rooms that never felt mine.
A serious man | Source: Midjourney
But truth be told, I’ve been searching for the true answer to where I came from my whole life.
I remember Mr. Bennett, my 8th-grade history teacher, better than most of the families I lived with. He was the only one who ever looked at me like I wasn’t a lost cause.
I didn’t realize it back then, but his belief in me was the start of everything. He’s the reason I clawed my way to a college grant. But college didn’t care how scrappy I was.
A college class | Source: Pexels
While other students called home for emergency cash, I worked double shifts at the campus café, microwaving three-day-old pizza for dinner. I never complained. Who would listen?
After graduation, I lucked into a job as an assistant to Richard — think Wall Street shark in a luxury suit. He was ruthless but brilliant. He didn’t care where I came from, only that I could keep up.
For five years, I followed him like a shadow, learning everything from negotiation tactics to the art of not flinching in a boardroom.
Businesspeople in a boardroom | Source: Pexels
When I walked away, it wasn’t with bitterness. It was with the blueprint for my logistics company: Cole Freight Solutions.
That company became my pride and proof that I was so much more than just a name on a file in some state database.
I thought I’d finally escaped my past in the foster system. I was 34, too old to be haunted by my mysterious origins when my future lay before me. That’s what I told myself, at any rate. But it turned out my past had more to show me.
A man in a warehouse | Source: Midjourney
I’d just come home from work and the box was sitting on my front step like it had fallen out of the sky. No postage, no address, no delivery slip.
At first, I didn’t touch it. I stood there, hands in my jacket pockets, scanning the street. No one was around. The only movement was the sway of the neighbor’s wind chimes. After a few minutes, I crouched down and ran my fingers along its edges.
It was just a plain old cardboard box, soft at the corners like it had been wet once and dried in the sun.
A slightly damaged cardboard box | Source: Midjourney
I carried it inside, kicking the door shut behind me. It sat on my kitchen table, silent but loud in its own way.
I pulled open the flaps, and I swear, for a second, I stopped breathing.
It was full of toys. Old, battered toys. A wooden car with half its wheels gone, a stuffed rabbit with one button-eye dangling from a loose thread. They smelled like time — musty and sad. Then I saw the photos.
Items in a cardboard box | Source: Midjourney
Faded images spilled out like loose puzzle pieces. The first photo I grabbed stopped me cold. A baby’s chubby face, round cheeks flushed with life. My eyes locked on a small, jagged mark on his arm. My breath hitched.
No. It couldn’t be.
I yanked up my sleeve, heart pounding hard enough to feel it in my ears. There it was — that same odd-shaped birthmark just below my elbow. My fingers hovered over it like I’d never seen it before.
A birthmark on a man’s arm | Source: Midjourney
My gaze flicked back to the table, hands moving with urgency now. Another photo lay beneath the first. This one was different. It showed an old, weathered house half-hidden behind a wall of trees. It looked like something forgotten.
Beneath the photo, faint words scratched across the bottom. I tilted it toward the kitchen light, squinting like that would sharpen the letters.
Two words floated up from the smudges: “Cedar Hollow.”
A man holding a photo | Source: Midjourney
I didn’t have time to process it before I spotted the letter. The paper had the rough texture of an old grocery bag and smelled faintly of mildew. My fingers hesitated as if the letter might burn me. But I opened it anyway.
“This box was meant for you, Evan. It was left with you as a baby at the orphanage. The staff misplaced it, and it was only recently found. We are returning it to you now.”
My legs buckled, and I sat hard on one of the kitchen chairs.
A shocked man | Source: Midjourney
My elbows pressed into the table as I gripped my head with both hands. I read it again, slower this time as if slowing down would change what it said. It didn’t.
The photo, the baby, the birthmark, the house. This box — this stupid, worn-out box — had handed me the key to a question I’d stopped asking myself years ago: “Who are you?”
That night, I sat at my desk with the photo pinned beneath my fingers. I scanned it, enlarged it, and ran it through cheap online tools that promised “enhancement” but only made it worse.
A frustrated man working on a laptop | Source: Midjourney
Every blurry line made me angrier. Every click of the mouse felt like I was pushing further from the truth.
Weeks passed. My search history turned into a rabbit hole of maps, old county registries, and forum posts full of strangers who “knew a guy” who “might know a place.”
Every lead ended in a dead end, but I couldn’t let it go. So I hired professionals. Real investigators with access to records I couldn’t touch.
A detective | Source: Pexels
I told myself it was just curiosity. Just a little unfinished business. But I knew better. I knew I wouldn’t stop.
Months passed. The investigators burned through my savings, but I didn’t care. I was chasing something bigger than logic. I stopped taking client calls and ducked out of friend meetups. People asked if I was sick. I wasn’t sick; I was consumed.
Two years later, my phone buzzed at 2:16 p.m. I answered before the second ring.
A man holding a cell phone | Source: Pexels
“You’re not gonna believe this,” said the investigator. “Cedar Hollow. It’s real, and I found it. It’s a house about 130 miles from you. I’m texting you the address.”
I hung up, hands gripping the phone so tight it squeaked.
It was real… the text with the address flashed up on my screen, followed shortly by a location pin. This was it. I was going home.
An emotional man | Source: Midjourney
I drove three hours through back roads and half-forgotten highways. No music. No distractions. Just me, the hum of the engine, and the low thump of my heartbeat in my ears.
The house wasn’t hard to spot. It sat at the end of a dirt road, surrounded by trees that twisted upward like bony fingers. The boards on the windows and doors were cracked. Vines crawled up the siding. It looked tired, like it had been holding its breath for years.
I parked the car and got out.
A neglected house | Source: Midjourney
The air smelled like damp leaves and old bark. My breath came out in puffs of white mist. I walked up to it slowly, one foot in front of the other.
My fingers dug under the edge of a loose board on the back window. It took three hard pulls before it came free, nails popping loose. I hoisted myself through, landing on creaky floorboards with a thud.
The first thing I saw was the cradle.
An old cradle | Source: Midjourney
It was exactly like the photo. The curve of the wood was identical, and the hand-carved stars on the side were the same. I reached for it, touching the edge with my fingertips.
On the small table beside it, there was a picture frame. A woman holding a baby. Her smile was soft and tired, but there was warmth there. I knew that smile.
I knew it because I’d been waiting for it my whole life.
An emotional man | Source: Midjourney
“Mom,” I whispered, lifting the picture frame.
The frame caught on something, stirring up the dust. There was a letter on the table, folded neatly like someone had taken great care. My fingers shook as I opened it.
“Someday you will come here, son, and you will find all this.”
I sank onto the floor, my back to the wall.
A man reading a letter | Source: Midjourney
My eyes ran over every word, etching them into my mind.
“I am very sick. Your father left me, and I have no relatives. Just like you will not have any, since there’s no way I can keep you now. I’m so sorry, my angel. Be strong and know that I had no other choice. I love you.”
My tears hit the paper.
A letter | Source: Pexels
I tried to wipe them away, but they left faint stains on the ink. I read it again. Then again.
“I love you.” I wiped the dust off the picture and stared at my mother’s face. I had her eyes and her chin, her letter, and her love, but it wasn’t enough.
Grief only drowns you if you stay under too long. I stayed under for a week, maybe two. Then I did something I never thought I’d do.
A determined man | Source: Midjourney
I called a construction crew.
The first day, they thought I was nuts. The place was a wreck, a “tear-down” as one guy put it. But I shook my head.
“We rebuild it. Everything.”
So, they put in new walls, new windows, and new floors. I took out a loan and worked like a man possessed to make it happen, but it was worth it.
A house | Source: Midjourney
One year later, I stood on the front porch, hands on my hips. The air smelled like fresh pine and clean paint.
But not everything was new.
I kept the cradle. I cleaned it by hand, sanding the rough edges, and staining it until it gleamed. I also kept the photo of her and me and put it on the mantel.
A mantel | Source: Pexels
It took me a lifetime to find it, but I was finally home.
Here’s another story: When Lucy moves into her childhood home, she hopes for a fresh start after her painful divorce. But cryptic comments from her neighbors about the attic stir her unease. The devastating betrayal she discovers up there forces her to flee the house.
This work is inspired by real events and people, but it has been fictionalized for creative purposes. Names, characters, and details have been changed to protect privacy and enhance the narrative. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.
The author and publisher make no claims to the accuracy of events or the portrayal of characters and are not liable for any misinterpretation. This story is provided “as is,” and any opinions expressed are those of the characters and do not reflect the views of the author or publisher.
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