As Lila was ready to celebrate her 17th birthday, she received an unexpected and creepy gift from her stepmother: a pink funerary urn. Like the type you keep ashes in? Yes, that’s the one. But that’s not all! Lila learns that her college fund was given to Monica to open her salon. What will Lila do?
Let me tell you, I’ve been sitting on this one for a few days, just trying to make sense of what went down.
I always thought my stepmom, Monica, was the worst, though not Disney villain evil. She was the kind of person who talks over you, forgets your birthday, and calls you “kiddo” when you’re practically an adult.
A smiling teenage girl | Source: Midjourney
But, what she pulled on my 17th birthday? It shattered whatever shaky truce we had.
At least, that’s what I thought. Turns out, things weren’t exactly what they seemed.
Here’s how it all went down.
My mom, Sarah, died when I was ten, and after that, it was just Dad and me. We were a solid team. The type of team that has pizza for dinner half the week, late-night movies, and this unspoken agreement that we’d always have each other’s backs.
Two boxes of pizza on a coffee table | Source: Midjourney
Then came Monica, about three years ago.
At first, she wasn’t horrible; she was just… there. Like a stray cat that never leaves, so you have no choice but to adopt it. Monica moved into our house, took over the bathroom with her fifty bottles of face serums and creams, and slowly pushed her way into my dad’s world.
Monica had big dreams of opening a hair salon, which was fine. I wasn’t against people having dreams. I had my own dreams waiting for me, but she treated me like I was just this annoying piece of furniture that came with the house.
A woman’s vanity | Source: Midjourney
Honestly, I was counting down the days until I could escape to college.
Dad had promised me since middle school that there was a college fund waiting for me.
“Don’t worry, sweet girl,” he told me. “Your mom and I put together the fund when you were five. There’s more than enough, and every year on your birthday and Christmas, I add more.”
A smiling little girl | Source: Midjourney
“Thank you, Dad,” I said. “I just want to study and make something of myself, like Mom said.”
“You only have to worry about your grades, Lila,” he said. “I’ll handle the rest.”
Naturally, I worked my butt off in school, knowing that in a few years, I’d be out of here.
A smiling man | Source: Midjourney
College was my golden ticket, and no one — not even Monica — would stand in my way.
At least, that’s what I thought.
On the morning of my 17th birthday, I came downstairs expecting the usual lukewarm effort. By lukewarm, I mean a sad card, some pancakes, and Monica forgetting my favorite syrup. Dad was at work, so it was just Mon and I.
A plate of pancakes and a card on a table | Source: Midjourney
She handed me a gift bag, which was already weird because Monica wasn’t exactly the thoughtful or sentimental type.
“Happy Birthday, kiddo,” she said, flashing one of her tight-lipped smiles.
I wasn’t expecting much, but I sure as hell wasn’t expecting this.
I reached inside the bag and pulled out… an urn.
A shocked teenage girl | Source: Midjourney
A funerary urn.
You know, the kind that people store ashes in. Cold, heavy, and, well, pink. It was pink.
I just stared at it, my brain short-circuiting.
“What the hell is this?” I asked, holding the urn like it was cursed.
A pink funerary urn | Source: Midjourney
Monica leaned against the kitchen counter, smug as ever.
“It’s symbolic,” she said as if that explained anything.
“Symbolic of what?”
Monica’s grin widened.
A smiling woman in a kitchen | Source: Midjourney
“It’s time to bury your dreams of college, kiddo. Your dad and I talked about this, and we decided to put the college fund to better use.”
“Better use?” I asked, a cold shiver running through me.
“Yep. We’re investing it in my hair salon. College is a gamble, Lila. A business? That’s something real, sweetie.”
A hair salon being renovated | Source: Midjourney
She sipped her coffee like she’d just said the most reasonable thing in the world.
I was frozen in place, trying to make sense of what I’d just heard. Had they really taken my future, everything I’d worked for, and sunk it into Monica’s salon dream?
“How could you do this?” I whispered.
Monica just smiled, a little too pleased with herself.
A shocked teenage girl | Source: Midjourney
“Life’s full of disappointments, kiddo. Better get used to it now,” she said.
Wow.
That was it. I was done. I ran upstairs, slamming the door behind me so hard that the walls shook.
I cried so hard it hurt. What else could I do? Everything I had been holding onto was gone, and the only person I thought I could count on, Dad, had let this happen.
An upset teenage girl | Source: Midjourney
My mom wanted me to get out and make something of myself. And now? It was all over.
The next few days were a blur. I didn’t speak to Monica or my dad unless I absolutely had to. Every time I looked at that stupid urn sitting on my desk, my stomach twisted.
I couldn’t even bring myself to throw it out. It felt like some kind of morbid evidence. Like proof of the betrayal I didn’t see coming.
A pink funerary urn on a desk | Source: Midjourney
At school, my friends tried to cheer me up.
“Maybe she thought it was funny, Lila,” my friend Kira said. “Like, who really knows what Monica is thinking?”
“And anyway, there’s nothing stopping you from throwing it out! Just do it! Don’t overthink it,” Mel said.
Three teenage girls | Source: Midjourney
But still, I couldn’t focus on anything other than the fact that Monica was prancing around, acting like she was the queen of the house, while I sat there with no future.
Then, a few days later, something strange happened.
When I got home from school, there was a note on my desk. Not in an envelope, just folded, with my name written in Monica’s messy handwriting.
A woman sitting on a couch | Source: Midjourney
Meet me at the salon at 6 P.M. tonight. No questions. Just trust me. -M.
I almost laughed out loud. Trust her? Yeah, right.
But something about the note gnawed at me. Maybe it was the fact that I wanted to confront her one last time, tell her exactly what I thought of her.
Against my better judgment, I decided to go.
A note on a table | Source: Midjourney
When I got to the salon, the lights were off, and the front door was unlocked.
I hesitated for a second, wondering if this was some elaborate prank. But curiosity got the best of me.
I stepped inside, and there they were. Monica and my dad, standing side by side, both grinning widely.
“Surprise!” Monica shouted, throwing her arms up like this was the happiest moment of her life.
The entrance to a salon | Source: Midjourney
I just stared at them, completely lost.
“What is this?”
Monica stepped aside, and that’s when I saw it — a shiny, brand-new sign mounted on the wall.
Dream Cuts: A Scholarship Fund in Honor of Sarah
I blinked, feeling like the room was tilting on its axis.
A hair salon | Source: Midjourney
“What… what is this?”
Monica smiled, but it wasn’t her usual smug grin. This one was softer, almost real.
“We didn’t use your college fund, kiddo. It’s all still there. The salon? It’s not just for me. It’s for you, too. For other kids like you, too.”
I couldn’t breathe.
A smiling woman | Source: Midjourney
“But then, why would you make me think otherwise?” I asked.
Monica winced, putting her hand on her head.
“Yeah, so, the urn thing… That was not my best idea. I thought it’d be motivational, like, bury the past and embrace the future. You know? But it turns out that it was just creepy.”
A woman with her hand on her head | Source: Midjourney
I stared at her, speechless.
My dad stepped forward, wrapping an arm around my shoulder.
“We’ve been planning this for months, Lila,” he said. “Your mom always wanted to help kids get to college. This salon is going to fund scholarships. For you and for others in her name.”
“The salon has been my dream, Lila,” Monica said. “But it was never going to come at your expense. This way, a great portion of all our profits in the future will go to the fund.”
A smiling man | Source: Midjourney
I didn’t know what to say.
Or what to think.
Just that I felt a warm haze take over me.
Monica laughed softly.
“I’m not a monster, darling,” she said. “I just didn’t want you to think that I was trying to take over your mom’s role.”
A smiling woman | Source: Midjourney
For the first time in a long time, I smiled.
It wasn’t perfect, but things with Monica probably never would be. But, at that moment, standing in the middle of a salon named for my mom’s dream, I realized that she wasn’t trying to ruin my life.
She was trying to build something bigger than any of us.
A smiling teenage girl | Source: Midjourney
And somehow, against all odds, it felt like a new beginning.
And yeah, I kept the urn. But I planted white peace lilies in it, thinking it would be symbolic after all. And who knows, maybe I’ll take the urn to college.
What would you have done?
Peace lilies planted into a pink funerary urn | Source: Midjourney
If you enjoyed this story, here’s another one for you |
I Transferred $24K to My Daughter for Her College Tuition, Only to Discover She Never Enrolled — What She Spent It On Made Me Pale
Caroline had been saving for her daughter’s college fund since Angela was born. But after a classmate of Angela’s reveals that Angela is not actually enrolled in college, Caroline must uncover what her daughter is doing and what she used the money for.
Children are always going to break your heart. This was something that I learned the hard way after trusting my daughter, Angela, completely.
A close-up of a smiling girl | Source: Midjourney
Since Angela was born, I have been saving for college. I needed to know that irrespective of what life threw my way, I would be able to educate my child.
“I think you can wait until she’s a little older,” my husband, Holden, said. “We can do it together.”
“You can add to her college fund later,” I said, looking at my baby girl. “But I’m going to start from next month. I wasn’t able to study, Holden. And it was because we didn’t have the opportunity to do so. Angela is going to get that opportunity.”
A smiling baby girl | Source: Midjourney
“Okay, Caroline,” my husband said. “You start it now, and I’ll add to it in a year. The house will be paid off, and I’ll be able to put that money into the fund.”
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.
My Nonverbal Son Warned Me about My Husband’s Secret by Writing ‘Dad Lies!’ on His Palm
My husband’s early returns from work — always when our nanny was still there — set off alarm bells. But it was our nonverbal six-year-old, Oliver, who saw the truth. His warning, “Dad lies!” written on his palm in marker, led me to uncover a secret that would shatter our world.
Oliver had always been more observant than most kids his age. Maybe it was because he couldn’t speak and his rare condition meant he had to find other ways to communicate.
A boy playing with toy cars | Source: Midjourney
Whatever the reason, he saw things the rest of us missed, like how his father had been acting strange lately.
I’d noticed the changes gradually, like watching shadows lengthen across our living room floor. First, it was the phone calls he’d take outside, pacing the garden with one hand pressed against his ear.
Then came the mysterious appointments that never quite lined up with his usual schedule. But what really set off alarm bells was when James started coming home early from work.
A man arriving home from work | Source: Midjourney
It should have been a good thing. More family time, right? But something felt off about it, especially since he always seemed to time his arrivals when Tessa, our nanny, was still there.
They’d be in deep conversation when I’d call to check in, their voices dropping to whispers when Oliver was around.
“He’s just being more involved,” my friend Sarah assured me over coffee one morning. “Isn’t that what you’ve always wanted?”
A smiling woman in a coffee shop | Source: Midjourney
I stirred my latte, watching the foam swirl into abstract patterns. “It feels different. Like he’s… hiding something.”
“What makes you think that?”
“He’s distracted. Distant. The other day, I found him sitting in Oliver’s room at midnight, just watching him sleep. When I asked what was wrong, he said ‘nothing’ so quickly it had to be something.”
A worried woman | Source: Midjourney
I’d managed to keep my darker suspicions at bay until one fateful Tuesday afternoon. I left work early after my last meeting was canceled. The house was quiet when I walked in, but I heard low voices coming from the living room.
James and Tessa sat on the sofa, heads close together, speaking in hushed tones. They jumped apart when they saw me like teenagers caught passing notes in class.
“Rachel!” James’s voice cracked slightly. “You’re home early.”
Two people sitting on a sofa | Source: Midjourney
“Meeting got canceled,” I said, the words falling flat between us. “Funny, sounds like yours did too.”
“Yeah, the client backed out last minute.” He wouldn’t meet my eyes, and Tessa’s cheeks flushed pink as she gathered Oliver’s art supplies.
I couldn’t focus on anything else after that. My thoughts spiraled as I prepared dinner, each clink of plates against the counter matching the pounding in my chest.
A worried woman | Source: Midjourney
What if all those early returns home weren’t about spending more time with Oliver? What if James and Tessa…
I couldn’t even complete the thought. The idea of him having an affair with our nanny made me physically ill, but once it took root, I couldn’t shake it.
I watched him across the dinner table, analyzing every gesture, every averted glance. Was he avoiding my eyes? Did that forced smile hide guilt?
A man eating dinner | Source: Midjourney
“How was your afternoon?” I asked, trying to keep my voice casual.
“Oh, you know. The usual.” James pushed his lasagna around his plate. “Just wanted to get home early to see my favorite people.”
The words that would’ve once warmed my heart now felt like daggers. I noticed Oliver watching us intently, his bright eyes darting between our faces as if reading a story written in our expressions.
A boy seated at a dinner table | Source: Midjourney
After dinner, James headed out to the garden — his convenient new escape, I thought bitterly. I was loading the dishwasher, my mind still churning with suspicions, when Oliver appeared at my elbow.
His small face was scrunched with worry, more serious than I’d ever seen him. He held up his palm, where he’d written two words in blue marker: “Dad lies!”
My heart stopped.
A shocked woman | Source: Midjourney
Somehow, seeing those words validated every fear I’d been trying to suppress. If Oliver had noticed something was wrong, it couldn’t just be my imagination. My sweet, silent boy who saw everything — what exactly had he witnessed?
“What do you mean, sweetie?” I kneeled to his level. “What kind of lies?”
He pointed toward the hall table, where James had left his briefcase. The same briefcase he’d been clutching like a lifeline lately, never letting it out of his sight.
A briefcase on a table | Source: Pexels
“Oliver, honey, that’s private—” I started to say, but he was already dragging it over to me, his eyes intense with purpose.
My hands trembled as I opened the clasp. Inside, instead of the expected lipstick-stained collar or hidden phone, I found a manila folder stuffed with medical documents.
The words jumped out at me like accusations: “Stage 3.” “Aggressive treatment required.” “Survival rate.”
“Oh God,” I whispered, the papers shaking in my hands.
A shocked woman looking at documents | Source: Midjourney
“Rachel?” His voice came from behind me, quiet and defeated. “I didn’t want you to find out this way.”
I spun around, tears already streaming down my face. “Find out? When exactly were you planning to tell me that you’re dying?”
He slumped into a kitchen chair, suddenly looking ten years older. “I thought… I thought if I could just handle it myself, get the treatments done quietly…”
“Quietly?” My voice rose.
A woman in a kitchen | Source: Midjourney
“Is that what all those early afternoons were about? Chemotherapy? And Tessa — she knows?”
“She figured it out,” he admitted. “I needed someone to cover for me when I had appointments. I made her promise not to tell you.”
“Why?” The word came out as a sob. “Did you think I couldn’t handle it? That I wouldn’t want to be there for you?”
A woman glancing to one side | Source: Midjourney
“I wanted to protect you and Oliver. I didn’t want to see that look in your eyes, the one you’re giving me right now.” He reached for my hand. “I didn’t want every moment together to be overshadowed by this… this thing inside me.”
“You don’t get to make that choice for us,” I said, but I let him hold my hand anyway. “We’re supposed to face these things together. That’s what marriage means.”
Oliver appeared between us, tears rolling down his cheeks.
A boy wiping away tears | Source: Pexels
He held up his palm again, but this time it read: “I love Dad.”
James broke down then, really broke down, pulling Oliver into his lap. “I love you too, buddy. So much. I’m sorry I scared you with all the secrets.”
I wrapped my arms around them both, breathing in the familiar smell of James’s aftershave, and feeling Oliver’s small body trembling against us.
“No more secrets,” I whispered. “Whatever time we have left, we face it together.”
A woman speaking to someone | Source: Midjourney
The next few weeks were a blur of doctor’s appointments and difficult conversations. I took a leave of absence from work, and we told Oliver’s school what was happening. Tessa stayed on, but now she was part of our support system rather than James’s confidante.
She brought us meals on treatment days and sometimes just sat with me while James slept off the effects of the chemotherapy.
“I’m so sorry,” she said one afternoon, her eyes filling with tears. “Keeping this from you was the hardest thing I’ve ever done. But he was so scared of hurting you…”
A woman speaking to someone | Source: Midjourney
“I understand,” I told her, and I did.
James had always been our protector, the one who checked for monsters under Oliver’s bed and kept spare batteries for every flashlight in case of storms. Of course, he’d try to shield us from this too.
Oliver started drawing more than ever. He filled pages with pictures of our family — always together, always holding hands.
A boy drawing pictures | Source: Midjourney
Sometimes he drew James in a hospital bed, but he always drew him smiling, surrounded by love hearts and rainbows. His art teacher told us it was his way of processing everything, of telling the story he couldn’t voice.
One day, I found James sitting in Oliver’s room, surrounded by these drawings. His eyes were red-rimmed, but he was smiling.
“Remember when we first found out about his condition?” he asked. “How terrified we were that he’d never be able to express himself?”
A solemn man sitting in a child’s bedroom | Source: Midjourney
I sat down beside him, picking up a particularly colorful drawing. “And now he’s teaching us how to communicate better.”
“I was so wrong, Rachel. About all of it. I thought being strong meant handling everything alone, but look at him.” James gestured to a drawing where Oliver had depicted our family as superheroes. “He knows that real strength is letting people in, letting them help.”
That night, as we watched Oliver arrange his latest masterpiece on the refrigerator, James squeezed my hand.
People holding hands | Source: Pexels
“I was so scared of ruining what time we had left,” he whispered. “I didn’t realize that hiding the truth was already doing that.”
I leaned my head against his shoulder, watching our silent, wise little boy. “Sometimes the hardest things to say are the ones that need saying the most.”
Oliver turned to us then, holding up both palms. On one, he’d written “Family.” On the other: “Forever.”
And in that moment, despite everything, I believed him.
A hopeful woman | Source: Midjourney
Here’s another story: When Belinda jokes about skipping her SIL’s strict vegetarian Thanksgiving, her husband Jeremy’s reaction is anything but funny. His sudden anger and ultimatum for divorce leave her reeling. As tensions rise, Belinda uncovers secrets that hint at a far deeper betrayal hidden in plain sight.
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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