For Nancy her son Henry was everything, she never imagined her life without him. It had been 23 years since the horrible accident that took Henry’s life. Every year on that day, she took his favorite pie to his grave to honor his memory. But this year, everything was about to change.
For 23 years, Nancy, now 61, never missed a single day on this date. She baked her late son’s favorite pie and took it to his grave every year since.
The pie, a simple yet delicious apple and cinnamon creation, had been Henry’s favorite since childhood.
The scent of apples and cinnamon brought back memories of when Henry was little, running into the kitchen, his eyes lighting up at the sight of the pie.
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It was his favorite dessert, and baking it had become a tradition they both cherished.
Since Henry’s tragic accident at 17, this ritual had been Nancy’s way of keeping his memory alive.
It gave her a sense of connection to him, like she was still doing something special for her boy. Losing him had been the hardest thing she had ever gone through. The pain of that day never left her.
Even though the years had passed, her grief remained, only softened by time and the small comfort this tradition brought her.
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On this particular day, just like every year before, Nancy carefully carried the freshly baked pie to the graveyard.
The weight of the dish felt heavier, as it always did when she walked toward Henry’s resting place. The grave was neat and covered in flowers, a sign of how much he was still loved.
The stone had become smoother over the years, as she had often run her fingers over it, lost in her memories.
Nancy knelt, placing the pie gently on the gravestone. Her heart ached as she began to speak, her voice quiet, as though Henry might somehow hear her.
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“Henry, I hope you’re at peace, my love. I miss you every day. I baked your favorite pie again. Remember how we used to bake it together? You’d always sneak a taste before it was done.”
She smiled, but her eyes were misty with tears. “I wish we could do that one more time.”
The familiar sorrow welled up inside her, but Nancy had learned over the years to push through the tears.
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She wiped her eyes quickly and managed a small smile. After a few more moments of silence, she kissed her fingers and touched the top of the gravestone as she said her quiet goodbye.
Then, with a heavy but comforted heart, she turned and walked away, knowing she’d be back next year, just like always.
The next day, as part of her routine, Nancy made her way back to Henry’s grave to clean up the remains of the pie.
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Usually, by the time she returned, the pie was either untouched or spoiled by the weather, a quiet reminder of her son’s absence.
She had always found it a bittersweet comfort, knowing the pie stayed where she left it as if waiting for him.
But today, as she approached the grave, something felt different. Nancy’s heart skipped a beat when she saw that the plate was clean—completely empty. For a moment, she stood frozen in disbelief.
Then, she noticed something else. Resting on the plate was a small piece of paper, folded in half.
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Nancy’s hands trembled as she picked up the note. Her breath caught in her throat as she unfolded it.
The handwriting was shaky, as though whoever had written it had struggled to form the letters. The simple words read: “Thank you.”
Her heart pounded with confusion and anger.
“Who would take Henry’s pie?” she muttered under her breath, clutching the note tightly. “This was for my son. No one had the right to touch it!”
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Her private ritual, her way of honoring and remembering her son, had been invaded by a stranger.
She felt violated, as if someone had stolen a piece of her grief.
With her emotions swirling—part outrage, part confusion—Nancy left the cemetery, her mind set on finding the person who had taken her son’s pie. She had to know who had done this, and why.
Determined to catch the culprit, Nancy decided she would take matters into her own hands. She couldn’t let someone continue to disturb the way she honored Henry. So, she devised a plan.
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That night, she baked another of Henry’s favorite pies, the same apple and cinnamon recipe she had been making for over two decades.
The next morning, with renewed resolve, she placed the freshly baked pie on Henry’s grave, just like before, but this time she wasn’t leaving.
She found a large oak tree nearby and hid behind it, close enough to see the grave but far enough to not be noticed.
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The warm aroma of the pie drifted through the air, filling the quiet cemetery.
Time passed slowly as Nancy watched and waited, her heart racing in anticipation.
An hour later, she spotted movement. A small figure cautiously approached the grave. Nancy squinted, leaning forward to get a better look.
It wasn’t the greedy thief she had imagined. No, this was something entirely different.
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A young boy, no older than 9, with ragged clothes and dirt smudged on his face, moved toward the pie with hesitant steps.
Nancy’s heart tightened as she watched him. The boy didn’t immediately take the pie.
Instead, he knelt by the grave and reached into his pocket, pulling out a small scrap of paper and a dull pencil. His hand trembled as he carefully scribbled something on the paper, his brow furrowed with concentration.
It was clear the boy struggled with writing, but he took his time, making sure each word was legible.
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Nancy’s heart softened as she saw him write “Thank you” on the paper, just like before. He wasn’t a thief. He wasn’t someone disrespecting Henry’s memory. He was just a hungry child, grateful for the kindness of a pie left behind.
The anger that had once consumed Nancy melted away in an instant. She realized this boy wasn’t stealing; he was surviving. He was in need, and her son’s favorite pie had somehow brought him comfort.
As the boy began to pick up the pie, his small hands shaking, Nancy stepped out from her hiding spot.
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The rustle of leaves under her feet made him freeze, wide-eyed. Startled, he dropped the pie, and it tumbled onto the grass. His face paled, and he backed away, looking terrified.
“I’m sorry, I’m really sorry!” the boy cried, his voice trembling with panic. “I was just so hungry, and the pie was so good. Please don’t be mad.”
Nancy’s heart softened instantly. The sight of him—thin, dirty, and scared—erased any trace of anger she had felt before.
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She knelt beside him, speaking gently, her voice as comforting as she could make it. “It’s alright, sweetheart. I’m not mad at you, Where are your parents?” she said, her tone soothing. The boy stayed silent and shook his head. “What’s your name?” Nancy asked another question understanding that the boy had nowhere to go.
“Jimmy,” he muttered, still avoiding her eyes, ashamed of what he had done.
“Well, Jimmy,” Nancy smiled softly, trying to reassure him, “it’s okay. You don’t have to steal pies. If you’re hungry, all you had to do was ask.”
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Jimmy looked up at her, his lips quivering as he tried to speak. “I didn’t mean to steal,” he said, his voice small and shaky. “I just… I don’t get to eat much, and that pie was the best thing I’ve ever had.”
Nancy’s heart ached for him, her mind flooded with thoughts of how different this boy’s life must be.
The hunger in his eyes reminded her of her own son, Henry, when he would eagerly wait for that first bite of her freshly baked pie.
But Henry never had to worry about where his next meal would come from. Jimmy, on the other hand, looked like he had been living with hunger for a long time.
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“Come with me,” Nancy said after a moment of thought. She stood up and reached out her hand to him. “I’ll bake you a fresh pie, just for you.”
Jimmy’s eyes widened in disbelief, as if he couldn’t trust his own ears. “Really?” he asked, his voice filled with a mix of hope and doubt.
Nancy nodded, her heart filled with a strange but comforting warmth. “Yes, really. You don’t have to be afraid.”
Slowly, Jimmy reached out and took Nancy’s hand.
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She led him back to her home, the boy walking beside her in silence, his eyes darting around as if he wasn’t sure if this was all real. Nancy’s heart swelled with the thought of what she was about to do.
Baking had always been her way of expressing love, and now, after years of baking for a son she could no longer see, she was about to bake for someone who truly needed it.
When they reached her cozy kitchen, Nancy set to work, rolling out the dough, slicing the apples, and adding the perfect amount of cinnamon—just as she had done so many times before.
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Jimmy watched her quietly from the corner of the kitchen, his eyes wide as he followed every move she made.
The smell of the pie began to fill the room, warm and comforting, like a hug from a long-lost friend.
Once the pie was baked, Nancy placed it in front of Jimmy. “Here you go, sweetheart,” she said softly.
“This one’s all for you.”
Jimmy hesitated for a moment, as if he couldn’t believe what was happening. But then he grabbed a slice and took a bite. His face lit up with joy, his eyes sparkling as he chewed.
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“This is the best pie I’ve ever had,” he said, his mouth still full. He ate with such happiness that it brought tears to Nancy’s eyes.
She watched him in silence, thinking about how something as simple as a pie could bring so much comfort to someone.
As Jimmy devoured the warm slices with obvious delight, Nancy couldn’t help but think of Henry.
She had always dreamed of seeing her son eat his favorite pie again, of watching him enjoy it the way he used to when he was a child.
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But now, in some strange and unexpected way, she was sharing it with another boy who needed it just as much.
Watching Jimmy eat, Nancy felt a deep sense of peace wash over her. Perhaps this was how it was meant to be.
Maybe fate had brought Jimmy into her life for a reason. By feeding him, by offering him kindness when he needed it most, she was honoring Henry’s memory in a way she had never imagined.
For the first time in years, Nancy felt that her grief had led her to something beautiful—a connection, a purpose that gave new meaning to her life.
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Maybe, just maybe, this was Henry’s way of sending her a message—that love and kindness should always find their way back to those in need.
Nancy smiled as she watched Jimmy finish the last slice of pie, her heart full of warmth and gratitude.
She had found an unexpected connection in the most unlikely place, and it filled her soul in a way that nothing else had in years.
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If you enjoyed this story, read this one: Martha was always quiet and smiling. No matter how hard or small the task, she was always ready to help. One of her colleagues, Chelsea, often took advantage of Martha’s kind nature by asking her to do her work for her. But this time, Chelsea unintentionally did Martha a favor.
This piece is inspired by stories from the everyday lives of our readers and written by a professional writer. Any resemblance to actual names or locations is purely coincidental. All images are for illustration purposes only. Share your story with us; maybe it will change someone’s life.
Man Who Is Certain Late Ex-wife Gave Birth to Only One Kid Meets Their Daughter’s Carbon Copy – Story of the Day
Henry’s daughter, Sophie, met Sandra, who looked exactly like her, at school and spent time with her. They were convinced they were twin sisters. Henry was shocked when he met Sandra and her mother and decided to find out what had happened.
Henry moved from Texas to Los Angeles when his daughter, Sophie, turned seven years old, and she was about to start second grade. “Ok, here we are. Your new school, Sophie. Are you excited?” he asked his daughter at the drop-off.
“I think so…,” Sophie responded, twirling her fingers around her skirt in nervousness. “What if no one likes me?”
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“They will. You just have to be nice to everyone, and if someone is mean to you, you go the other way. No starting fights, ok?” Henry added and kissed her forehead.
Sophie waved goodbye and entered school. She located her classroom immediately, and everyone else was already inside. But all the kids’ eyes widened, and a few even gasped when they saw her. She stopped right at the door and looked around in confusion.
Her new classmates started turning their heads back and forth between her and another girl sitting at the back. She tried to get a peak and spotted a blonde head. Suddenly, one boy yelled, “It’s Sandra’s clone!”
That’s when Sophie saw the girl at the back of the classroom, and she gasped at the sight. The girl looked just like her! Sandra stood up and stared at the new girl with her mouth gaping open. “Wow! We look like twins!” she exclaimed and smiled widely.
Sophie immediately felt at ease and grinned at the girl too. “Yeah. But why? I don’t have any sisters,” she responded.
“Me neither! It’s only my mom and me,” Sandra said and jumped towards Sophie, holding her hand. “Come sit with me.”
They spent a few minutes talking, and other kids approached them too. Then the teacher, Miss Carr, came in. “I believe we have a new student today, Sophie Douglas. Come say hello,” their teacher said and suddenly gasped a small, “Oh.”
“Miss Carr, she’s just like Sandra!” one kid said as Sophie made her way to the front of the classroom.
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“Hello, my name is Sophie. I love books and going to the beach with my dad. We moved here from Texas, and I’m so excited to make new friends,” the girl said and smiled at everyone. Miss Carr clapped as the rest of the class followed.
“That’s great, Sophie. And it looks like you have a twin in our class. That’s so cool! You can go sit down now. Ok, today we’re going to learn about frogs…” Miss Carr started her lesson immediately.
Sophie and Sandra played throughout the day with all of Sandra’s friends. They bonded faster than anyone could’ve imagined. When school ended, Sophie told her dad everything about Sandra and how they looked the same.
After hearing all about her new friend all week, Henry was curious to see her and decided to call Sandra’s mom to talk about things. They arranged a playdate and decided to meet up at McDonald’s a few days after Sophie’s first day at her new school. When Sandra and her mother, Wendy, walked in, Henry’s jaw went slack. He couldn’t believe her daughter had not been exaggerating.
The woman also gasped after seeing Sophie. “Oh my God. Hi! You must be Sophie. Sandra has been talking to me about you all this week. You really do look like twins!” Wendy exclaimed with a big smile. The girls went to the playground, and the adults could finally speak.
“Hello, I’m Henry. It’s nice to meet you,” Henry said, shaking Wendy’s hand. They sat down at one of the booths and talked some more.
She repeated the sentiment. “Wow, I just can’t believe it. I’ve read of counterparts, but this has to be something else,” Wendy commented as they watched the girls playing.
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“What do you mean?”
“Well, Sandra doesn’t know this yet, but I adopted her. Is Sophie yours biologically?”
“Yes. I mean, my ex-wife, Irene, discovered she was pregnant after we separated and had her. We co-parented, but she died a year ago, and so now, I have full custody. I was worried for Sophie, you know,” Henry blabbered. “She just lost her mother, and I had to move here for work. It’s too much change. But Sandra has been a godsend. Sophie has been smiling all week and talking about everything they have in common. I can’t thank your daughter enough.”
“Where did you move from?”
“Texas. We lived in Dallas,” Henry replied.
“Hmmm…,” Wendy hummed and placed her chin on her hand.
“What?” Henry wondered, frowning at the woman.
“I’m reluctant to say this. But I believe Sandra was born in Texas too,” Wendy revealed, wetting her lips with her tongue in hesitancy. “I’ll have to recheck her birth certificate. But is there any chance your late ex-wife had twins?”
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“I don’t… I wasn’t there with her because of business. But no. It can’t be. I returned a week after she gave birth. She had already left the hospital, and I met Sophie in her home. So, there’s no way this could happen,” Henry replied, his eyes blinking fast, trying to think.
“Were you and her in a good place at the time?”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, if she felt like you wouldn’t be around, maybe she thought having two kids was too much,” Wendy suggested as carefully as she could.
“So, you’re saying she might have given one kid up and kept the other?” Henry asked, still not believing that Irene would’ve given one of their children up for adoption. “We were not good together, and that’s why we broke up. But this is just… ugh… I don’t know what else to say.”
“Is there any way we could find out?” Wendy wondered once again.
“I guess I could call the hospital, and we could check things…,” Henry mumbled, still in shock and running his fingers through his hair. Just then, the girls came back and said they were hungry, so this conversation would have to continue another day.
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A few days later, he took Sophie to stay at Wendy’s house and traveled back to Texas. He talked to hospital staff and asked around as much as possible. Finally, one kind nurse took pity on him and discovered Irene had given birth to two babies.
Unfortunately, Henry would never know why she made the tough decision to give one baby up, but he suspected it was his fault.
I left her alone to give birth, and I wasn’t there for most of her pregnancy. This is my doing. She probably knew she was having twins and didn’t tell me.
But there was nothing he could do about the past now. He could only go forward and try to make amends. When he returned, he and Wendy got a DNA test for Sandra, confirming their suspicions. But Henry made it clear that Wendy was the girl’s mother. He would never try to separate them.
The adults sat down with the girls and told them everything as best they could, which meant explaining to Sandra that she was adopted. But the twins cheered in delight and hugged each other, chanting, “We’re sisters! We’re sisters!”
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Henry and Wendy could only laugh at them, glad that they were so happy. They had to navigate this tricky situation because Henry wanted to be a father to Sandra, but Wendy didn’t know how she would fit into Sophie’s life.
In the end, they decided to co-parent as if they both were their legal parents, and it turned out amazingly. The girls transitioned into this new normal better than they did, and it was perfect.
One night, Sophie said something that shocked Henry. “Dad, why don’t you marry Wendy? Then she could be my mom too.”
“Oh honey, that’s complicated. Wendy and I are just good friends,” he responded.
“I’ll never forget my mom. But I like her. I think she could be good for you too,” Sophie insisted.
Henry smiled. “We’ll see.”
But it was like his daughter predicted the future. Eventually, he and Wendy started dating. They got married when the girls turned 12, and they were both bridesmaids.
What can we learn from this story?
- You can’t change the past. Henry learned the hard way that you can’t change the past; only make up for your mistakes and look forward to the future.
- Some things happen for a reason. Henry and Sophie moved to Los Angeles, only to find Sandra and Wendy. It seems like more than just a coincidence.
Share this story with your friends. It might brighten their day and inspire them.
If you enjoyed this story, you might like this one about a bus driver who found a little girl on the side of the road.
This account is inspired by our reader’s story and written by a professional writer. Any resemblance to actual names or locations is purely coincidental. All images are for illustration purposes only. Share your story with us; maybe it will change someone’s life.
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