Life is unpredictable. Sometimes, no matter how hard we try to make things right, God has other plans.
Becky is a woman who tragically lost her son Tristan, who was just 19 years old at the time he left this world. Her grief was immense. She couldn’t possibly imagine her life without her child, but over time, her loved ones helped her accept the reality and move on.
Around two years after Tristan’s passing, Becky was about to marry the love of her life, a man named Kelly.
On the day of their wedding, the two decided to leave an empty seat in Tristan’s honor with a heartwarming message written on it. “What should I do now that I’ve arrived in heaven for your wedding? I will stoop to your level in order to spend it with you. Please save me a seat, even if there is only one available chair. Although you might not notice me, I shall be present.”
As the ceremony proceeded, Kelly informed Becky that there was someone there who wanted to see her. A young man who took Tristan’s chair. When she saw him, Becky wasn’t mad. On the contrary, spotting the young man, she was overwhelmed and couldn’t stop tears from rolling down her face.
That man, Jacob, was the recipient of Tristan’s heart. Tristan was an organ donor, and Jacob wasn’t the only person whose life he saved.
When Kelly informed Jacob that he and Becky are getting married and invited him to the ceremony, Jacob was more than willing to travel from San Diego in order to attend it. It was a beautiful surprise that warmed Becky’s heart and made her day. She felt like her son was present on her wedding day.
Becky was then given a stethoscope so that she could hear her late son’s heartbeat. It was an emotional moment no one could ever forget.
Someone snapped photos of the beautiful surprise and shared it on Facebook. The story went viral in a matter of days and many praised Kelly for his love for Becky.
Many people took their time to comment, with one person writing: “Why is it that we can’t just have one news channel that is dedicated to delivering uplifting and motivational stories like this one? If only the goodness and thoughtfulness that exists in the world were distributed more widely, it could inspire more of the same.”
She inquired, “What’s the price for the eggs?” The elderly seller responded, “0.25 cents per egg
The old egg seller, his eyes weary and hands trembIing, continued to sell his eggs at a loss. Each day, he watched the sun rise over the same cracked pavement, hoping for a miracle. But the world was indifferent. His small shop, once bustling with life, now echoed emptiness.
The townspeople hurried past him, their footsteps muffled by their own worries. They no longer stopped to chat or inquire about the weather. The old man’s heart sank as he counted the remaining eggs in his baskets. Six left. Just six. The same number that the woman had purchased weeks ago.
He remembered her vividly—the woman with the determined eyes and the crisp dollar bill. She had bargained with him, driving a hard bargain for those six eggs. “$1.25 or I will leave,” she had said, her voice firm. He had agreed, even though it was less than his asking price. Desperation had cIouded his judgment.
Days turned into weeks, and weeks into months. The old seller kept his promise, selling those six eggs for $1.25 each time. He watched the seasons change—the leaves turning from green to gold, then falling to the ground like forgotten dreams. His fingers traced the grooves on the wooden crate, worn smooth by years of use.
One bitter morning, he woke to find frost cIinging to the windowpane. The chill seeped through the cracks, settling in his bones. He brewed a weak cup of tea, the steam rising like memories. As he sat on the same wooden crate, he realized that he could no longer afford to keep his small shop open.
The townspeople had moved on, their lives intertwined with busier streets and brighter lights. The old man packed up his remaining eggs, their fragile shells cradled in his weathered hands. He whispered a silent farewell to the empty shop, its walls bearing witness to countless stories—the laughter of children, the haggling of customers, and the quiet moments when he had counted his blessings.
Outside, the world was gray—a canvas waiting for a final stroke. He walked the familiar path, the weight of those six eggs heavier than ever. The sun peeked through the clouds, casting long shadows on the pavement. He reached the edge of town, where the road met the horizon.
And there, under the vast expanse of sky, he made his decision. With tears in his eyes, he gently placed the eggs on the ground. One by one, he cracked them open, releasing their golden yoIks. The wind carried their essence away, a bittersweet offering to the universe.
The old egg seller stood there, his heart as fragile as the shells he had broken. He closed his eyes, feeling the warmth of the sun on his face. And in that quiet moment, he whispered a prayer—for the woman who had bargained with him, for the townspeople who had forgotten, and for himself.
As the sun dipped below the horizon, he turned away from the empty road. His footsteps faded, leaving behind a trail of memories. And somewhere, in the vastness of the universe, six golden yolks danced—a silent requiem for a forgotten dream.
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