Old Lonely Lady Receives Deliveries from Unknown Person Every Day, the Last Was a New Home – Story of the Day

A poor old lonely woman named Emma started receiving deliveries every day from an unknown source. She and her late husband never had children together, so she could not tell where these deliveries came from.

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When Emma Richards’ husband died seven years ago, she was devastated. She now had to live out the rest of her life alone, taking care of herself as she had no one else to do it for her.

She and her husband John didn’t have any children that could look after her. Every time Emma was asked why, she always just shrugged and avoided answering.

For illustration purposes only. | Source: Pexels

For illustration purposes only. | Source: Pexels

One day, while Emma was sitting in her bedroom watching TV, somebody rang the doorbell. She wasn’t expecting any visitors, so she decided to go check who it was.

As she opened the front door, a delivery man in his 40s stood there with several boxes. He was wearing a mask, so she could not see his face clearly.

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“Hello. I am not expecting a package from anybody. May I know who this is from?” Emma asked him.

“I’m sorry ma’am, but these packages were sent anonymously. Rest assured, our security checked them and they are absolutely safe. These are for you,” he said, placing the boxes on Emma’s table by the door.

“That’s strange… thank you, sweet boy,” Emma replied before shutting the door.

When the delivery man left, Emma opened the boxes quickly as she was curious about what was inside. In the first box, there were small household appliances like a new oven toaster, sandwich press, and coffee maker.

For illustration purposes only. | Source: Pexels

For illustration purposes only. | Source: Pexels

“Who would give me all of these?” she said to herself. She proceeded to open the second box, and there were beautiful clothes inside, as well as groceries.

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Every day, Emma started to receive more packages. It’d always be the same delivery man handing them over, so she decided to get to know him.

“What is your name, sweet boy?” she asked.

“My name is Ted Harrison,” the delivery man smiled. “Mrs. Richards, the sender requested for us to give you this. I’ll wait until you finish answering it,” he added, handing her an envelope.

Curious, Emma opened it and read it quickly. It said: Mrs. Richards, please let me know what you need for yourself, and I will grant them.

“Oh, I am dying to know who has been giving me all of these! Now that person even wants me to make requests!” she exclaimed.

“I’m sure the sender loves you very dearly, even though you don’t know who it is,” the delivery man smiled.

For illustration purposes only. | Source: Pexels

For illustration purposes only. | Source: Pexels

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Emma obliged and wrote what she needed. She didn’t want the person to spend a lot for her, so she only wrote down necessities.

Since that short and sweet encounter, Emma began to prepare quick snacks for Ted the delivery man. For an entire month, he went to her house, handing her parcels that had clothes, food, books, and other novelty items.

At one point, Emma started to get used to Ted’s company. He would spend time with her by eating snacks together and volunteering to do some housework that she couldn’t do herself.

However, one day, Ted didn’t come. Suddenly concerned, Emma decided to head over to the local post office to find him.

“Hello, can you please page Ted Harrison? I just have some donuts I wanted to give him,” she asked the young woman at the reception table. The young woman looked confused.

“I’m sorry, ma’am. There’s nobody named Ted Harrison who works here,” she replied.

“Oh… but he has been delivering my packages every day. That’s strange,” Emma said, suddenly disappointed. She did not know where to find Ted, and it upset her.

For illustration purposes only. | Source: Pexels

For illustration purposes only. | Source: Pexels

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She walked back home with so many thoughts suddenly going through her head. Who could this kind Samaritan be? Did I go to the wrong post office? Was Ted just pretending to be a delivery man?

As she got to her front porch, she was surprised to see a tiny box in front of the door. There, she saw a key and a note that read:

I learned the truth just a month ago when I decided to hire a private investigator to find out where I came from. I know you blame yourself and regret what you did. However, I want you to know that I don’t blame you and that I know you only had my best interest at heart.

You and your husband could not feed me, so you gave me up for adoption. I ended up in a wealthy family that treated me like their own, but something always felt lacking. I realized that was you, mom.

You’re lacking in my life, and I would love to spend more time with you. If you’d be willing, I recently bought a new house. I had a key duplicated for you in case you wanted to move in with me. Please, allow me to take care of you. With love, your delivery man, Ted.

For illustration purposes only. | Source: Pexels

For illustration purposes only. | Source: Pexels

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Emma was shaking by the time she finished reading the message. She had always longed to see her son before she died, and she couldn’t believe that it was him who found her. And that son turned out to be Ted! She couldn’t help but cry, all the guilt from her past catching up with her once again.

It was true what Ted found out about their past. Emma and John were on the verge of bankruptcy when they found out she was pregnant. They knew they wouldn’t be able to raise Ted in a good environment, so they put him up for adoption.

They left their son at an orphanage when he was only months old. With his belongings, Emma left a letter that explained why they could not raise him. The letter was anonymous, but after convincing the orphanage directors to disclose the contents of his adoption papers, Ted found Emma’s name.

Emma wanted to see Ted immediately. She prepared to leave her house to meet him, but someone knocked on the door. When she opened it, she saw Ted.

For illustration purposes only. | Source: Pexels

For illustration purposes only. | Source: Pexels

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“Hi, mom,” Ted said softly.

Emma started to cry. “I can’t believe it. My son,” she started sobbing. She pulled him in for a hug and refused to let go. “I am so sorry, sweetheart. I truly am. I wish you can forgive me,” Emma continued to cry.

“You don’t need to apologize, mom. I’m here because I want to spend more time with you. It’s not too late to start over. We can still be a family,” Ted said before breaking their long hug.

That night, Ted and Emma spent time together by packing her belongings in boxes. A truck was waiting outside, where they loaded her things so they could transfer them to Ted’s house.

There, Emma was surprised to see Ted’s wife and children. They were just as excited as Ted to welcome her into their home, and since then, Emma never had to be alone again.

What can we learn from this story?

  • The past doesn’t have to define the future. Emma thought she’d never get to spend time with her son ever again until her son decided to search for the truths of his life that led him to find his biological mom. They ended up moving in together and starting anew.
  • Forgiveness can be a beautiful thing. Instead of holding a grudge against his biological parents, Ted chose to forgive them. He even decided to introduce himself to his mom so as to build a relationship with her.

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My Landlord Kicked Us Out for a Week So His Brother Could Stay In the House We Rent

When Nancy’s landlord demanded she and her three daughters vacate their rental home for a week, she thought life couldn’t get worse. But a surprise meeting with the landlord’s brother revealed a shocking betrayal.

Our house isn’t much, but it’s ours. The floors creak with every step, and the paint in the kitchen is peeling so badly that I’ve started calling it “abstract art.”

An old house | Source: Pexels

An old house | Source: Pexels

Still, it’s home. My daughters, Lily, Emma, and Sophie, make it feel that way, with their laughter and the little things they do that remind me why I push so hard.

Money was always on my mind. My job as a waitress barely covered our rent and bills. There was no cushion, no backup plan. If something went wrong, I didn’t know what we’d do.

The phone rang the next day while I was hanging out laundry to dry.

A woman hanging laundry | Source: Pexels

A woman hanging laundry | Source: Pexels

“Hello?” I answered, tucking the phone between my ear and shoulder.

“Nancy, it’s Peterson.”

His voice made my stomach tighten. “Oh, hi, Mr. Peterson. Is everything okay?”

“I need you out of the house for a week,” he said, as casually as if he were asking me to water his plants.

A woman talking on her phone | Source: Pexels

A woman talking on her phone | Source: Pexels

“What?” I froze, a pair of Sophie’s socks still in my hands.

“My brother’s coming to town, and he needs a place to stay. I told him he could use your house.”

I thought I must’ve misheard him. “Wait—this is my home. We have a lease!”

“Don’t start with that lease nonsense,” he snapped. “Remember when you were late on rent last month? I could’ve kicked you out then, but I didn’t. You owe me.”

An angry man talking on his phone | Source: Freepik

An angry man talking on his phone | Source: Freepik

I gripped the phone tighter. “I was late by one day,” I said, my voice shaking. “My daughter was sick. I explained that to you—”

“Doesn’t matter,” he interrupted. “You’ve got till Friday to get out. Be gone, or maybe you won’t come back at all.”

“Mr. Peterson, please,” I said, trying to keep the desperation out of my voice. “I don’t have anywhere else to go.”

An expressive woman talking | Source: Pexels

An expressive woman talking | Source: Pexels

“Not my problem,” he said coldly, and then the line went dead.

I sat on the couch, staring at the phone in my hand. My heart pounded in my ears, and I felt like I couldn’t breathe.

“Mama, what’s wrong?” Lily, my oldest, asked from the doorway, her eyes filled with concern.

I forced a smile. “Nothing, sweetheart. Go play with your sisters.”

A woman talking to her daughter | Source: Pexels

A woman talking to her daughter | Source: Pexels

But it wasn’t nothing. I had no savings, no family nearby, and no way to fight back. If I stood up to Peterson, he’d find an excuse to evict us for good.

By Thursday night, I’d packed what little we could carry into a few bags. The girls were full of questions, but I didn’t know how to explain what was happening.

“We’re going on an adventure,” I told them, trying to sound cheerful.

A woman packing together with her daughter | Source: Pexels

A woman packing together with her daughter | Source: Pexels

“Is it far?” Sophie asked, clutching Mr. Floppy to her chest.

“Not too far,” I said, avoiding her gaze.

The hostel was worse than I expected. The room was tiny, barely big enough for the four of us, and the walls were so thin we could hear every cough, every creak, every loud voice from the other side.

A woman in a hostel | Source: Freepik

A woman in a hostel | Source: Freepik

“Mama, it’s noisy,” Emma said, pressing her hands over her ears.

“I know, sweetie,” I said softly, stroking her hair.

Lily tried to distract her sisters by playing I Spy, but it didn’t work for long. Sophie’s little face crumpled, and tears started streaming down her cheeks.

“Where’s Mr. Floppy?” she cried, her voice breaking.

A crying child | Source: Pexels

A crying child | Source: Pexels

My stomach sank. In the rush to leave, I’d forgotten her bunny.

“He’s still at home,” I said, my throat tightening.

“I can’t sleep without him!” Sophie sobbed, clutching my arm.

I wrapped her in my arms and held her close, whispering that it would be okay. But I knew it wasn’t okay.

A woman hugging her crying child | Source: Freepik

A woman hugging her crying child | Source: Freepik

That night, as Sophie cried herself to sleep, I stared at the cracked ceiling, feeling completely helpless.

By the fourth night, Sophie’s crying hadn’t stopped. Every sob felt like a knife to my heart.

“Please, Mama,” she whispered, her voice raw. “I want Mr. Floppy.”

I held her tightly, rocking her back and forth.

A crying girl | Source: Pexels

A crying girl | Source: Pexels

I couldn’t take it anymore.

“I’ll get him,” I whispered, more to myself than to her.

I didn’t know how, but I had to try.

I parked down the street, my heart pounding as I stared at the house. What if they didn’t let me in? What if Mr. Peterson was there? But Sophie’s tear-streaked face wouldn’t leave my mind.

A thoughtful woman in front of her house | Source: Midjourney

A thoughtful woman in front of her house | Source: Midjourney

I took a deep breath and walked up to the door, Sophie’s desperate “please” echoing in my ears. My knuckles rapped against the wood, and I held my breath.

The door opened, and a man I’d never seen before stood there. He was tall, with a kind face and sharp green eyes.

“Can I help you?” he asked, looking puzzled.

A man in front of his house | Source: Midjourney

A man in front of his house | Source: Midjourney

“Hi,” I stammered. “I—I’m sorry to bother you, but I’m the tenant here. My daughter left her stuffed bunny inside, and I was hoping I could grab it.”

He blinked at me. “Wait. You live here?”

“Yes,” I said, feeling a lump form in my throat. “But Mr. Peterson told us we had to leave for a week because you were staying here.”

A sad woman in the doorway | Source: Pexels

A sad woman in the doorway | Source: Pexels

His brows furrowed. “What? My brother said the place was empty and ready for me to move in for a bit.”

I couldn’t stop the words from spilling out. “It’s not empty. This is my home. My kids and I are crammed into a hostel across town. My youngest can’t sleep because she doesn’t have her bunny.”

A sad young woman talking to a man | Source: Midjourney

A sad young woman talking to a man | Source: Midjourney

His face darkened, and for a second, I thought he was angry at me. Instead, he muttered, “That son of a…” He stopped himself, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath.

“I’m so sorry,” he said, his voice softer now. “I had no idea. Come in, and we’ll find the bunny.”

A serious young man opening his door | Source: Midjourney

A serious young man opening his door | Source: Midjourney

He stepped aside, and I hesitated before walking in. The familiar smell of home hit me, and my eyes burned with tears I refused to let fall. Jack—he introduced himself as Jack—helped me search Sophie’s room, which looked untouched.

“Here he is,” Jack said, pulling Mr. Floppy from under the bed.

A pink stuffed bunny under a bed | Source: Midjourney

A pink stuffed bunny under a bed | Source: Midjourney

I held the bunny close, imagining Sophie’s joy. “Thank you,” I said, my voice trembling.

“Tell me everything,” Jack said, sitting on the edge of Sophie’s bed. “What exactly did my brother say to you?”

I hesitated but told him everything: the call, the threats, the hostel. He listened quietly, his jaw tightening with every word.

A couple talking | Source: Midjourney

A couple talking | Source: Midjourney

When I finished, he stood and pulled out his phone. “This isn’t right,” he said.

“Wait—what are you doing?”

“Fixing this,” he said, dialing.

The conversation that followed was heated, though I could only hear his side.

A serious man on his phone | Source: Pexels

A serious man on his phone | Source: Pexels

“You kicked a single mom and her kids out of their home? For me?” Jack’s voice was sharp. “No, you’re not getting away with this. Fix it now, or I will.”

He hung up and turned to me. “Pack your things at the hostel. You’re coming back tonight.”

I blinked, not sure I’d heard him right. “What about you?”

“I’ll find somewhere else to stay,” he said firmly. “I can’t stay here after what my brother pulled. And he’ll cover your rent for the next six months.”

A smiling man talking to a woman | Source: Midjourney

A smiling man talking to a woman | Source: Midjourney

That evening, Jack helped us move back in. Sophie lit up when she saw Mr. Floppy, her little arms clutching the bunny like a treasure.

“Thank you,” I told Jack as we unpacked. “You didn’t have to do all this.”

“I couldn’t let you stay there another night,” he said simply.

A young child holding her toy | Source: Midjourney

A young child holding her toy | Source: Midjourney

Over the next few weeks, Jack kept showing up. He fixed the leaky faucet in the kitchen. One night, he brought over groceries.

“You didn’t have to do this,” I said, feeling overwhelmed.

“It’s nothing,” he said with a shrug. “I like helping.”

A man with groceries | Source: Pexels

A man with groceries | Source: Pexels

The girls adored him. Lily asked for his advice on her science project. Emma roped him into board games. Even Sophie warmed up to him, offering Mr. Floppy a “hug” for Jack to join their tea party.

I started to see more of the man behind the kind gestures. He was funny, patient, and genuinely cared about my kids. Eventually, our dinners together blossomed into a romance.

A couple on a date night | Source: Pexels

A couple on a date night | Source: Pexels

One evening several months later, as we sat on the porch after the girls had gone to bed, Jack spoke quietly.

“I’ve been thinking,” he said, looking out into the yard.

“About what?”

“I don’t want you and the girls to ever feel like this again. No one should be scared of losing their home overnight.”

A young man talking to his girlfriend | Source: Midjourney

A young man talking to his girlfriend | Source: Midjourney

His words hung in the air.

“I want to help you find something permanent,” he continued. “Will you marry me?”

I was stunned. “Jack… I don’t know what to say. Yes!”

A marriage proposal | Source: Pexels

A marriage proposal | Source: Pexels

A month later, we moved into a beautiful little house Jack found for us. Lily had her own room. Emma painted hers pink. Sophie ran to hers, holding Mr. Floppy like a shield.

As I tucked Sophie in that night, she whispered, “Mama, I love our new home.”

“So do I, baby,” I said, kissing her forehead.

A woman tucking her daughter in | Source: Midjourney

A woman tucking her daughter in | Source: Midjourney

Jack stayed for dinner that night, helping me set the table. As the girls chattered, I looked at him and knew: he wasn’t just our hero. He was family.

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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