When a workaholic businessman receives devastating news about his health, he meets a young boy in the hospital who changes his outlook on life. Their bond grows through unexpected friendship and small acts of kindness, teaching him what truly matters—until a heartbreaking twist reshapes everything.
Andrew, 50, sat at his desk, shuffling through papers while juggling scheduling meetings with his partners.
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He didn’t hear Michael, his assistant, enter the room. Michael stood there, waiting. After a few moments, he cleared his throat.
No response. Andrew kept working, his focus sharp. Michael tried again. “Mr. Smith.” Still no answer. He repeated his name three more times.
Finally, Andrew slammed his hands on the desk and snapped, “What?”
Michael didn’t flinch. “You asked me to tell you if your ex-wife called.”
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Andrew groaned and rubbed his temples. “How many times do I have to tell you? Ignore her calls. What now?”
Michael held a notepad. “She left a message. I should warn you—it’s a direct quote. Her words, not mine.” He read from the note. “‘You pompous jerk, I will never forgive you for wasting so many years of my life. If you don’t give me back my painting, I’ll smash your car.’ That’s the message.”
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Andrew’s face turned red. “We’ve been divorced for two years! Does she not have anything better to do?”
Michael looked at him, waiting for further instructions. “Should I respond to her?”
“No! And stop taking her calls,” Andrew said. Then he paused. “Actually, tell her I threw that painting in the trash!”
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Andrew grabbed a pen and hurled it toward the wall. Michael ducked slightly, gave a polite nod, and left the room.
Moments later, Andrew’s phone rang. He frowned, picking it up.
“Andrew Smith?” a voice asked.
“Yes. Who’s calling?”
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“This is the hospital. Your test results are ready. The doctor wants to see you.”
“Can’t you just tell me now?” Andrew said, irritated. “I’m busy.”
“Sorry, sir. The doctor will explain in person.”
Andrew sighed heavily. “Fine. I’ll come in.” He hung up, shaking his head.
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Andrew rarely allowed himself the luxury of a lunch break, but this time was different. The doctor’s office was quiet, the ticking clock on the wall the only sound.
Andrew sat stiffly in a chair, his fingers tapping against the armrest. When the door opened, the doctor stepped in, his face serious. Andrew frowned, sensing bad news.
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The doctor sat across from him and spoke in a steady, measured tone, using terms Andrew didn’t understand.
Then came the word—cancer. “We need to act fast,” the doctor said.
“Is this some kind of joke?” Andrew asked, his voice sharp. “I own a company. I can’t just check into a hospital.”
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The doctor met his eyes. “Your health should come first. The company can wait.”
Andrew leaned forward. “What are my chances of getting better?”
“I can’t promise anything,” the doctor said. “Starting treatment right away is critical.”
Andrew’s voice rose. “Can I still work while I’m here?”
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“Treatment affects everyone differently,” the doctor explained. “You will stay in the hospital so we can monitor you. Someone can bring you a computer.”
Andrew frowned and stood up. “Fine. I’ll sort it out.”
The doctor watched him leave. “We’ll see you tomorrow with your things,” he said before Andrew reached the door.
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As Andrew walked through the hospital’s pediatric wing, he noticed a boy, about eight years old, tossing a ball back and forth with a nurse.
The sound of their laughter echoed in the corridor. The ball suddenly rolled across the floor and stopped near Andrew’s feet.
“Excuse me, sir!” the boy called out, smiling. “Can you please throw the ball back?”
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Andrew picked up the ball, his face tense. Without a word, he hurled it down the hall, far from the boy and nurse, then turned and walked away.
“That was mean, sir!” the boy shouted.
Andrew had been in the hospital for days that felt like weeks. He tried to keep working, setting up his laptop and pushing through meetings.
But the treatment was draining. Each session left him weaker. The nausea was constant, and sleep was nearly impossible.
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One afternoon, during another long chemotherapy session, Andrew leaned back, his eyes half-closed. He felt miserable.
Suddenly, a small voice broke through his fog. He opened his eyes to see a boy standing in front of him. Startled, Andrew flinched. The boy giggled. It was the same boy from the corridor.
“What do you want, kid?” Andrew mumbled, not even lifting his head.
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“I’ve been walking around the hospital looking for someone to play with. It’s boring here.”
Andrew glanced at him, annoyed. “What’s your name?” he asked.
“Tommy,” the boy replied with a wide grin.
Andrew sighed. “Listen, Tommy. I’m not in the mood to play. Go bother someone else before I start feeling worse.”
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Tommy didn’t move. Instead, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a small peppermint candy. He held it out to Andrew. “This helps with nausea. You should try it.”
Andrew hesitated, then snatched the candy and set it on the table.
“You’re really grumpy!” Tommy said, laughing. “I’m going to call you Mr. Grouch. Are you mad because you’re scared of needles?” He pointed at the IV attached to Andrew’s arm.
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Andrew frowned. “I’m not scared of anything.”
Tommy nodded. “That’s fine. I was scared at first too, but then I stopped. My mom says I’m a superhero. Do you have a superpower?”
“No,” Andrew said, his voice flat.
“That’s because you’re too sad,” Tommy replied, his tone serious now.
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Andrew looked at the boy, surprised by the honesty in his big, bright eyes. “Is there anything you want?” Andrew asked.
Tommy grinned. “Yeah. I want to buy flowers for my mom. She works really hard, but I don’t have any money.”
Andrew sighed again, reached for his wallet, and pulled out a few bills. “Here. Get your flowers. Maybe buy yourself something too. But leave me alone.”
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Tommy’s face lit up. “Thanks, Mr. Grouch!” He ran out, clutching the money, while Andrew stared at the peppermint candy on the table.
With a sigh, he picked it up, unwrapped it, and popped it into his mouth. To his surprise, the sharp sweetness helped ease the nausea. It wasn’t much, but it made a difference for a while.
That evening, as Andrew stared at his laptop, a nurse knocked on his door.
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She carried a small paper bag. “This is for you,” she said, placing it on the table. “Tommy sent it.”
Andrew opened the bag and found it full of peppermint candies. He shook his head, unsure whether to feel amused or moved.
The next morning, he decided to find Tommy. He needed to make one thing clear: the money wasn’t a gift.
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As he approached Tommy’s room, he saw a woman leaning against the wall, her shoulders shaking. She was crying.
“Are you okay?” Andrew asked, his voice low.
The woman wiped her eyes quickly and looked up. “Yes… Did you need something?”
“Tommy gave me some candies yesterday,” Andrew said.
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The woman’s lips curved into a small smile. “Oh, so you’re Mr. Grouch,” she said.
Andrew raised an eyebrow. “My name’s Andrew,” he replied.
“I’m Sara,” she said. “Are you here for treatment too?”
Andrew nodded.
“Then you understand,” Sara said quietly. “The bills, the stress. I can’t even pay rent right now. They told me we’ll be evicted in two months.”
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Andrew nodded again, unsure of what to say. Before he could respond, the door burst open. Tommy ran out, his face lighting up when he saw Andrew. “Hey, Mr. Grouch!” he called, grinning ear to ear.
From that day forward, Tommy became a constant presence in Andrew’s life.
The boy would wander into Andrew’s room with a big grin and endless energy. At first, Andrew found it annoying, but Tommy’s persistence wore him down.
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Soon, Andrew began looking forward to the visits. Tommy taught him to notice the simple joys in life.
They sat by the window, watching the sunset, guessing the colors in the sky. They played harmless pranks on nurses, earning scolding looks and stifled smiles.
Sometimes, they “borrowed” wheelchairs and raced down the halls, laughing until their sides hurt.
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Andrew didn’t ask about Tommy’s illness. He wasn’t sure how to bring it up. One afternoon, Tommy mentioned Sara had been crying again. “She’s worried about money,” Tommy said. “We might lose our house.”
Andrew quietly gave Tommy an envelope of cash. “Tell her it’s from a magician,” he said.
When Sara tried to return the money, Andrew waved her off. “I’m not a magician,” he said. “I don’t know where it came from.”
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Weeks passed. Andrew’s treatments worked, and the day came when the doctor gave him the news—he was cancer-free.
Ecstatic, Andrew rushed to share it with Tommy. But when he arrived, Tommy was unconscious, Sara sitting beside him, tears streaming down her face.
“What happened?” Andrew asked, his voice barely above a whisper.
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Sara wiped her eyes and shook her head. “The doctors said there’s nothing more they can do.”
Andrew stared at her, struggling to process the words. “But… he seemed so happy. He always smiled. I thought he was improving.”
Sara looked at him, her face full of pain. “He didn’t want you to see how sick he was. He wanted to be strong for you. He thought he was a superhero.”
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Andrew’s chest tightened. “I’m so sorry.”
Sara managed a faint smile through her tears. “Don’t be. He said you saved him. These months, you gave him laughter and hope. You made him forget about being sick.”
Andrew shook his head slowly. “No. He’s the one who saved me.”
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He stepped closer and wrapped his arms around her in a gentle hug. She cried quietly against his shoulder, and though Andrew wished he could take her pain away, he knew nothing would ever truly ease it.
That night, Tommy passed away peacefully, surrounded by the love of his mother and the memories he had made.
Andrew sat alone in his room afterward, overwhelmed by the loss. Andrew couldn’t bear the thought of such a bright soul being forgotten.
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Determined, he started a foundation in Tommy’s name to help sick children, ensuring his kindness would live on.
He also stayed in touch with Sara, offering her support in every way he could.
One afternoon, Andrew stood at his ex-wife’s door, holding the painting she had demanded for so long. She opened the door, her mouth ready to hurl accusations, but Andrew silently handed her the painting.
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“I’m not here to argue,” Andrew said, his tone calm as he held out the painting.
His ex-wife frowned, puzzled. “What is this supposed to mean?” she asked.
“Nothing important,” Andrew replied, a small smile forming. “I’m just making sure I keep my superpowers.” Without waiting for a response, he turned and walked away.
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If you enjoyed this story, read this one: Taking care of Mom was hard enough without the tension with my sister. Accusations flew when precious things started disappearing. I thought I knew who was to blame, but the truth shattered my world. Betrayal came from where I least expected, leaving me questioning everything—and everyone—I trusted.
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Man from Dating Site Brought His Parents on Our First Date with Their Ridiculous Demand – I Decided to Outplay Them
Who brings their parents to a first date? My boyfriend from a dating app did. But what really got me was the list of OUTRAGEOUS DEMANDS his parents brought with them. I knew I’d have to outwit them… but on my own terms.
When I virtually met Jacob on a dating site several months ago, we hit it off instantly. The connection felt real — the kind that makes your heart skip a beat when you see a new message notification. I grew to think that he was “the one,” but then when we actually met… well, let’s just say reality has a way of shattering our perfectly crafted illusions.
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Three months of late-night texts and hour-long video calls had built up to this moment. Jacob wasn’t just another match; he was different.
While most guys led with cheesy pickup lines or bland “hey” messages, he had caught my attention with a detailed comment about my profile photo taken at Comic-Con.
“Is that a handmade Scarlet Witch costume?” he’d written. “The detail work is incredible!”
From there, our conversations flowed naturally. He listened, really listened, when I talked about my work as a graphic designer and my dreams of starting my own studio.
A woman using a computer | Source: Midjourney
He shared my love for true crime podcasts and could quote every episode of my favorite shows by heart. When I mentioned my sister’s battle with depression, he opened up about his own experiences with anxiety.
“I feel like I can tell you anything,” he’d said during one of our video calls, his warm brown eyes crinkling at the corners. “I’ve never connected with someone like this before.”
“Me neither,” I’d admitted, feeling my cheeks flush. “Sometimes I worry this is too good to be true.”
He’d laughed then, running a hand through his dark hair. “I can’t wait to finally meet you in person. Friday at Coffee Beanz? 7 p.m.?”
A man using a laptop | Source: Pexels
“It’s a date! Finally!” I’d chirped, unable to contain my excitement.
“See you on Friday!” He said as I hung up, blushing.
I spent the entire week planning my outfit, finally settling on a gorgeous dress that my best friend Sarah insisted brought out my eyes.
“He won’t know what hit him,” she’d said, helping me style my hair.
Friday evening found me standing outside Coffee Beanz, smoothing down my dress for the hundredth time. Through the window, I could see couples enjoying their meals, soft candlelight flickering across their faces.
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My hands were shaking slightly as I pushed open the heavy wooden door, the warm aroma of garlic and fresh bread enveloping me. My eyes nervously darted around in search of Jacob.
“Lia! Over here!”
I turned toward Jacob’s familiar voice, my practiced smile freezing on my face. There he sat, but not ALONE.
An older couple sat beside him, their faces beaming with smiles. My heart, which had been filled with excitement all day, sank to my stomach.
“Hey… um, hi, what’s going on?” I managed, my brain struggling to process the scene before me.
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Jacob stood up, his bright smile unchanged as if this was completely normal. “Lia, I’m so excited to finally meet you! These are my parents, Linda and Patrick!”
Linda, a petite woman with perfectly coiffed gray hair and gold earrings that probably cost more than my monthly rent, gave me a practiced smile that didn’t reach her eyes. Patrick, sporting a dress shirt that seemed a size too small for his frame, barely looked up from his menu.
“Sit down, girl,” Linda patted the chair next to her, not next to Jacob. “While we wait for our appetizers, I have a few questions for you.”
An older lady smiling | Source: Midjourney
I sank into the chair, still trying to make sense of this ambush. The waiter appeared with water glasses, and I found myself wishing it was something stronger.
That’s when Linda pulled out a crisp sheet of paper from her designer handbag.
“Now then,” she cleared her throat, clicking her gold-plated pen. “I’ve prepared a brief questionnaire to help us get to know you better. I want you to fill it out.”
Sheets of paper on a table | Source: Pexels
My eyes scanned the paper she placed before me, each question worse than the last:
1. What is your current annual income and five-year career projection?
2. Please list any medical conditions, including a family history of genetic disorders.
3. How many romantic partners have you had, and what were the reasons for those relationships ending?
4. Do you own or lease your vehicle? What is your credit score?
5. Are you willing to sign a prenuptial agreement?
6. Do you plan to work after having children? If so, who will provide childcare?
7. What is your stance on living with in-laws?
8. Are you willing to host special occasions like Thanksgiving & Christmas every year without expecting a penny from your partner?
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The questions went on and on like a never-ending train carriage. My water glass stopped halfway to my mouth. “I’m sorry, but is this for real?”
“Of course it is, dear,” Linda replied, her tone suggesting I was being deliberately difficult. “Our family has certain standards to maintain. We need to ensure any potential partners for our Jacob are… suitable.”
My eyes darted to Jacob, waiting for him to jump in, to say this was all a joke. But he just sat there, examining his napkin as if it held the secrets of the universe.
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Something snapped inside me. Three months of building this connection, sharing hopes and fears, only to be treated like a job applicant? No. This called for a different approach.
“Would you excuse me for just a moment?” I smiled sweetly. “Ladies’ room.”
Instead of heading to the restroom, I ducked into the convenience store next door. Five minutes later, I returned with my own notebook and pen.
“Before I answer your questions,” I said, sitting down with renewed confidence, “I have a few of my own.”
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Linda’s perfectly plucked eyebrows shot up in surprise as I placed the paper with my questions on the table. She picked it up and began reading loudly, her face speaking volumes of her anger.
“Question one: At what point did you realize your son wasn’t capable of choosing his own partner?”
Patricks’s face reddened. Jacob finally looked up from his napkin.
“Question two: How many women have actually completed your interrogation process? Or do most run screaming before the credit check?”
“This is completely inappropriate!” Linda’s voice pitched higher as she continued to read.
A furious older woman with a man | Source: Midjourney
“Question three: Do you also inspect their teeth like show horses, or is that saved for the second date?”
“Question four: When Jacob moves out of your basement, will you be requiring his future wife to submit weekly progress reports?”
“Question five: Have you considered therapy for your control issues, or is that too personal a question?”
“That’s enough!” Jacob slammed his hand on the table, making the silverware jump. “You have no right to disrespect my family like this!”
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I leaned back, crossing my arms. “Oh, but they have every right to treat me like I’m applying for a position at the FBI?”
“My parents are just looking out for me,” he protested, his voice weak. “They want what’s best— “
“No, Jacob. What’s best for you would be growing a backbone and living your own life.”
Linda and Patrick were already gathering their things, faces flushed with indignation. Linda’s hands shook as she stuffed her questionnaire back into her bag.
“We’re leaving,” she announced. “Jacob, come on. She’s not the one for you.”
“Wait!” I called out, loud enough for nearby tables to turn. “Aren’t you forgetting something?”
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They paused. “WHAT??”
“Waiter, these people are trying to leave without paying their bill!” I announced loudly, waving to the waiter. “Guess running out on checks is another proud family tradition!”
The restaurant had gone quiet. Linda’s hands shook as she pulled out her credit card, practically throwing it at the waiter. I stood up, smoothing my dress once again.
“Well, this has been entertaining. I’ll cover my water.” I placed a five-dollar bill on the table and turned to Jacob.
“Good luck finding someone who meets your family’s rigorous standards. Although, you might want to try job recruitment sites instead of dating apps. I hear they provide detailed background checks and references.”
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As I walked out into the cool evening air, my phone buzzed with a message from Jacob, “You didn’t have to be so cruel. My parents were just looking out for me.”
I typed back, “Just looking out for myself, mama’s boy. Goodbye!”
Later that night, Sarah called to hear about the date. After I finished telling her everything, she was quiet for a moment.
“You know what?” she finally said. “I bet Linda has a spreadsheet ranking all of Jacob’s potential wives.”
We both burst out laughing, and I felt the last of my disappointment melt away. Dodged a bullet? Absolutely. And I’ve never been so grateful for a red flag wrapped in a questionnaire.
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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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