For three months, Mia’s mom insisted she stay away while her house was being renovated. But something didn’t sit right. When Mia arrives unannounced, she finds the door unlocked, the house eerily pristine, and a strange smell in the air. Mia is about to stumble upon a devastating secret.
The city was just waking up as I drove through its empty streets. Early morning light painted everything in soft hues, but I couldn’t shake this gnawing feeling in my gut. Something was wrong.
I gripped the steering wheel tighter, my knuckles turning white. Mom’s voice echoed in my head as my memory replayed all those hurried phone calls and weird excuses. “Oh, honey, I can’t have you over. The house is a mess with all these renovations.”
But three months without seeing her? That wasn’t like us. We used to be thick as thieves, her and me.
I worried about what had changed as I waited at an intersection. Mom had always been house-proud, constantly tweaking and updating our home. But this felt different.
Her voice on the phone lately… she always sounded so tired. Sad, even. And every time I’d try to press her on it, she’d brush me off. “Don’t worry about me, Mia. How’s that big project at work going? Have you gotten that promotion yet?”
I knew she was keeping something from me, and I’d let it slide for far too long.
So here I was, way too early on a Saturday morning, driving across town because I couldn’t shake this feeling that something was terribly wrong.
As I pulled up to Mom’s house, my heart sank. The garden, usually Mom’s pride and joy, was overgrown and neglected. Weeds poked through the flower beds, and the rosebushes looked like they hadn’t seen pruning shears in months.
“What the hell?” I muttered. I killed the engine and rushed to the gate.
I walked up to the front door, my footsteps echoing in the quiet morning. When I tried the handle, it turned easily. Unlocked. That wasn’t like Mom at all.
Fear prickled across my skin as I stepped inside. There was no dust, or building materials in sight. No sign of a drop cloth or any paint cans either. And what was that smell? Sharp and citrusy. The place was too clean, too sterile. Like a hospital.
“Mom?” I called out.
My eyes swept the entryway, landing on a familiar photo on the side table. It was us at the beach when I was maybe seven or eight. I was grinning at the camera, gap-toothed and sunburned, while Mom hugged me from behind, laughing.
The glass was smudged with fingerprints, mostly over my face. That was weird. Mom was always wiping things down, keeping everything spotless. But this… it looked like someone had been touching the photo a lot, almost frantically.
A chill ran down my spine.
“Mom?” I called again, louder this time. “You here?”
That’s when I heard it. A faint creaking came from upstairs.
My heart raced as I climbed the stairs. The quiet felt heavy, pressing in on me from all sides. I tried to steady my breathing as I walked down the hallway toward Mom’s room.
“Mom?” My voice came out as a whisper now. “It’s me. It’s Mia.”
I pushed open her bedroom door, and the world seemed to tilt on its axis.
There she was, struggling to sit up in bed. But this… this couldn’t be my mother. The woman before me was frail and gaunt, her skin sallow against the white sheets. And her hair… oh God, her beautiful hair was gone, replaced by a scarf wrapped around her head.
“Mia?” Her voice was weak, barely above a whisper. “You aren’t supposed to be here.”
I stood frozen in the doorway, my mind refusing to process what I was seeing.
“Mom? What… what happened to you?”
She looked at me with those familiar brown eyes, now sunken in her pale face. “Oh, honey,” she sighed. “I didn’t want you to find out like this.”
I stumbled to her bedside, dropping to my knees. “Find out what? Mom, please, tell me what’s going on.”
She reached out a thin hand, and I clasped it in both of mine. It felt so fragile, like a bird’s bones.
“I have cancer, Mia,” she said softly.
Time stopped and my world narrowed down to how dry her lips looked as she spoke and the hollow feeling in my chest. I couldn’t breathe.
“… undergoing chemotherapy for the past few months,” she finished.
“Cancer? But… but why didn’t you tell me? Why did you keep this from me?”
Tears welled up in her eyes. “I didn’t want to burden you, sweetheart. You’ve been working so hard for that promotion. I thought… I thought I could handle this on my own.”
Anger flared up inside me, hot and sudden. “Handle it on your own? Mom, I’m your daughter! I should have been here! I should have known!”
“Mia, please,” she pleaded. “I was trying to protect you. I didn’t want you to see me like this, so weak and…”
“Protect me?” I cut her off, my voice rising as tears blurred my vision. “By lying to me? By keeping me away when you needed me most? How could you do that?”
Mom’s face crumpled, and she started to cry, too. “I’m sorry,” she sobbed. “I’m so sorry, Mia. I thought I was doing the right thing. I didn’t want to be a burden.”
I climbed onto the bed beside her, careful not to jostle her too much, and pulled her into my arms.
“Oh, Mom,” I whispered. “You could never be a burden to me. Never.”
We sat there for a long time, just holding each other and crying. All the fear and pain of the past few months came pouring out.
When we finally calmed down, I helped Mom get more comfortable, propping her up with pillows. Then I went downstairs and made us both some tea, my mind reeling with everything I’d learned.
Back in her room, I perched on the edge of the bed, handing her a steaming mug. “So,” I said, trying to keep my voice steady. “Tell me everything. From the beginning.”
And she did. She told me about the diagnosis, the shock, and the fear. How she’d started treatment right away, hoping to beat it before I even knew something was wrong.
“But it spread so fast,” she said, her voice trembling. “By the time I realized how bad it was, I was already so sick.”
I took her hand again, squeezing gently. “Mom, don’t you get it? I love you. All of you. Even the sick parts, even the scared parts. Especially those parts. That’s what family is for.”
She looked at me, her eyes filled with a mixture of love and regret. “I just… I’ve always been the strong one, you know? Your rock. I didn’t know how to be anything else.”
I smiled through my tears. “Well, now it’s my turn to be the rock. I’m not going anywhere, Mom. We’re in this together, okay?”
She nodded, a small smile tugging at her lips. “Okay.”
I moved back in with Mom later that week. I also took time off work and called in every favor I could to get Mom the best care possible, even if all we could do was keep her as comfortable as possible.
We spent her final days together, sharing stories and memories, laughing and crying together. And when the end came, I was right there beside her.
“I’m sorry, Mia,” she whispered. “I wanted… I never took you to Disneyland… I promised to take you camping in the mountains… so many promises I’ve broken…”
“It’s not important.” I moved closer to her on the bed. “What matters is that you were always there for me when I needed you. You always knew how to make me smile when I was sad, or make everything better when I messed something up.” I sniffed. “I don’t know what I’m going to do without you, Mom.”
Her eyes cracked open, and she smiled faintly at me.
“You’re going to be okay, Mia. You’re so strong… my amazing daughter. I love you so much.”
I put my arms around her and hugged her as tightly as I dared. I’m not sure exactly when she slipped away, but when I eventually pulled back, Mom was gone.
I stayed there for a long time, trying to hold onto the warmth of our last hug as sobs racked my body, replaying her last words in my mind. Trying to keep her with me, no matter how impossible that was.
Saying goodbye to Mom was the hardest thing I’ve ever done. But I wouldn’t trade those moments I spent with her for anything in the world.
Because in the end, that’s what love is. It’s showing up, even when it’s hard. It’s being there, even in the darkest moments. It’s holding on tight and never letting go.
Is This Preacher Really Elvis Presley? Fans Think They’ve Found the King!
Since Elvis Presley sadly died in 1977, some devoted fans believe he faked his death to live quietly away from the public eye.
These fans think Elvis might have been hiding from the mafia, appeared as an extra in the movie *Home Alone*, visited California’s Legoland, helped out at Graceland, or is now living as a humble preacher in Arkansas.
Even though the preacher, Bob Joyce, keeps denying he’s Elvis, fans believe he’s about to reveal the truth about his faked death soon.
Keep reading to find out what the preacher says about these claims!
On August 16, 1977, the world was shocked when it was announced that 42-year-old Elvis Presley died of a heart attack.
Even though it’s been almost 50 years since his death, some people still refuse to believe the King of Rock and Roll is really gone.
To this day, Elvis-obsessed fans refuse to let go and choose to believe the gyrating gent faked his own death to go into hiding.
And now they are convinced they spotted the “Jailhouse Rock” singer living as Bob Joyce, a 72-year-old preacher in Benton, Arkansas.
Joyce looks like an older, silver-haired version of Elvis, speaks like Elvis and sings with the same soothing baritone that Elvis was adored.
And when a YouTube video of Joyce singing the gospel song “How Great Thou Art,” a song recorded by Elvis in 1967, conspiracy theorists went wild.
One fan wrote, “This is definitely Elvis. No one else could sing this hymn like him.”
Another fan commented, “His voice will never change. We love you and hope you share your life story with us someday. We all know who you are.”
A third fan said, “No imitation Elvis sings like Bob Joyce. Sir, I believe you are Elvis. The rhythm and tone of your voice are unmistakable.”
Another fan wrote, “I love you, Elvis Bob Joyce. I know who you are, but it’s okay. No more spotlight, just peace of mind. You still have my heart.”
However, Bob Joyce, the gospel singer and preacher at The Household of Faith Church, says he is not Elvis Presley and is instead a messenger of God.
He explains, “No, I’m not Elvis. Many people ask me that. I’ve tried to tell everyone, ‘No, I’m not Elvis.’ I’m actually almost 20 years younger than Elvis, who would be 89 in 2024. Even though most people know I’m not Elvis, they are grateful that God is helping them through their struggles.
“Maybe God is using Elvis’ voice to heal broken hearts and lives. If Elvis were alive, I’d say to him, ‘We’re kindred spirits.’”
Still, many of Joyce’s fans are adamant in saying he hasn’t come out yet and will soon reveal his big secret to the world.
“All his [members of the congregation] knows it’s him as well as the many visitors to his church every Sunday from around the world know it’s him. He’s getting ready to explain it all (why he faked his death & changed his name) very soon,” writes Alabama’s Samantha Drummond Dunn, who plans on traveling to Arkansas to meet Joyce. Encouraging others to watch his YouTube videos, which she says serves as proof, she demands, “It is him!”
Poking fun at her statement, another netizen writes, “If it’s on the Internet it must be true.”
The Bob Joyce website warns people about fake social media accounts pretending to be him, including the one mentioned by Drummond Dunn. The website says, “People have impersonated Bob Joyce many times. He does not send private messages online. The only real Facebook account for Pastor Bob Joyce is: facebook.com/bob.joyce.75. Any other accounts claiming to be him on Facebook or elsewhere are not genuine.”
The statement also notes that Bob Joyce is not on Instagram or TikTok.
What do you think about this? Share your thoughts and pass this story along so we can hear what others think too!
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