I Received a Letter from a Stranger Pleading for Help, but I Never Imagined How It Would Turn Out – Story of the Day

After my fiancé betrayed me and kicked me out, I was lost, with nowhere to go. As I sat on the cold steps, surrounded by my belongings, I found a letter from a stranger asking for help. I didn’t know who she was or why she wrote to me, but I had nothing left to lose, so I decided to find out.

I was dragging myself back home, my feet aching from the long hours I’d spent on them. It felt good to be done, but I could still feel the stress clinging to me like a heavy weight. Two shifts back-to-back weren’t easy, but I had to do it. We needed the money.

Stan, my fiancé, had been out of work for half a year. He said it was just temporary, that he’d find a job soon. But each day, I’d see him lounging around, watching TV or scrolling through his phone, and I’d wonder if he was even trying. Still, I kept hoping things would change. I loved him, after all.

When I finally opened the door to our tiny apartment, I immediately heard noises coming from the bedroom. Loud, strange noises. Could it be...? No, I must’ve been imagining things.

Stan wouldn’t do that to me. I pushed open the bedroom door, and everything inside me froze. There was Stan, tangled up with someone else—a waitress from my job, no less. For a second, I couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think.

“You jerk!” I shouted, grabbing a lamp and hurling it at him. It missed, but I didn’t care.

“Rachel, you've got it all wrong!” Stan said, raising his hands like he was trying to calm me down.

“Wrong? You’re both naked, in our bed! How could I see this any other way?” I yelled, my voice cracking.

“We... we were checking for mites,” he stammered, barely able to look at me. I just stared at him, stunned by how pathetic that excuse was.

“Are you serious? Do you even hear yourself?! You’re a liar, a coward, and the biggest scumbag I’ve ever known!” I grabbed a pillow and threw it at him. It hit him, but he just stood there, still trying to act like he was in control.

“Rachel, calm down. Let’s talk about this like adults,” he said, his voice weirdly calm.

“You want to talk now? After all this?” I snapped. “I don’t want to hear another word. Get out of my apartment!”

“Well, technically, the lease is in my name,” he said, shrugging. “So...”

“You can’t even pay for it!” I yelled. “You’re broke, Stan. How can you act like this?”

“I’ll manage,” he replied, sounding calm, like this was nothing to him.

Twenty minutes later, I was outside, surrounded by my things. I picked up my engagement ring, my hand shaking. “I hope you rot in hell!” I screamed, throwing the ring at him as hard as I could.

Stan bent down, picked it up, and smirked. “There’s how I’ll pay the rent,” he said, shutting the door before I could grab it back.

“Jerk!” I yelled, kicking the door. Pain shot up my foot, but I didn’t care. I sank down on the stairs, burying my face in my hands, feeling completely lost and defeated.

A few minutes later, I heard the door creak open. I looked up, half-hoping for an apology, but Stan just poked his head out and tossed my mail at me. “Here,” he said, like I was nothing, and shut the door again, leaving me on the cold, hard steps.

I picked up the letters and started sorting through them. Ads, bills, more ads. I tossed the utility bills back at the door. Stan could deal with those now. I flipped through the stack until I found one letter that looked different. I didn’t recognize the handwriting. Curious, I ripped it open.

Inside, there was a short note: “Whoever you are, I desperately need your help.” Below it was an address. That was it. I read it again, trying to make sense of it.

I had nowhere to go, no plan. I was tired, hurt, and lost, but my grandmother always said, “If someone asks for help, and you can, you do it.” So, I took a deep breath, loaded my boxes into the car, and drove to the address.

When I got there, I was surprised. It wasn’t a rundown place like I’d imagined. It was a beautiful house, with a big garden, bright flowers, and large windows. The facade was neat and welcoming. I walked up to the door and rang the bell.

I waited, but no one came. I knocked louder. Still nothing. As I stood there, a door creaked open from the house next door, and a man stepped out, squinting at me.

“Are you looking for Lorelai?” a middle-aged man called out, his voice gruff. He stood on the porch next door, watching me.

I glanced at the letter in my hand and nodded. “Yes, I am.”

“She’s not here,” he said, turning like he was about to head back inside.

“Wait,” I said quickly, stepping closer. “Do you know where she is?”

“At the hospital,” he replied, short and blunt. He barely looked at me before turning away again.

I sighed, but I got into my car and drove to the hospital. At the reception, I hesitated, then said, “I’m looking for Lorelai Adams.”

The receptionist checked her screen. “Room 312, third floor.”

I thanked her and headed up, my heart pounding. When I reached the door, I took a deep breath and went in. The room was bright, with sunlight streaming through a big window. An elderly woman was playing cards with a nurse.

“Lorelai, you have a visitor,” the nurse said, nodding at me.

Lorelai didn’t even glance up. “Hang on, I’m teaching Tracy how to lose for the sixth time today.”

“I’ve only lost five times,” the nurse, Tracy, protested.

Lorelai threw down her cards with a grin. “That’s six,” she said, laughing.

Tracy shook her head. “I’m done playing with you,” she said, gathering the cards. “Good luck,” she whispered to me, smiling as she left.

I stood there, feeling awkward. Lorelai looked at me and smiled. “Well, don’t just stand there, dear. Come on in. How can I help you?”

“I thought you needed help,” I said, holding up the letter. “You sent this, right?”

Her eyes lit up with surprise. “No way… I must have sent out a hundred letters, and you’re the first to show up.”

“Really?” I asked. “I wasn’t sure what to expect, but I thought… maybe it was important. So, how can I help?”

Lorelai tilted her head, studying me. “What do you want in return?”

“Nothing,” I said. “I’m not looking for anything. Things have been rough for me, so I thought if I could help someone, why not?”

Lorelai’s smile softened. “It’s rare to meet someone like you. I’m sick, and it’s hard to manage alone. I need help with cooking, cleaning, and my garden. But you’d have to live with me.”

“That sounds like a great offer,” I said. “I just got kicked out of an apartment I paid for.”

“Oh, sweetheart. I’m sorry. Men can be jerks,” Lorelai said.

“How did you know it was a man?” I asked, surprised.

“I’ve been around a long time,” she said with a knowing smile.

That same day, Lorelai was discharged, and we went back to her house together. I expected to have my hands full, but it wasn’t like that at all. Lorelai was stubborn, always insisting on doing things herself. “I’m not helpless, dear,” she’d say, waving me off whenever I tried to carry something for her.

The first few days, I felt a bit useless, but slowly I learned to help in small ways—like making tea or watering the plants. After a few weeks, I realized how amazing she was. She was sick, yet she always had a smile, always found a reason to laugh. She’d say, “The trick is to enjoy what you have, even if it’s not perfect.”

Her garden was her pride and joy, full of flowers, herbs, and little pathways. I started to love it, too. It reminded me of the garden I’d always wanted as a kid.

One evening, we sat on the porch, sipping warm herbal tea we’d made from the garden’s fresh herbs. The sun was setting, painting the sky with soft pinks and oranges. Lorelai took a slow sip, then looked at me. “You know you deserve the best, don’t you?” she said, her eyes serious.

“I... I’m not sure what you mean,” I replied, feeling caught off guard.

“You don’t see it, do you? You’re kind, hardworking, and creative. Yet, you somehow think men like Stan deserve you,” she said. I had told her everything about Stan, and she hadn’t held back her opinions.

I shrugged. “I think you’re exaggerating a bit.”

“Not at all,” she said, shaking her head. “You came to help a complete stranger, just because of a letter. Even though it was a bit naive—God knows who I could have been—you still showed up. And more than that, you stayed. You didn’t back out when things got real. That says a lot about you.”

“Please, I haven’t done much,” I said, brushing off her words. “You’ve done more for me.”

Lorelai leaned forward, fixing me with a steady gaze. “You only think that because you don’t value yourself. You’ve been through a lot, but you still keep going. That’s strength, Rachel.”

I felt a lump in my throat. “Maybe you’re right,” I said, trying to smile.

“Sweetheart, I’m always right,” she said, her face breaking into a warm smile. “But listen to me. Promise me you’ll value yourself. Promise me you won’t waste your time on idiots like Stan.”

I tried to laugh it off. “It’s fine. I’ve learned my lesson after Stan.”

“No, Rachel. I’m serious. Promise me,” she said, her voice firm, eyes unwavering.

“Alright, I promise,” I finally said, my voice quiet but sure.

That night, Lorelai passed away, quietly, in her sleep. I sat by her side, holding her hand, feeling helpless. It was peaceful, but it broke my heart. I hadn’t felt that kind of loss since my grandmother passed. Lorelai had been like family, a bright light during one of the darkest times of my life.

A few days later, as I was packing up her things, I found an envelope tucked into one of her favorite books. My name was on it. I opened it, and my hands trembled as I read her familiar, looping handwriting.

“Dear Rachel, the letters I sent were my last cry for help, but I never really expected anyone to respond. But even then, I knew that if someone did, I’d repay them however I could. So, this house and the garden are now yours. And remember what you promised me.

Lorelai. P.S. If you kill even one flower, I’ll haunt you from the afterlife.”

I couldn’t help but laugh, even as tears streamed down my cheeks. Only Lorelai could make me smile through my grief. That’s how the worst day of my life led me to the best day of my life.

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