“You’re My Dad!” A Boy Showed Up at My Doorstep with a Backpack Full of Secrets – Story of the Day
A six-year-old boy showed up on my doorstep, claiming I was his dad. I laughed—until he pulled out a letter from his mother. My name. My address. My past crashed into my present. And I had no idea what to do next.
Mornings were predictable. Quiet. Peaceful. Just the way I liked them. I didn’t need an alarm. No boss, no office, no reason to rush anywhere.
My work was remote, and I kept my world as small as possible. No forced social interactions, no unnecessary chit-chat. Just me, my laptop, and my coffee. Black, no sugar, no milk.
That morning, I settled into my usual spot by the window, my old wooden chair creaking under my weight. That’s how life was supposed to be. Simple. Quiet. But quiet never lasted long in this neighborhood.
Suddenly, a loud thump against my window made me flinch, sloshing coffee onto my hand. I let out a sharp hiss.
“Oh, for crying out loud,” I muttered, rubbing the scalded skin.
I didn’t need to look outside to know what happened. The little monsters next door had done it again. Those kids had no respect for personal property.
I pushed myself up with a groan and stomped toward the front door.
Swinging the door open, I found the usual scene: a soccer ball lying on my grass and the neighbor’s kids frozen at the edge of their yard, whispering among themselves.
“How many times do I have to tell you…” …
