09/24/2025
I kept declining my grandpa's birthday invitations — years later, I visited him and only found a RUINED HOUSE. ________________________________________ I'm Caleb, 31M. My Grandpa Arthur raised me after my parents died. Gruff, old-school, storyteller, gardener, the best apple pies — HE WAS MY WORLD! But when I turned 17, I moved out, and somewhere along the way, I started feeling ASHAMED OF HIM. My friends had mothers and fathers, and all I had was an OLD WRINKLED MAN. He was old-fashioned, and his house smelled like memories and mothballs. I started making excuses, avoiding visits, and eventually, I stopped going to his birthday parties. FOR 11 YEARS, I declined every invite. Yet, he prepared a festive table full of delicious meals, hoping I would visit him. But every June 6th, when my phone buzzed with his name, guilt gnawed at me. A few months ago, I didn't get his usual birthday invitation. I tried calling him, but the line was unreachable. Something pulled me back. So, I drove through the dusty road, heart heavy with nostalgia. Then I saw it—smoke-stained siding, shattered windows, part of the roof collapsed. His house… DESTROYED BY FIRE. I stepped onto the charred porch, ash in the air, memories of his coffee, creaking floorboards, his gruff "Get up!" swallowed by ruins. "Grandpa?! ARE YOU HERE?!" I called, my voice shaking. SILENCE. A hand landed on my shoulder. I JUMPED. "Whoa… easy there!" said a calm female voice. ⬇️⬇️⬇️
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