My mom gave up everything to raise me. After my dad bailed, she was always there for me, the only one. All I wanted was to do something nice for her. So, I figured it wasn’t too late for her to find love on a dating app. But Lord, what I definitely DIDN’T EXPECT was finding out who she was going on a date with!
My name is Lucy, and I’m 23 years old. Like I usually do on weekends, I went to visit my mother, Phoebe, one weekend.
I am her only daughter, and she has no one else. My father left the family when I was very young, and since then, my mother has always been alone.
I was her main priority, and with all the care she gave me, she never had time for her personal life. My mother is 56, and finding a partner at her age is not easy, but I stayed optimistic about helping her.
We were at her house, and I was standing there with my phone, taking pictures of her and showing her how to pose.
The afternoon sun streamed through the window, casting a warm glow in the living room. The room was cozy, filled with family photos and mementos of my childhood.
“Mom, stand by the window,” I instructed, trying to capture the best light. “No, not like that, more gracefully, like a cat.”
“A cat? Lucy, at my age?” Mom replied shyly, her cheeks turning a light shade of pink.
“It’s never too late to feel like a woman. Listen to what I say. And don’t look at the camera. Pretend you’re gazing mysteriously out the window…”
Phoebe hesitated but complied, standing by the window with a slight tilt to her head, looking out with a soft, pensive expression.
“Oh… Hold still… Got it!” I exclaimed, snapping the picture. I showed it to her with a big smile. “See? You look amazing, Mom!”
She looked at the photo, and a small smile crept onto her face. “You think so?”
“Absolutely! This is perfect for your Tinder profile,” I said, editing the photo a bit before uploading it.
“Sweetheart, are you sure this is a good idea? I’m not young anymore; who would want me there…” she trailed off, doubt evident in her voice.
“Mom! Don’t say that about yourself. Life doesn’t end at fifty! Love knows no age!” I said firmly, looking into her eyes to emphasize my words. “You deserve to find happiness too.”
Together, we worked on adding a description for her profile. We laughed as we brainstormed the right words to describe her warm heart, love for gardening, and passion for cooking.
“How about this: ‘Loving mother and avid gardener looking for someone to share laughs and good meals with. Believes love is timeless and life is full of surprises.’ What do you think?” I asked.
Phoebe chuckled softly. “It sounds lovely, Lucy. Thank you for doing this for me.”
“Of course, Mom. You deserve to find someone special,” I said, giving her a hug. “Now, let me show you how to use the app.”
After a quick tutorial on swiping left and right, I felt confident that she was ready to dive into the world of online dating.
We shared one last laugh over the absurdity of it all before I said goodbye and headed back home, feeling hopeful about what the future might hold for her.
The next day, I arrived at the office, and as usual, my workday began with coffee and gossip with my office friend, Natalie.
The office kitchen buzzed with early morning chatter as we grabbed our coffees and settled at a table in the corner. The aroma of freshly brewed coffee filled the air, creating a comforting start to the day.
Natalie immediately leaned in, her eyes twinkling with excitement. “You won’t believe this, Lucy. Michael, our boss, has been looking at his phone all day and smiling like a kid.”
I raised an eyebrow in surprise.
“Michael? Smiling? What’s going on with him?”
Natalie grinned, her excitement palpable. “A woman. I’m sure he has someone. I mean, it’s the only explanation. Michael is always so focused on work and never distracted. But today, he’s been glued to his phone, smiling like a teenager in love.”
The thought of Michael, our workaholic boss, being smitten was amusing. We had never seen him with a woman, let alone acting like this.
“We have to find out who it is!” I declared, my curiosity piqued.
At that moment, we devised a plan. Natalie approached Michael, carrying a stack of documents. “Michael, could you take a look? I can’t seem to find last week’s report,” she said, feigning confusion.
Michael sighed, setting his phone aside reluctantly. “Natalie, you’ve worked here for years. Let me see,” he replied, taking the documents from her.
While Michael was distracted by Natalie, I quietly took his phone from the desk. My heart raced as I opened it, not knowing what to expect. But I wasn’t prepared for what I saw.
It was my mother! He was messaging my mom! Their conversation had been going on since last night. My mind raced as I scrolled through the messages.
They had already arranged a date for that evening; Mom had invited him to dinner at her place. Panic set in. “No, no, this can’t be! Not this,” I thought frantically. How could this be real?
Why him, Mom? I couldn’t imagine how awkward it would be to work with my boss as my future stepfather. No! I couldn’t let it happen. I had to stop it.
When Natalie and I reconvened, she immediately began asking, “So, who is it? Do you know her?”
I forced a smile and lied, “Oh, just some girl. Nothing special.” Inside, I was panicking. I needed to come up with a plan to prevent Michael from going on that date. If he went, it would ruin everything. My mind raced with possible solutions.
The workday was coming to an end, and I saw Michael hurrying to finish his work. It was so unusual because Michael was always the last to leave.
But I knew where he was rushing to, and it was crucial to ensure he didn’t make it. Seeing Michael packing up, I approached him with my laptop.
“Michael, do you have a minute?” I asked, trying to sound casual despite my racing heart.
“I’m in a bit of a hurry… But sure, what do you need?” he replied, glancing at the clock.
“I can’t get this report right. Could you please check if everything is correct?” I handed him my laptop, hoping he wouldn’t notice the deliberate errors I had planted.
Michael sighed and took the laptop from me. “Alright, let’s see what you’ve got,” he said, opening the file and starting to review the report.
As he went through the report, pointing out mistakes and explaining corrections, I couldn’t help but notice his project on his computer screen.
It was a project he had been diligently working on all day to complete before his date. My heart pounded as I realized he would finish in no time.
“Lucy, I didn’t expect these kinds of mistakes from you; you usually do great work. What’s going on?” he asked, looking up at me with concern.
“Sorry, I’m not feeling well,” I mumbled, trying to hide my anxiety.
Michael finished reviewing the report much faster than I had anticipated. “It’s done. Now, please don’t distract me; I need to finish a few things,” he said, quickly pushing my laptop aside and reopening his project file.
Panic surged through me. Fearful he would finish in time, I did something horrible. Next to Michael’s laptop was a cup of coffee. I knocked it over, pretending it was an accident, and it spilled all over his laptop.
“No! Lucy, what have you done!?” Michael shouted, grabbing the laptop and trying to save it. But it was too late. The laptop wouldn’t start.
“Oh, I’m so sorry…” I stammered, guilt washing over me.
Michael looked at the laptop in disappointment, then checked the time on his phone and sighed sadly. He typed something on his phone and slowly took off his coat, sitting back at his desk. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to.”
“It’s okay… I’ll have to redo the project on another computer. Don’t worry about it,” he said, clearly frustrated.
I felt terrible. Until I saw the result of my actions, I hadn’t realized what I had done. But it was done, and nothing could change it. Mom probably wouldn’t be too upset; she would find a better match. That’s what I told myself to feel better.
Returning to my desk, I felt even worse. I was a terrible daughter, colleague, and person. I called my mom and heard her quiet, sad voice.
“Maybe this isn’t for me, sweetheart. I think I’ll stop using the app; it’s too hard for me,” she said softly.
“Mom, don’t worry, I’ll come over tonight,” I replied, my heart breaking.
I knew I had to fix things. So I went to Michael’s office once more. “Michael, do you have a minute?” I asked, my voice trembling slightly.
“There is one more thing I want to ask you…” I needed to make things right.
That evening, I knocked on my mom’s door. My heart raced as I waited, knowing I had to come clean. The door opened, and there stood my mother, looking shocked as she saw me standing with Michael.
“Lucy? What are you doing here?” she asked, her voice filled with surprise.
Michael looked equally bewildered. “Why did you bring me here, Lucy?” he asked. He had been kind enough to give me a ride after work, not knowing I had a bigger plan in mind.
I took a deep breath, trying to steady my nerves. “Mom, Michael, I need to confess something. I tried to sabotage your date,” I blurted out, feeling a mix of guilt and relief.
Phoebe’s eyes widened in confusion. “What are you talking about, sweetheart?”
Michael frowned, looking between me and my mom. “Lucy, what do you mean?”
I felt the weight of my actions pressing down on me. “Phoebe is my mom. When I found out you were going on a date, I panicked and only thought about myself. I worried about how it would affect me and focused only on my feelings. In my selfishness, I forgot how this would impact you,” I admitted, my voice trembling.
Phoebe’s expression softened as she stepped closer. “Lucy, why would you do that? You know I haven’t dated in so long.”
“I know, Mom. And that’s why I feel so terrible,” I said, my eyes filling with tears. “I was scared and selfish. I didn’t think about how happy this could make you. I was only thinking about myself and how awkward it would be to have my boss as my stepfather.”
Michael looked thoughtful, his initial shock giving way to understanding. “Lucy, I had no idea Phoebe was your mother. But I appreciate your honesty. It takes courage to admit you were wrong.”
I nodded, wiping away a tear. “I’m really sorry. Now, I realize that you two might be perfect for each other. Maybe fate brought you together because you’ve both had such a hard time finding someone.”
Phoebe smiled gently. “Sweetheart, I understand why you felt that way. But you need to know that my happiness means the world to me, and if Michael can bring that happiness, then we should give it a chance.”
Michael nodded in agreement. “Lucy, your mom is a wonderful woman. I would be honored to get to know her better.”
I felt a sense of relief wash over me. “Now that you know the truth, I just want to say one thing. No matter what happens, if you’re happy, then I’m happier. I hope I can fix my mistake.”
Phoebe gave me a warm hug. “You already have, sweetheart. Thank you for being honest.”
She then turned to Michael and invited him inside. “Come on in, Michael. Let’s have that dinner.”
Michael smiled and stepped inside. “Thank you, Phoebe.”
My mom looked at me and extended the invitation. “Would you like to join us, Lucy?”
I shook my head with a smile. “No, Mom. This evening should be yours. Enjoy it.”
As the door closed behind them, I felt a surge of joy. I got into my car and drove home, feeling lighter and happier. After all, I was right—love knows no age.
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My wife had been marking tally counts on her hands — when I discovered what she was tracking, I turned pale
When I noticed my wife drawing strange tally marks on her hand, I shrugged it off as a quirky habit. But as those marks multiplied and her answers remained cryptic, I realized something much darker was lurking beneath the surface of our seemingly happy marriage.
“Married life is great, right?” I would say to my friends when they asked. And for the most part, it was. We’d only been married for a few months, and I was still getting used to being a husband. My wife, Sarah, was always so organized, so thoughtful. She had a way of making everything seem effortless.
But then, something changed. I started noticing a strange habit of hers. One day, she pulled a pen out of her purse and made a small tally mark on the back of her hand. I didn’t think much of it at first.
“Did you just mark your hand?” I asked, raising an eyebrow.
She smiled and shrugged. “Just a reminder.”
“A reminder for what?” I laughed, thinking it was a joke. But she didn’t answer. She just changed the subject.
Over the next few weeks, she did it more and more. Some days, there’d be only one or two marks. Other days, five or more. Then there’d be days with nothing at all. It seemed random, but it bothered me. What was she keeping track of?
The more I noticed, the more I started to worry. It was like she was keeping a secret from me, and that secret was slowly eating away at our happiness.
One night, I couldn’t hold it in any longer.
“Sarah, what’s with the tally marks?” I asked as we were getting ready for bed. “You do it all the time now.”
She glanced at the marks on her hand, then looked at me with that same mysterious smile. “It helps me remember things, that’s all.”
“Remember what?” I pressed.
“It’s just… things,” she said, brushing me off like it was nothing. “Don’t worry about it.”
But I did worry. A lot. I started paying closer attention. She’d mark her hand after dinner. After we argued. After we watched a movie. There was no pattern I could see.
One evening, I counted the marks on her hand: seven. That night, I watched as she transferred them into a small notebook by her bedside table. She didn’t know I was watching.
I decided to check her notebook the next morning. I waited until she was in the shower, then flipped through the pages. Each page had rows and rows of tally marks. I counted them—68 in total.
I sat on the bed, staring at the notebook in my hands. What did this number mean? What was she counting?
I tried asking her again a few days later.
“Sarah, please tell me what those marks are for. It’s driving me crazy.”
She sighed, clearly annoyed. “I told you. It’s just something I do. It helps me remember.”
“That doesn’t make any sense!” I snapped. “What are you remembering? Are you keeping track of something? Someone?”
“Just drop it, okay?” she said, her voice sharp. She looked at me, her eyes pleading. “Please, just let it go.”
But I couldn’t let it go. The marks started to feel like a wall between us. Every time I saw her make a new one, it was like she was putting up another brick, shutting me out.
I became obsessed with the number 68. What was so important about it? I noticed I was being more careful around her, almost like I was afraid to give her a reason to add another mark. But then the marks would still appear, no matter what I did.
One night, after another tense conversation, I watched her add four new marks to her hand. I needed to know what was happening. I needed to figure this out before it drove me mad. But I had no idea how to get the truth out of her. And that scared me more than anything.
I couldn’t shake the feeling that our entire marriage was on the line, and I was helpless to stop whatever was happening between us. I left for several days to see if it changed anything. Well, the tally count has increased to 78 by the time I returned.
The obsession with Sarah’s tally marks was eating me alive. I needed a break from it, but everywhere I looked, I saw her hand with those little black lines, like they were taunting me. So, when Sarah suggested we visit her mother, I thought it would be a good distraction.
Her mother, Diane, and her fifth husband, Jake, lived in a cozy house in the suburbs. It was a typical Saturday afternoon visit: tea, cookies, and small talk. Sarah and her mom were in the kitchen, chatting and laughing. I excused myself to use the bathroom.
As I passed by the guest bedroom, something caught my eye. There, on the nightstand, was a notebook. It looked just like the one Sarah kept by her bed. I hesitated, but curiosity got the better of me. I stepped inside, glancing over my shoulder to make sure no one was watching.
I opened the notebook, my hands trembling. Inside, there were pages filled with tally marks, just like Sarah’s. But there was more. Next to the marks were labels: “interrupting,” “raising voice,” “forgetting to call.” Each tally had a label, like it was keeping track of mistakes.
“What the hell is this?” I muttered under my breath.
I felt a chill run down my spine. Was this some kind of family tradition? Was Sarah’s mom counting her own mistakes? Were they both holding themselves to these impossible standards?
I closed the notebook and returned to the living room, trying to act normal, but my mind was spinning. Sarah noticed my unease.
“You okay?” she asked, concern in her eyes.
“Yeah, I’m fine,” I lied. “Just thinking about work.”
We stayed for another hour, but I was barely present. My thoughts kept drifting back to that.
On the drive home, I couldn’t hold it in anymore.
“Sarah, I need to ask you something,” I said, gripping the steering wheel.
She looked at me, puzzled. “What’s up?”
“I saw your mom’s notebook today. It looked a lot like yours. Is this something you both do? Are you counting your mistakes? You don’t have to be perfect, you know. You don’t need to keep track of every little thing.”
There was a moment of silence, then she let out a bitter laugh.
“You think I’m counting my mistakes?”
“Well, yeah,” I said, relieved she was finally opening up. “You shouldn’t be so hard on yourself. It’s okay to mess up sometimes.”
She shook her head, staring out the window. “I’m not counting my mistakes, Jack. I’m counting yours.”
The words hit me like a punch in the gut. “What?”
“Every time you break one of your vows, I make a mark,” she said quietly. “When you interrupt me, when you don’t listen, when you say you’ll do something and don’t. I’ve been keeping track since our wedding.”
On our wedding day, I promised Sarah the world in my vows. I vowed never to lie, to always listen without interrupting, and to be there every time she needed me, no matter what. It was a long list of grand, heartfelt promises that sounded perfect in the moment, but looking back, they were almost impossible to keep.
I felt the blood drain from my face. “You’re counting my mistakes? Why?”
“Because I want to know when I’ve had enough,” she said, her voice breaking. “When you reach 1,000 marks, I’m leaving.”
I pulled the car over, my heart pounding. “You’re going to leave me? For breaking some stupid promises?”
“They’re not stupid promises,” she snapped. “They’re our wedding vows, Jack. You made them to me, and you’ve broken every single one.”
I stared at her, stunned. How had we gotten here? How had I missed this? I’d thought she was being hard on herself, but I was the one who’d been careless, dismissive. I wanted to be angry, but I couldn’t. I was too shocked, too hurt.
When we got home, I couldn’t sleep. I called Diane, desperate for answers.
“Sarah told me what she’s doing,” I said. “Why didn’t you stop her?”
Diane sighed. “I did the same thing with my past husbands. I thought it would help, but it just drove us apart. It ruined my marriages.”
“Then why let her—”
“I tried to tell her,” she interrupted gently. “But she needs to see it for herself. I count good days now, Jack. Good things my husband does. It changed everything.”
I hung up, feeling more lost than ever. I could only hope that my mother-in-law’s words fell on fertile ground.
That evening, Sarah came home with tears in her eyes. “I’m so sorry,” she whispered, wrapping her arms around me. “I didn’t realize how much this was hurting us.”
I held her close, feeling a mix of relief and hope. “Let’s forget the tally marks,” I said softly. “Let’s start fresh.”
The next day, I bought a new notebook—one for us to fill with good memories and happy moments. We made our first entry that night, writing about a quiet dinner we shared, laughing and talking like we hadn’t in months.
As we moved forward, the notebook became a symbol of our promise to focus on the positives and grow together. The tally marks were gone, replaced by stories of joy, love, and gratitude. We were finally on the same page, and it felt like the beginning of something beautiful.
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