Poor Older Lady Didn’t Let Anyone Into Her Home for 26 Years Until I Set Foot Inside

Finally, on a sunny Saturday morning, I drove to the address Mrs. Halloway had given me. It was a modest suburban home with a neat front yard and children’s bikes scattered on the driveway.

My heart was pounding so hard I could hear it in my ears as I walked up to the front door and rang the bell.

A woman answered within seconds.

She looked to be in her late fifties, with sharp green eyes and the same delicate bone structure as Mrs. Halloway. There was no mistaking the family resemblance.

“Can I help you?” she asked, her voice polite but guarded.

“Um, hi.

My name’s Dori,” I stammered. “I think I know your mother.”

Her face went completely pale. Without saying another word, she slammed the door so hard it shook the frame.

But as I turned to walk back to my car, feeling defeated and foolish, I heard a young voice from inside the house.

“Mom?

Who was that at the door?”

A teenager, I thought. Mrs. Halloway had a granddaughter she’d never met.

I went back to the hospital and told Mrs.

Halloway everything. She started crying before I even finished the story.

“She has a daughter,” Mrs. Halloway whispered.

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