Here is a story about an unknown number that calls a family and tries to ruin their relationships and break them apart, and in the end they discover that this number is one of the family members.
# The Unknown Caller
## A story of betrayal and revenge
The phone rang in the middle of the night, waking up the whole family. They looked at the caller ID and saw an unknown number. They hesitated to answer, but curiosity got the better of them.
"Hello?" said the father, rubbing his eyes.
"Hello, Mr. Smith. I have some bad news for you," said a distorted voice on the other end.
"Who is this? What do you want?" asked the father, feeling a surge of fear.
"I want you to know the truth about your family. The truth that they have been hiding from you for years," said the voice.
"What are you talking about? What truth?" asked the father, confused and angry.
"Let me start with your wife. Do you know where she was last night? She was not at her friend's house, as she told you. She was at a hotel with another man. A man she has been seeing for months behind your back," said the voice.
The father felt a pang of pain in his chest. He looked at his wife, who was sitting next to him on the bed, pale and trembling.
"Is this true?" he asked her, hoping for a denial.
She could not meet his eyes. She nodded slowly, tears streaming down her face.
"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry," she sobbed.
The father felt a wave of rage and disgust. He pushed her away from him and got up from the bed.
"How could you do this to me? To us? To our children?" he shouted.
He grabbed his phone and threw it against the wall, smashing it into pieces.
He stormed out of the bedroom, leaving his wife crying on the bed.
The children, who had heard everything from their rooms, ran after him, trying to calm him down.
"Dad, please, don't go! We love you! We need you!" they pleaded.
But he ignored them. He got into his car and drove away, leaving them behind.
The phone rang again. The mother picked it up, hoping it was her husband.
"Hello?" she said, with a shaky voice.
"Hello, Mrs. Smith. I hope you enjoyed my little surprise," said the voice.
"Who are you? Why are you doing this to us?" she asked, terrified.
"I'm doing this because you deserve it. Because you ruined my life," said the voice.
"What do you mean? I don't even know you!" she said.
"Oh, but you do. You know me very well. I'm your brother," said the voice.
She gasped. She recognized the voice now. It was her brother, whom she had not seen or spoken to in years.
He had been estranged from the family after he had been caught stealing money from their parents' business. He had blamed her for exposing him and ruining his reputation. He had sworn to get back at her someday.
She could not believe he was behind this. He had called her husband and told him lies about her affair. He had made up the whole story to destroy her marriage and her happiness.
"Why are you doing this? Why do you hate me so much?" she asked him, sobbing.
"Because you have everything I ever wanted. A loving husband, beautiful children, a successful career. And I have nothing. Nothing but resentment and bitterness. You took everything from me, and now I'm taking everything from you," he said.
He laughed maniacally and hung up the phone.
She dropped the phone and collapsed on the floor, feeling hopeless and helpless.
She had lost her husband, her children, her dignity, her happiness.
She had lost everything because of one unknown caller.
About the Creator
Wise~Guys
— Look Behind what's in Front of You ~ Make Good Choices — Hey, So how you Doin'..! Made~Men — Mobster Movies romanticise a distinctive, elegant appearance, impeccable attire style, along with the 'Families' expressive lingo. Making their 'Bones' gave them Panache — with vintage fedoras, tailored pin-striped suits, mirror-polished wing-tip shoes adorned with tassels; with their 'Gun Moll' gorgeous dates on their arms.
By Jay Kantor14 days ago in Families
Home Through the Winter Rain
Winter arrived gently that year, not with snowstorms or icy winds, but with steady rain that seemed to fall without end. The sky was a soft gray, heavy and calm, and the air smelled of wet roads and cold earth. On one such evening, a small family climbed into their own car, ready to begin the familiar drive home. The engine started with a low, comforting sound. The headlights cut through the mist, glowing warmly against the rain. The parents sat in the front seats, wrapped in thick coats, their breaths forming faint clouds before the heater slowly warmed the air. The mother adjusted the mirror, smiling softly as she glanced back at the children. The father rested his hands on the steering wheel, careful and steady, already focused on the road ahead. In the back seat, the children were bundled together like little birds hiding from the cold. Their jackets were bright against the dark interior of the car, and their shoes were still damp from puddles they had jumped in earlier that day. One child hugged a stuffed bear tightly, its fur worn soft from years of love. Another leaned close to the window, watching the raindrops slide down the glass in twisting paths. “Look,” one of them whispered, tracing a finger along the foggy window. “That one is winning.” The rain seemed alive outside, each drop racing the others, merging and separating, disappearing at the bottom of the glass. Streetlights reflected in the wet road, stretching into long golden lines that shimmered and broke apart as the car moved forward. The heater clicked louder now, filling the car with warmth. Slowly, gloves were pulled off, scarves loosened. The tight cold of winter faded into something soft and safe. The radio played quietly in the background—an old song the parents knew by heart. They didn’t sing out loud, but their heads moved gently to the rhythm. As the car traveled through the rain, the father slowed at each turn, careful not to rush. Tires whispered against the wet road. The mother pointed out familiar places as they passed—a closed bakery, a dark park, a row of houses glowing faintly from inside. Everything looked different in the rain, quieter, calmer, as if the world itself was resting. The children grew sleepy, their earlier excitement fading into peaceful silence. One rested their head against the other’s shoulder. The stuffed bear slipped onto the seat between them. Outside, the rain tapped steadily on the roof, a soft rhythm like a lullaby. “Do you remember,” the mother said gently, “when we used to drive like this before you were born?” The father smiled. “Long drives. Late nights. Just us and the road.” “And now,” she said, glancing back again, “we’re all here.” The children didn’t fully hear the words, but they felt their meaning. They felt it in the warmth of the car, in the way the parents’ voices sounded calm and close, in the steady movement carrying them safely forward. The road curved toward the edge of town. Trees stood bare, their branches dark and shining with rain. Water pooled along the sides of the street, reflecting the passing lights like tiny mirrors. Somewhere far away, a dog barked once, then fell silent again. One child stirred and yawned. “Are we almost home?” “Soon,” the father answered softly. That word—home—settled into the car like another blanket. Home meant dry clothes and warm soup. It meant lights in the windows and shoes left by the door. It meant safety from the cold rain and the long gray sky. As they drove, the rain began to slow. The drops grew smaller, lighter, until they were more like a mist. The clouds above thinned just enough to let a pale glow through, not quite moonlight, but something close. The world felt gentler somehow, as if winter itself had decided to be kind. The car turned onto a quiet street. Houses lined the road, each one familiar, each one holding its own small stories. The father parked slowly, switching off the engine. Suddenly, the world felt very still. The rain whispered one last time, then faded into silence. The children woke fully now, blinking and stretching. Coats were zipped, hats pulled on. The mother gathered the stuffed bear and handed it back with a smile. The father stepped out first, opening the door and letting in a breath of cool winter air. They walked together toward their house, shoes splashing softly in shallow puddles. The porch light glowed warmly, welcoming them home. Inside, the house smelled faintly of dinner and clean air. The door closed behind them, shutting out the cold and the rain. Jackets were hung up. Shoes were lined neatly by the door. The children laughed quietly, already talking about tomorrow. The parents watched them for a moment, tired but content. Outside, winter continued its slow rain. Inside, the family moved easily through their evening, wrapped in comfort and love. And though the night was cold, and the roads were wet, the journey had been enough—because they had made it home together.
By Sahir E Shafqat4 days ago in Families
A Dart at Dusk
Seconds ago, the sullen sun set on the two of us… my exuberant furry companion and me. A fresh breeze embraces us, delivering welcome relief from the day’s oppressive heat. His typical stumbling and staggering along — apace with a sloth — has turned into trip-trapping, high-stepping, almost skipping along.
By Angie the Archivist 📚🪶a day ago in Petlife
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