Kian thought his ex-wife was long gone until she reappeared, claiming to be dying and desperate to see their daughter one last time. But when his little girl discovers a shocking secret hidden inside a teddy bear, Kian realizes the truth: his ex isn’t there to say goodbye… she wants something else.
I won’t lie — I never expected to hear from my ex-wife again.
Not after she walked away six years ago, leaving behind a two-year-old daughter and a husband who had begged her to stay. Not after she vanished into the world without a real explanation, sending nothing but a yearly postcard and a stuffed animal to remind us she was still alive.
“I can’t do this, Kian,” she had said back then, glancing at Kylie, our baby girl, while slipping her jacket off the coat hook. “But you can.”
I also didn’t expect her to return like this — with a message that made my stomach twist uncomfortably.
Hey! Remember me? Doctors say I’ll be gone soon. It’s terminal. I just want to see you one last time. And Kylie. Please, let me!
The text felt unreal.
I had moved on. I was happily remarried now, raising my daughter, Kylie, and my baby boy, Jake, with my incredible second wife, Lillian. Our life was full of bedtime stories, messy kitchen counters, baby giggles, and a warmth I had never thought I’d feel again after my divorce.
But how do you say no to a dying person? Can you?
So, I agreed to meet her.
She chose a small café for us to talk. When I arrived, she was already seated, calmly stirring a cup of coffee with a hand that looked far too steady for someone supposedly terminally ill.
I sat across from her, unsure of what to say.
“So… how long do you have, Marissa?” I asked. “When did you find out? Are you sure it’s the right diagnosis?”
“It’s stage four,” she replied softly. “Maybe months, maybe weeks. Who really knows, Kian? But it’s been hard.”
I nodded, feeling an unexpected pang of sympathy.
“I’m sorry. Truly.”
I didn’t like Marissa anymore — but she had once been my wife. I had loved her deeply. And she had given me Kylie. Feeling something for her situation was… human.
She reached for my hand. I pulled back instinctively.
“That’s why I wanted to see you,” she continued, her voice trembling just enough to sound convincing. “And Kylie. I need to see her. Hold her. Just once…”
I hesitated.
“Marissa,” I said carefully, “you do know Kylie barely remembers you, right? You left when she was two.”
A flicker of disappointment crossed her face.
“But she got my gifts, didn’t she? The teddy bears? Doesn’t she see me as… the special person who sent her toys?”
I bit back a bitter laugh.
Special person? Those once-a-year guilt offerings Kylie never even played with?
“She got them,” I said flatly.
She leaned forward, desperate now.
“I just want to see her, Kian. I want to say goodbye. I carried her. My body did the work. I deserve to see her.”
I exhaled heavily.
I didn’t want her anywhere near my daughter — but I didn’t see a way around this.
“Fine. But you follow my rules. No surprises. No drama.”
She nodded eagerly.
I didn’t realize then that agreeing to this would nearly destroy our lives.
The next day, the doorbell rang.
Lillian and I exchanged a confused look — we weren’t expecting anyone. We were making ice cream sandwiches with the kids in the kitchen.
“I’ll get it,” I said. “But don’t eat anything without me!”
Kylie giggled.
I opened the door — and a giant teddy bear filled my entire view.
Then a too-cheerful voice called out,
“Surprise!”
I almost slammed the door shut.
“What the hell, Marissa?” I hissed.
“I wanted to see Kylie! You said I could,” she beamed, pushing past me into the house.
Before I could stop her, Kylie came skipping down the hallway — then froze.
“Hi, Kylie! It’s me, your mom!” Marissa said brightly.
Kylie stared at her.
Then she turned to me.
“Daddy… who is this lady?”
Marissa’s smile cracked.
My heart clenched — not out of sympathy, but because Marissa had done this to herself.
Lillian stepped in smoothly, holding baby Jake.
“Kylie, sweetheart, why don’t you finish your coloring? We’ll talk in a bit, okay?”
“But what about our ice cream sandwiches?” Kylie asked.
“We’ll have them later, my love,” Lillian said gently.
Kylie nodded and disappeared into her room.
“Kids, right?” Marissa forced a laugh.
I should have thrown her out right then.
Instead, I let her stay for dinner.
Over the next week, Marissa met Kylie at the park a few times. We never told our daughter about the cancer — she barely knew Marissa as her mother anyway.
Then Marissa dropped her next bombshell.
“The doctors reassessed my condition,” she said dramatically, clutching my arm. “It’s a miracle, Kian! There’s a chance I can live!”
I blinked. Slowly.
“That’s… great,” I said cautiously.
“Well, it’s not that simple,” she added. “There’s a new trial. But it’s expensive.”
My stomach sank.
“How much?”
“$20,000.”
She said it like she was asking for sugar in her coffee.
“That’s a lot of money, Marissa,” I replied firmly.
“I know… but please,” she whispered, glancing toward Lillian.
Lillian looked at me, her expression conflicted.
“I feel bad for her… maybe we can help?”
I felt bad too.
So we considered it.
And that was almost the biggest mistake of our lives.
That night, Kylie walked into our room clutching the new teddy bear Marissa had given her.
Her face was unusually serious.
“Daddy,” she said quietly. “She’s lying.”
“What do you mean, sweet pea?”
“This bear talks… with her voice.”
My heart began to race.
Kylie pressed the bear’s stomach.
A distorted voice crackled to life:
“I’ll get the money soon! And you owe me a drink!”
The air left my lungs.
I ripped open the bear and found a tiny hidden recorder inside. I rewound it — and Marissa’s voice filled the room again.
“Yeah, I told Kian it was stage four. He totally bought it. He was practically crying at the restaurant. Twenty grand just for some fake tears.”
Lillian sat up in bed, horrified.
Kylie looked at me — hurt, but certain.
“I told you, she’s not my mom,” she said quietly.
“You did, sweetheart. And you were right.”
The next day, I texted Marissa:
I have the money. Come get it.
She arrived thirty minutes later.
Kylie handed her a thick envelope.
Marissa’s eyes lit up.
“Oh, thank you, my dearest girl! This means so much—”
“Before you open it,” I interrupted, “we have something for you to listen to.”
I pressed play.
Her own voice echoed through the room.
Marissa turned pale.
“That’s not me!” she stammered. “Someone doctored that!”
She ripped open the envelope — and froze.
Inside was $20,000… in Monopoly money.
Kylie’s idea.
“If she is fake sick, let’s give her fake money,” she had said.
Marissa’s face twisted in fury.
“You can’t do this to me!”
“You did this to yourself,” Lillian said coldly. “And why did you give our child a teddy bear with a recorder inside?”
Marissa hesitated.
“It was supposed to be a message… telling her I’m her real mother. I must have recorded over it by accident.”
I shook my head in disgust.
“You’re pathetic. Now get out. And never come back.”
She stormed out, slamming the door behind her.
I turned to Kylie.
“You saved us — and you saved our money.”
“She didn’t deserve it, Daddy,” she said firmly. “You always say we have to earn and deserve money.”
And she was right.
Marissa didn’t deserve our money. She didn’t deserve our trust. And she didn’t deserve to be in Kylie’s life.
Our real family was right here under this roof — honest, loving, and safe.
And nothing — not even an elaborate lie — could ever change that.
