After my parents divorced and my mom died, I had to move in with my dad, whom she always branded a “hopeless loser.” Living with him was unique. I caught him sneaking away late at night without knowing why.
Prom was approaching, but I didn’t care. No date, wheelchair, and feeling trapped in every way—it wasn’t a fun night. Surgery could improve my life, but without money, it was a dream.
I recognized that prom wasn’t for me. My dad, whom my mom constantly doubted, suddenly claimed he was taking me. No idea what to anticipate, but that night altered everything. I went, and everyone liked him. He even made me dance.
This is when things get insane. The next day, my dad brings home an envelope he found in our mailbox with a $10,000 check and the notation “Dad of the Year.”
He turns to me and whispers, “I think I know who sent this.”
“Who?” My heart pounded as I asked.
My dad stood there staring at the check like he could lose it if he blinked. He gently breathed and looked up at me with an unrecognizable expression.
“Give me a second, kid,” he murmured, taking his coat. Need to check something.”
I watched him exit with his phone to his ear. Though I couldn’t hear him, his expression was strained. He returned shaking his head, looking at once overwhelmed and amused.
“Yup,” he murmured. “I was right.”
Dad, can you tell me already?
He sat opposite from me and stroked his hair. “Do you remember that diner waitress?”
I frowned. Which one?”
“The one who gave us free pie that night your chair wheel jammed on the sidewalk.”
It worked. “Oh. Yeah. Melissa, yes?”
“Yeah,” Dad nodded. She’s more than a waitress. That diner is hers. There are three more in the city.”
I watched. “What? She was wearing an old apron and working extra shifts.”
“Because that’s who she is,” Dad said. “She enjoys maintaining her community. Her prom experience last night was positive.
I blinked. Melissa went to prom?
Dad chuckled. Kind of. It was her catering. Says she saw me wheel you in and then us dancing. She made a decision.”
Swallowed hard. Decided what?
“That you deserve surgery and that I—somehow—deserve to be your dad.”
His words weighed. Unexpectedly, my throat was tight and my chest feverish.
“She gave us ten grand?” I whispered.
“Yeah, kid,” he whispered. “She did.”
The next few days were filled with exhilaration, disbelief, and a feeling that this was a dream. I kept expecting someone to call and say the check was for someone else. There was no call.
Dad decided one evening.
“We’re going to the diner,” he said. “We’re thanking her personally.”
So we did.
Melissa was behind the counter when we arrived, exhausted yet warm, her apron stained with coffee. She grinned at us like she expected us.
“Hey, you two,” she remarked. How’s the town’s best prom date?
I grin. “He’s still celebrating being named ‘Dad of the Year.’”
Melissa giggled, but my dad shrugged and looked at her with gratitude.
“Why’d you do it?” he whispered. “Thankful, but why?”
Wiping her hands on a dish towel, she leaned on the counter. “Because I’ve seen dads leave kids when things got tough. I’ve seen many youngsters look at their fathers like your son does at you.”
I looked at dad. He looked down at the counter, blinking, like he needed a breather.
Melissa continued. “You supported him. You decided not to let him skip prom. That night, you gave him. Why not offer you both a chance for a better future?
I didn’t realize I was crying until Dad squeezed my hand.
He said, “Melissa,” his voice heavy, “you have no idea what this means to us.”
She grinned. “I think I do.”
Surgery was scheduled a month later. Recovery was slow and painful, but I worked at it daily. My dad? He was there for every physical therapy appointment, setback, and small win.
First time standing up from wheelchair without support six months after prom.
Dad was my first hug.
And Melissa? She was there. We never expected her to become family.
Not all situations are ideal. Sometimes you grow up hearing that your friends aren’t good enough and won’t change. But sometimes, people prove you wrong.
Daddy did.
Sometimes kindness comes from unexpected places.
Take advantage of opportunities to support others when they need it. A little love can go far.
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