3 Heartbreaking Stories Where Single Parents Faced the Worst

Think about the worries every single parent goes through, and you’ll sympathize with the following stories. We’ve got a dad on a detective quest, a mom’s spooky night of no-kids-at-home, and a plane ride that goes from noisy to nice. Clearly, raising a child alone isn’t easy.

Anything can happen when you start a family, and trying to parent even grown kids can become a huge pain. In these tales, a father has to find his missing daughter and can’t believe what he encountered on his quest, a mother returns home to an empty place after trusting a neighbor, and another father learns that humanity is much better than he imagined, even on a plane. Let’s find out more!

I sat at my grand dining table, eating mechanically while glancing at my phone frequently. I was waiting for a response from Catherine, my daughter, who hadn’t answered my calls for three days. Sighing, I redialed her number, only to be met with silence.

Gazing at a photo of my late wife, Caroline, I mused, “My dear Caroline. If only you were around, you could help Catherine and me find a common language.”

The loss of Caroline had deepened the rift between Catherine and me, especially since I had immersed myself in work to cope with the grief. I remembered my recent call with her, though. I had excitedly offered her a job opportunity through a businessman friend after she finished university.

However, Catherine wasn’t happy. “You’re deciding my fate for me again!” she’d exclaimed. “I never wanted to go to that university. You know I always wanted to dance, to follow my passion. But you made me give it up, forced me into a life I never chose!”

With that, she hung up, leaving me to grapple with the reality of our strained relationship.

Feeling a deep sense of loss and realizing how little I knew about Catherine’s life and dreams, I now called my business partner, Alan, for any information.

“I’m a bit worried about Catherine,” I said on the phone. “She hasn’t been answering my calls. Have you seen her? You’re overseeing operations in the same town where she’s studying, so I’m assuming you might have crossed paths.”

“I haven’t seen Catherine for a while, Peter,” Alan responded. “She’s pretty independent, you know. If I hear anything, I’ll let you know.”

“Thanks, Alan. I appreciate it.”

I ended the call, feeling more helpless than before.

Eventually, I called her university. “I’m calling about my daughter, Catherine G—” I said, tired and worried.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Greenwood, but there’s no student by that name enrolled at our university,” the university official replied, leaving me in shock. I somehow thanked her and ended the call. I didn’t understand what was happening. How could Catherine not be enrolled at the university? I was sending her tuition money every semester.

Confused and worried, I decided to visit the police station. I met Officer Mount and explained everything. “My daughter, Catherine, is missing. She hasn’t responded to my calls, and she’s not registered at the university…” I also told him I’d been sending her funds, thinking she was busy building her career.

“Do you know her friends or anyone she might spend time with?” Officer Mount asked.

“I… I don’t know,” I admitted.

“Mr. Greenwood, it sounds like your daughter might just need some space. You know how kids are these days,” the officer suggested. And I believed him for a moment. After all, I knew Catherine was upset with me.

But if she was ignoring me simply due to a heated conversation and not caring about how stressed I was because I could not get in touch with her, I would make her realize how wrong she was!

Determined, I returned home and called Simon, a programmer in my company known for his hacking abilities. “Simon, it’s Peter. I need your help to track my daughter’s phone,” I urgently requested.

“Mr. Greenwood, you know that’s not exactly… legal, right?”

“I’m aware, Simon. But I’m desperate,” I insisted. “There’s a good reward if you just help me!”

Agreeing to help, Simon soon arrived at my house and started tracking Catherine’s phone. After intense focus and rapid keystrokes, he finally located her. “I managed to trace her phone. She’s at a nightclub called the Red Moon,” he informed me.

I gazed at the computer screen. “This nightclub isn’t far from the university you sent her to,” I murmured, scanning the address.

“Can you track her night activities?” I asked urgently.

“It’s complex; I’d need to track her movement patterns. But I can access her phone camera for real-time insights,” Simon replied hesitantly.

Minutes later, a live feed showed Catherine dancing provocatively on stage in a nightclub surrounded by strip poles. “It can’t be,” I whispered, shocked.

The sound of a woman’s voice filled the room, encouraging Catherine. My heart sank, as I closed my eyes. When Simon left, I decided to go to my daughter’s college town.

Driving through the night to the town where I’d sent my daughter to study, I was haunted by the thoughts of the video and my daughter’s secret life. I couldn’t help but think about the money, about $200,000 in total, that I had sent over four years, believing it was for her education.

As dawn broke, I arrived in the city, tired but determined. When I reached the club, I found it closed, but the club’s manager was just arriving to start the day. I approached the woman.

“Hi, I’m Peter. I’m looking for my daughter, Catherine, a dancer here,” I explained.

The woman shook her head. “We don’t employ dancers like that. This is a regular nightclub.”

I insisted, “I saw her in a video. She was dancing here, on stage.”

The woman thought for a moment. “You must mean ‘Dancing Queen.’ They were here for a private event. They’re not part of our regular staff.”

My eyes widened. “Dancing Queen? Can you give me their contact?”

The woman smiled slightly. “They’re well-known around here. Just search ‘Dancing Queen’ online. You’ll find all you need.”

I did that. Online, I discovered numerous images of Catherine with ‘Dancing Queen.’ I saw her in a different light then, overwhelmed by shame. Then my gaze landed on a contact number for bookings.

I called the group’s manager, Amanda. “I’m Chuck. I’d like to book your group for my birthday,” I lied, feeling the sweat down my back.

Amanda’s voice was cheerful. “Sure, Chuck. When do you need us?”

“January 13. But first, can I see a rehearsal?” I inquired.

“Absolutely! We start in two hours. I’ll text you the address,” Amanda replied.

I watched Catherine perform with grace and energy at their rehearsal dance hall. Our eyes met; she stopped and approached me.

“So, you’re Chuck, huh?” Catherine asked, surprised yet defiant.

I had no time for games. “You’ve lied about going to university! What did you do with the money?”

“I used it for living and starting ‘Dancing Queen.’ I’ll pay you back,” Catherine retorted.

“You’re running Dancing Queen?” I was shocked.

“Yes, we’re successful,” she affirmed.

“You’re a stripper! Is this the life you wanted?”

“I’m not a stripper, Dad! It’s about talent, not selling my body,” Catherine countered.

“What would your mother say—”

“Don’t bring Mom into this,” she spat. “She would’ve understood me!”

The ringing of Catherine’s phone cut through our argument. I saw Alan’s face on the screen, labeled “My Love.”

“Is that Alan? And he’s ‘My Love’ on your phone? Are you two together?” I asked in shock and disbelief.

“Yes, for three years now. He even proposed to me recently!”

I clutched my head, reeling from the revelation. “I can’t believe this. What happened to you, Catherine?”

Before she could respond, her phone rang again. It was Alan. She answered, forgetting her phone was still connected to the speakers. Everyone in the hall heard Alan’s voice. “Hello, dear, I’m outside. I got off work early. Let’s have lunch.”

Fueled by pure rage, I dashed downstairs.

“Dad, stop! What are you doing?”

Outside, I spotted Alan’s car. I rushed over, flung open the door, and faced the traitor I thought was my friend. “How could you? With my daughter?”

Alan and I screamed, hurling accusations and insults at each other until Catherine arrived.

“I don’t want to see you, Dad! You try to control everything,” she declared before leaving with my ex-friend.

The next day, I followed Alan. I drove to his office building and waited until he got in his car and drove away. After a few minutes, I found myself near a modest home from which another woman, a dancer from “Dancing Queen,” emerged.

My jaw went slack as I witnessed him kissing that strange woman. Once again, rage coursed through my body. I marched to his car, and my fist throbbed as I pounded on the window.

“Relax, Peter,” Alan calmly said as he stepped out.

“You’re cheating on my daughter! She deserves the truth!” I accused.

Alan smirked. “She won’t find out. If you tell Catherine, I’ll expose your siphoning of company funds. I have all the proof.”

Stunned, I realized my illegal activities could ruin me.

Alan’s smirk grew wider. “And one more thing, Peter. Maybe this will help you see things more clearly. Catherine is so good in bed. Far better than this girl,” he whispered maliciously before he got into his car and drove away.

But I wouldn’t let someone like Alan ruin my life.

The next day, I approached his house, not sure what to do but knowing I couldn’t let him keep messing with my daughter. I watched Catherine leave for dance practice and then, I approached the door. He greeted me with sarcasm.

“Here to fight again?” Alan asked.

“No, I want to talk about our future dealings,” I replied.

With another smirk, Alan welcomed me inside.

We settled in the living room.

I looked around, curious. “This is a nice place. Mind showing me around?”

Alan stood up. “Sure, let’s go.”

I composed myself as my plan settled. While looking around the wine cellar in the basement, I locked Alan inside. Then, with trembling hands, I set the kitchen on fire.

The flames had just taken full force when Catherine returned, apparently forgetting her phone. Her eyes widened at the fire, and I didn’t stop her from reaching for the extinguisher and rushing to save Alan.

“He tried to kill me!” Alan coughed as he emerged from the basement.

“He’s cheating on you with one of your teammates! I saw him kissing another girl!” I said.

Shocked, Catherine rebuked us both and left, not wanting to deal with this mess. After she left, Alan glared at me. “My house has CCTV everywhere. It’s all recorded—your illegal activities. I’ll show the investors and the police. You’re looking at prison time,” he announced, smirking again.

I shivered, realizing I was recorded. My plan had disastrously backfired.

Alan added, “You have one way out. I’ll be out of your daughter’s life forever. Bring me a million dollars in two days, or else…”

“What? But… I don’t have that kind of money! I can get 600 thousand, but that’s all.”

“Bring what you have and get out!” Alan sneered.

Unable to do anything else, I left and drove to a hotel. I repeatedly called Catherine, but she didn’t answer. I realized the gravity of my situation: trapped and desperate. In my hotel room, I called Catherine again, sending a text about Alan’s blackmail. Still, no response.

Feeling helpless, I turned to liquor, numbing my fear of prison. My thoughts swirled with regret and fear. I didn’t realize I had fallen asleep until a knock at the door woke me up.

I thought it was the police, but I answered the door to find Catherine holding a black bag, her eyes welling up.

“Cat, I’m so glad you’re back,” I said, stepping forward to hug her.

But Catherine stepped back, offering the bag. “Here’s 400,000 dollars. I earned this by doing something you never believed in. Take this money, but I don’t want you in my life anymore,” she said, her voice breaking.

Speechless, I took the bag with shaking hands.

And then, Catherine walked away from my life forever. I slumped to the floor, tears streaming down my cheeks. The room felt colder, and emptier, as I sat there, holding the bag of money.

As a single mother of three and having recently moved to a new neighborhood after parting ways with my husband, I hadn’t really mingled with the neighbors yet.

There were whispers about the elderly man next door, Mr. Palmer. I believe his first name was Morgan. Some labeled him as mentally unstable, others whispered he had a dark past involving his child’s death.

I’ve never been one to jump on the gossip bandwagon, so these rumors didn’t sway me. Yet, when I first laid eyes on him, with his unkempt appearance, leaning on his old cane, something about him struck me as unconventional.

One afternoon, as I was heading home from the store, I spotted Mr. Palmer by the traffic lights, looking bewildered even as they turned green. It was clear he needed assistance to cross the road, so I approached him.

“Good day, Mr. Palmer. I’m Molly, just moved in nearby. Do you need a hand with anything?” I offered kindly.

His face lit up with a smile. “Oh, Molly! Yes, I remember seeing you! Would you mind helping me across the street, sweetheart?”

“Of course, Mr. Palmer, let’s go,” I replied with a smile.

Upon reaching the other side, he expressed his gratitude, “You’re a kind woman, Molly. Have a good day.” He then continued on his way, and I watched him go, leaning on his cane.

That encounter changed my perception; Mr. Palmer wasn’t odd, just a lonely soul wronged by rumors. It was disheartening to see how quick people were to judge without knowing him.

At the time, I was transitioning between jobs and had just secured a position that required a grueling 14-hour shift, including nights, for the initial trial week. The dilemma was who would care for my twins, Ben and Adam, both three, and my five-year-old daughter, Cassy, during those hours.

Then I remembered the encounter with Mr. Palmer. After a day out with my kids at the amusement park, we passed by his house. He was resting on his porch. I stopped to say hello, and through our conversation, he mentioned his battle with insomnia, sleeping sporadically and mostly during late mornings.

I thought it might be a good idea to have Mr. Palmer watch over my children during my night shifts. To my relief, he was more than willing to help out.

The day Mr. Palmer came over to babysit for the first time, everything seemed to fall into place perfectly. He engaged with my kids so naturally, playing and laughing with them, that I felt at ease as I prepared for work.

“Thank you so much, Mr. Palmer. I have a night shift, so I’ll be back early in the morning,” I said, then turned to my kids, “And you, no trouble for Mr. Palmer, okay?”

“Okay, Mommy!” Cassy’s voice was full of joy.

Mr. Palmer reassured me with a warm smile, “Have a good day at work, Molly. Don’t worry about the kids.”

Seeing my children so comfortable with him, I left for work feeling content, believing they were in good hands. But upon returning in the early morning, the sight of the open front door and the silence from inside sent me into a mild panic.

“Cassy, Ben, Adam? If you’re hiding, come out now. Mommy is really scared,” I called out, but no one answered, not even Mr. Palmer.

Frantically searching every corner of the house and finding no sign of them left me trembling. My calls to Mr. Palmer went unanswered, stirring up all the dreadful rumors I’d heard about him.

Just as I was about to contact the police, my phone rang with an unknown number. It was the hospital, informing me that Adam had been admitted following an epilepsy seizure. Rushing to the hospital, I found my son in a ward, with Ben, Cassy, and Mr. Palmer waiting outside.

“Oh, Molly!” Mr. Palmer exclaimed, his eyes wet with tears. “Adam had a seizure, and I couldn’t leave the other children alone, so I brought them all here. I’m sorry I didn’t call; I had to act fast and left my phone at home.”

Guilt washed over me for doubting him, and I was immensely thankful for his quick actions. Once Adam recovered, I made it a point to visit Mr. Palmer regularly, assisting him around the house and forging a genuine friendship built on mutual respect and gratitude.

Sitting in Mr. Palmer’s living room one day, he shared more about his life, revealing that he was a widower who had fallen out with his son, Ethan, leading to a prolonged estrangement. He mentioned his granddaughter, Lily, raised solely by Ethan after his wife’s passing.

I couldn’t help but laugh when recounting the neighborhood’s wild theories about him, including the one where he was suspected of murdering Ethan. “I feel terrible, Mr. Palmer,” I chuckled, “I must admit, I was swayed by those rumors for a moment.”

With a smile, he responded, “I’m glad you saw the truth! I can hardly grip a knife properly; imagine me attempting anything more strenuous!”

Realizing how lonely he must have felt, I encouraged him to reach out to Ethan. Although hesitant at first, he eventually gave in to my persistence. This decision led to a heartfelt reunion with his son and granddaughter, which Mr. Palmer gave me too much credit for.

In a twist of fate, Ethan and I bonded, and our relationship turned to love, leading to marriage. Mr. Palmer, once ostracized by our community, became the cherished grandfather to four beautiful children, completely overturning his once-lonely existence.

My 11-year-old son Louis was talking so loud at the airport that other passengers started looking at us and whispering. I felt a wave of embarrassment wash over me as we waited for our flight. Louis was blissfully unaware of the side glances, engrossed in his loud conversation, and I felt powerless to intervene.

Ever since my wife’s death three years ago, I’ve struggled with parenthood, constantly feeling overshadowed by the memory of how effortlessly Jacqueline seemed to handle everything. I always feel like I’m falling short as a father.

So, as we settled onto the plane, I prayed silently for a smooth journey without any incidents to remind me of my inadequacies. But as it turned out, fate had other plans.

“Hey, man. Please tell your son to SHUT THE HELL UP! I’m trying to sleep here!” the irritated passenger beside us, Tyler, grumbled.

Louis and I were sitting next to him. I had brought along Louis’s favorite book, hoping to read it to him during the flight. But my son, ever so independent, wanted to read it himself, narrating the words with a volume that seemed to pierce the cabin’s calm.

Tyler, along with a few other passengers, was visibly annoyed by this.

“I’m sorry, sir,” I muttered, turning towards Louis. “Hey, champ. Could you please read quietly for me? We don’t want to disturb anyone, right?”

“BUT DAD!” Louis exclaimed, his excitement undampened. “I AM SO HAPPY TODAY! THESE PICTURES! THE BIRDS, FRUITS, AND THE WORDS IN HERE. I AM SO HAPPY TO READ THEM OUT!”

“Well, son—” I started, only to be interrupted by Tyler’s sharp retort.

“What in the world is wrong with your son? Can’t he read properly? He’s literally screaming into my ears! You know what, I can’t sit beside morons like you! I’m calling the flight attendant right now!”

“Excuse me, ma’am,” Tyler called out to the stewardess, his voice laced with frustration. “I need some help here!”

“Yes, sir. How may I help you?” she asked, approaching us with a professional calm.

“Look, I need to change seats right now. I need to sleep comfortably, and I can’t do that here, not with these people,” he complained, pointing accusingly at Louis and me.

The stewardess was surely trying to maintain peace, so she asked, “What seems to be the problem, sir? Unfortunately, we don’t have any vacant seats right now. If it’s urgent, I could try to arrange a seat swap for you.”

The strange man’s patience snapped. “Have you heard this boy? He’s been reading aloud non-stop and I just want some peace and quiet! And his father,” he glared at me, “is an absolute idiot for letting him disrupt everyone’s peace on this flight.”

“Excuse me, sir!” I interjected, my voice firm yet restrained. “I admit Louis was a bit loud, but I did ask him to lower his voice. Please, there’s no need to cause a scene. I was trying to—”

“A BIT LOUD?!” Tyler’s glare felt like a physical force. “YOUR SON WAS LOUD ENOUGH TO WAKE THE DEAD! WHAT AN UNCIVILIZED CHILD! AND LOOK AT YOU! Defending him still! Your son is old enough to understand he’s causing a nuisance, not just to me but to everyone here! What’s he trying to prove by reading out loud like a toddler? That it’s cute? Huh! WHAT A BRAT!”

The barrage of insults hit me harder than expected. I could feel my temper rising. “Do you even know anything about my child and me?” The words left my mouth sharper than intended. “I’m warning you, sir. Stop insulting us! I apologize for the inconvenience, and you can say whatever you want about me, but please, stop mocking my child!”

“Jesus!” Tyler, now red-faced and furious, yanked off his seatbelt and stood up. By now, all the other passengers were looking our way. “I don’t care how you do it, but I want another seat right now!” he bellowed at the flight attendant.

“Enough, sir! I admit Louis was loud, but…” My throat tightened, and unexpectedly, tears blurred my vision. “Do you understand how hard it’s been for him to read again? THREE YEARS…DO YOU UNDERSTAND?” My voice broke. The room spun as I revealed, maybe for the first time publicly, “It’s the first time in three years Louis can see the world around him.

“He had surgery on his eye. For three goddamn years, he couldn’t see a thing! He’s overjoyed today because he can finally read everything. Don’t judge someone without knowing their story.”

A hush fell over the cabin.

Then, Louis, innocent and unaware of the gravity, tugged at Tyler’s jacket. “I’m sorry if I was mean. I was very excited, and I didn’t realize I was troubling you. I’m reading a book my mom used to read to me as a baby. I’m reading it because I miss her. I lost her three years ago, on the same day I hurt my eyes… I’m sorry for troubling you and everyone.” Standing up, he apologized to the whole cabin.

The strange man was too tongue-tied to say more, so he sat back down, and his demeanor softened. “What happened to your mother?” he asked gently.

I answered, hearing the weight of years in my voice. “My wife died in a car crash. Louis was seven then. He survived, but his eyes were injured. It took three years for him to see again after his recent surgery. That’s why we’re here. We’re flying back home so he can rest, but he’ll need another surgery to ensure his eyes fully recover.”

“I know others have it worse, but life hasn’t been kind to us lately,” I continued, tired. “We’re facing financial issues; I’m still mourning my wife, and then there’s Louis’s treatment… Coping alone as a parent is daunting. I often feel like I’m failing as a father.”

“Look, sir…” Tyler started, but his words were cut short by the announcement of our arrival. The stewardess moved to prepare for landing, leaving us in a heavy silence, his eyes glistening with unshed tears.

As the plane landed and passengers began to leave, Tyler turned to us, his expression remorseful. “I am so sorry for earlier. I was out of line. Ironically, I’m an ophthalmologist, and I can help Louis. Please, let me offer my services for free as a way to apologize. I’m truly ashamed of how I acted.”

“Oh no, it’s fine… I guess I got carried away too. I’m Edward,” I said, nodding.

“Tyler – Dr. Campbell.”

“And I’m Louis, Dr. Campbell!” my son chimed in, offering his hand with youthful eagerness.

Tyler laughed, a genuine smile breaking through as he shook Louis’s hand. “Pleasure to meet you, Louis.”

That moment marked the beginning of an unexpected forgiveness. I thanked Tyler for his generous offer to look after Louis’s treatment. The surgery that followed was successful, and we were told Louis’s vision would completely recover.

Back home, Louis approached me one day, wrapping his arms around me in a tight hug. “Hey, Dad. I forgot to tell you something.”

“What is it? Is something wrong with your eyes? Let me see—”

“No, Dad,” Louis interrupted, his voice clear and strong. “I just wanted to tell you that you are awesome! YOU ARE THE BEST DAD! Don’t ever think you’re not a good parent. I know things have been tough for you. On the plane, you said you felt like a terrible dad, but you’re not. You’re amazing, and I love you!”

I hugged him back, tears streaming down my face. “You grew up too soon, Louis. Thank you for being the best son, making it easier for me to be the best father I can be.”

Some tales have happy endings and others not so much, but they all show the struggle and reward of being a parent, even through tragedy. Whether it’s a dad finding his daughter in the last place he looks, a mom befriending the neighbor everyone misunderstood, or a grumpy passenger turning into a guardian angel, these stories prove that life’s messiest moments might just lead to its most beautiful surprises.

We’re curious — do you have such a story, too? We’d love to hear it!

Tell us what you think about these stories, and share them with your friends.

If you enjoyed reading these, you might also enjoy these three stories where people learned shocking truths about their relatives only after their deaths.

Note: These pieces are inspired by stories from the everyday lives of our readers and written by a professional writer. Any resemblance to actual names or locations is purely coincidental. All images are for illustration purposes only.