I Was About to Propose to My Girlfriend on Valentine’s Day When I Accidentally Discovered Her Shocking Secret in Her Google History

For seven years, Jill and I built a life filled with love, trust, and plans for the future. But just days before I proposed, a single glance at her Google search history revealed a secret so shocking it changed everything I thought I knew about the woman I was ready to marry.

Jill and I have been together for seven years. Seven good years. She’s my best friend, my partner, my everything.

A happy couple with their dog | Source: Pexels

A happy couple with their dog | Source: Pexels

She’s the kind of person who lights up a room without trying. She has this easy laugh, the kind that makes people feel at home. She remembers the little things like how I take my coffee, my favorite songs, the way I get grumpy when I’m hungry.

I love her for all of it. We fit perfectly.

A couple having fun in the snow | Source: Pexels

A couple having fun in the snow | Source: Pexels

We love the same music. We travel together, never getting tired of each other’s company. My family loves her like their own, and her family has always welcomed me in. I’ve never doubted her. Not once. That’s why I was going to propose.

I had everything planned. Valentine’s Day. A quiet cabin getaway. Just the two of us. A warm fire, a bottle of wine, and the perfect moment.

A couple at home | Source: Pexels

A couple at home | Source: Pexels

The ring? A simple solitaire, classic and elegant, just like Jill.

I’d pictured it a hundred times. I’d get down on one knee, say something heartfelt, and she’d smile—maybe cry a little—before saying yes. At least, that’s how I thought it would go.

Then, suddenly, things started to change.

A concerned thoughtful man | Source: Freepik

A concerned thoughtful man | Source: Freepik

At first, I told myself I was imagining it. Jill was still there, still saying “I love you,” still kissing me goodbye in the mornings. But something was… different.

The warmth in her voice? It wasn’t the same. The way she looked at me? It felt distant, like she was somewhere else. Little things started adding up.

A couple growing cold | Source: Pexels

A couple growing cold | Source: Pexels

She’d come home and go straight to the bedroom without our usual chat about the day. Her texts got shorter. When I tried to cuddle with her at night, she’d shift away, just slightly, but enough for me to notice.

One night, I found her sitting on the couch, staring at her phone. She didn’t even look up when I walked in.

A woman on her couch looking at her phone | Source: Pexels

A woman on her couch looking at her phone | Source: Pexels

“What’re you looking at?” I asked, sitting next to her.

She jumped, locking the screen. “Nothing.”

I frowned. “You okay?”

“Yeah. Just tired.”

That was her answer for everything.

A tired woman covering her mouth | Source: Pexels

A tired woman covering her mouth | Source: Pexels

A week later, I tried again. We were in bed, lights off, just the hum of the night around us.

“Jill,” I whispered.

“Hmm?”

I hesitated. “Are we okay?”

She turned her head toward me. Even in the dark, I could feel the weight of her stare. “What do you mean?”

A sleepless man in his bed | Source: Midjourney

A sleepless man in his bed | Source: Midjourney

“You’ve been… different.” I sighed. “Distant. You’d tell me if something was wrong, right?”

She was quiet for too long. Then, finally, she reached for my hand.

“I love you,” she said softly.

But it felt… empty.

A couple holding hands | Source: Pexels

A couple holding hands | Source: Pexels

Days passed, and the feeling didn’t go away. She got irritated easily. When I asked if she wanted to grab dinner, she said she wasn’t hungry. When I made a joke, she barely reacted.

One night, she came home late. She looked exhausted.

“Tough day?” I asked.

She rubbed her face. “Yeah.”

A tired woman rubbing her face | Source: Pexels

A tired woman rubbing her face | Source: Pexels

I waited for her to say more. She didn’t. Something was wrong, and I was going to find out what.

That night, I wasn’t looking for anything. I was just on my laptop, checking something quickly before heading to bed. Jill had used it earlier, but that wasn’t unusual.

I clicked on my browser history out of habit. That’s when I saw the questions, search after search.

A man working on his laptop | Source: Pexels

A man working on his laptop | Source: Pexels

“How to tell someone I have a child who I hid for years?”

“How to say it without losing them?”

My stomach twisted. I read the words over and over, my mind struggling to catch up.

A child? A lie? I felt a chill crawl up my spine.

Jill didn’t have a child. We’d been together for seven years. She would have told me. Right? My pulse pounded in my ears.

A shocked man | Source: Pexels

A shocked man | Source: Pexels

I scrolled further. There were more searches. Some were variations of the same question. Some were even worse.

“Will he hate me if he finds out?”

“Can a relationship survive a huge lie?”

My hands started shaking. I sat back in my chair, trying to breathe. My chest felt tight, like the air had been sucked from the room.

A shocked man looking at his laptop | Source: Midjourney

A shocked man looking at his laptop | Source: Midjourney

I wanted to believe it was a mistake. Maybe she was looking this up for a friend. Maybe it wasn’t what it seemed. But deep down, I knew it was real, and it was about me.

I should’ve waited. I should’ve taken time to think, to process. But I couldn’t. I needed answers. Now.

A serious man looking at his laptop | Source: Midjourney

A serious man looking at his laptop | Source: Midjourney

Jill was in the bedroom, sitting cross-legged on the bed, scrolling through her phone. The glow from the screen reflected in her eyes, making her look almost peaceful. She didn’t notice me at first.

When she finally looked up, she gave me a soft smile. Forced.

“You okay?” she asked.

I didn’t answer. My heart was pounding so hard it felt like my ribs would crack.

A smiling woman in her bedroom | Source: Midjourney

A smiling woman in her bedroom | Source: Midjourney

Jill frowned and set her phone aside. “Babe?”

I sat down on the edge of the bed, my hands clenched into fists. My stomach was in knots, my mind racing. I had thought about waiting—about giving myself time to process before confronting her—but I couldn’t. Not with something like this.

I took a deep breath, but it didn’t help. My throat still felt tight, like I was being strangled from the inside.

A couple having a serious talk in their bedroom | Source: Midjourney

A couple having a serious talk in their bedroom | Source: Midjourney

“I saw your search history.”

Jill’s face went pale. She didn’t move. Didn’t blink. The silence stretched between us, thick and suffocating.

I swallowed hard. “Tell me the truth.” My voice was quieter than I expected. “What child? What lie?”

Her lips parted like she wanted to speak, but no words came out. I waited.

A shocked scared woman | Source: Pexels

A shocked scared woman | Source: Pexels

The tension in the room grew heavier with every second that passed. Then, suddenly, Jill dropped her head into her hands. Her shoulders started shaking.

A choked sob escaped her.

“Jill,” I whispered. “Please.”

She wiped at her face, her breathing ragged. When she finally looked at me, her eyes were red and glassy.

A black and white photo of a crying woman | Source: Pexels

A black and white photo of a crying woman | Source: Pexels

“I’ve wanted to tell you for so long,” she whispered. “But I was scared.”

My whole body felt stiff, like I was frozen in place. “Tell me now.”

Jill squeezed her hands together, her fingers trembling. Her chest rose and fell unevenly. She wasn’t just upset—she was terrified.

She took a deep, shaky breath and let the words fall from her lips.

“I have a child.” The world seemed to stop.

A man talking to his sad wife | Source: Midjourney

A man talking to his sad wife | Source: Midjourney

I stared at her, my brain refusing to process what I had just heard. “You… what?”

Her voice was barely audible. “I had her when I was fourteen.”

I couldn’t speak. Jill sniffled, rubbing her hands over her face. “My parents… they raised her as their own.” Her breath hitched. “They told everyone she was their daughter. Even she doesn’t know the truth.”

A man looking at his wife in disbelief | Source: Midjourney

A man looking at his wife in disbelief | Source: Midjourney

The room tilted. I felt like I was sinking into the mattress, unable to move, unable to think.

I forced my mouth to work. “So… your little sister…”

Jill nodded, fresh tears spilling down her cheeks. “She’s not my sister,” she said. “She’s my daughter.”

The air left my lungs. I couldn’t breathe. Everything I knew—everything I believed about Jill, about our life together—shifted beneath me.

A shocked man talking to his wife | Source: Midjourney

A shocked man talking to his wife | Source: Midjourney

Jill’s sister. The girl I had spent holidays with. The one I had joked around with. The one I had watched grow up over the years.

She wasn’t her sister. She was her child.

I felt dizzy. My hands were clammy, my chest tight.

“You’ve lied to me…” My voice cracked. “For seven years?”

A crying woman looking to her side | Source: Pexels

A crying woman looking to her side | Source: Pexels

Jill let out a shaky breath. “I didn’t know how to tell you.” She sniffled. “At first, I thought it didn’t matter. We were young. It wasn’t something I wanted to bring up. But then… time passed. And the longer I waited, the harder it got.”

I clenched my jaw. “You should have told me.”

A serious man in his bedroom | Source: Freepik

A serious man in his bedroom | Source: Freepik

“I know.” She looked down at her lap, ashamed. “I thought… maybe I’d never have to.”

I let out a hollow laugh. It wasn’t funny, but I didn’t know what else to do. “And what? Just keep pretending she’s your sister forever?”

She wiped at her face, her hands shaking. “I don’t know. I was scared.”

A crying woman in a hoodie | Source: Pexels

A crying woman in a hoodie | Source: Pexels

I ran a hand through my hair, my mind spinning. “Did your parents force you to lie?” My voice was rough, uneven.

Jill exhaled shakily. “Not force. But they made it clear it was the best thing for everyone. They thought it would ruin my life if people knew the truth. So they… took over. And I let them.”

I stared at her, my emotions warring inside me.

Judgemental parents in their living room | Source: Midjourney

Judgemental parents in their living room | Source: Midjourney

“I wanted to tell you,” she whispered. “So many times. But every time I tried, I just—” She shook her head. “I was terrified you’d leave.”

I let out a slow breath. “You should have trusted me.”

Tears streamed down her face. “I know.”

I wanted to be angry, but mostly, I just felt… lost.

A shocked puzzled man | Source: Freepik

A shocked puzzled man | Source: Freepik

Jill sniffled. “Please. Say something.”

I shook my head. “I don’t know what to say.”

She reached for my hand, gripping it tightly. “I love you. That hasn’t changed.”

I looked at Jill—broken, vulnerable, terrified. But she was still my Jill. The woman I loved. The woman I still wanted forever with.

A couple hugging on a couch | Source: Pexels

A couple hugging on a couch | Source: Pexels

So I reached into my pocket, pulled out the ring, and whispered, “Marry me.”

Through her tears, she gasped. “Yes!”

Wedding rings on a table | Source: Pexels

Wedding rings on a table | Source: Pexels

This work is inspired by real events and people, but it has been fictionalized for creative purposes. Names, characters, and details have been changed to protect privacy and enhance the narrative. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.

The author and publisher make no claims to the accuracy of events or the portrayal of characters and are not liable for any misinterpretation. This story is provided “as is,” and any opinions expressed are those of the characters and do not reflect the views of the author or publisher.

Grumpy Loner Finds a Teen Trying to Jack His Car and It Ends Up Changing Both Their Lives — Story of the Day

All old Harold cared about in his remaining years were his car and his privacy, but both now seemed at risk after new Asian neighbors moved in. One night, he caught a teenage boy trying to open his car, and from that moment, his solitary life changed forever.

Harold sat on his creaky porch, the paint peeling from the wooden railing, his scowl as deep as the furrows in his weathered face.

The late afternoon sun glared down, reflecting off the hood of his 1970 Plymouth Barracuda, making its cherry-red paint glow like embers.

The car had been his pride and joy for decades, a tangible reminder of his younger, more vibrant days.

But today, Harold wasn’t basking in nostalgia. His gaze was fixed on the commotion across the street.

For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney

For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney

His new neighbors—a bustling Asian family—were unloading boxes from a moving truck.

Kids dashed around the driveway, shrieking and laughing, while a dog yapped incessantly.

A grandmother in a wide-brimmed hat waved instructions in a language Harold didn’t understand.

“Can’t they do anything quietly?” Harold muttered, his words a growl as he took a bitter sip of his lukewarm coffee.

Needing an escape, Harold pushed himself up from the chair, wincing as his stiff knees protested.

He shuffled toward his garage, muttering under his breath about the state of the world. Starting the Barracuda, he reversed it onto the driveway with a low, throaty rumble.

For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney

For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney

He knew the engine’s growl was loud enough to turn heads, and that’s exactly what he wanted.

As he began unwinding the hose to wash his car, a voice called out, breaking his solitude.

“Wow! Is that a ‘70 Barracuda?”

Harold turned, startled to see a skinny teenage boy standing near the curb.

The boy’s eyes sparkled with curiosity, and his face was lit with the kind of awe Harold hadn’t seen in years.

“Yeah, it is,” Harold said curtly, already regretting engaging.

For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney

For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney

“Does it have the 440 engine? A Six Pack?” the boy asked, stepping closer, his excitement bubbling over. “How’d you keep it in such good shape? I mean, it’s pristine!”

Harold grunted, turning his attention back to the car.

“It’s just maintenance,” he said flatly, hoping the boy would take the hint and leave.

But the boy, introducing himself as Ben, didn’t. He kept firing questions, his enthusiasm unrelenting.

He asked about the car’s history, its restoration, and its performance. Harold’s responses grew shorter, his patience wearing thinner with each passing second.

For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney

For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney

“Kid, don’t you have something better to do?” Harold snapped, narrowing his eyes at the boy.

Ben hesitated, his smile fading slightly.

“I just really love classic cars,” he said softly. “My dad used to—”

“Enough!” Harold barked, turning to face him fully. “Go home and leave me alone!”

Ben’s shoulders slumped, and he muttered, “Sorry, sir,” before shuffling away.

Harold shook his head and turned back to his car, scrubbing harder than necessary.

For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney

For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney

But as much as he tried, he couldn’t quite shake the image of the boy’s hopeful face. It lingered like a faint echo, reminding him of something he couldn’t quite name.

Harold was jolted awake by the unmistakable sound of clanging metal. It wasn’t subtle—it was the kind of noise that didn’t belong in the stillness of the night.

His eyes snapped open, and for a moment, he lay there, listening.

Then, with a groan, he reached for the baseball bat leaning against his nightstand.

For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney

For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney

His heart pounded as he slipped on his slippers and shuffled toward the garage, the cold night air prickling his skin.

He paused at the garage door, holding his breath as he heard muffled voices and the distinct rustling of tools. Gritting his teeth, Harold flipped on the light.

“Hey! Get outta here!” he roared, his voice slicing through the chaos.

Three teenage boys froze like deer caught in headlights.

One was hunched over the steering wheel of his prized Barracuda, while another rifled through his neatly organized tools.

For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney

For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney

The third stood near the hood, his face partially obscured by the shadow of his hoodie.

The two boys closest to the car bolted without a word, vanishing into the darkness. Harold barely noticed.

His eyes locked onto the third boy, who had slipped on an oil patch and fallen hard onto the concrete floor.

“Not so fast,” Harold growled, marching over and grabbing the boy’s arm. He hauled him to his feet, and the boy’s hood fell back, revealing a familiar face.

“Ben?” Harold’s voice was incredulous and angry all at once.

For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney

For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney

“Please, sir,” Ben stammered, his face pale and his hands shaking. “I didn’t mean to—I was—”

“Save it,” Harold snapped, his grip firm. “You’re coming with me.”

Still clutching Ben’s arm, Harold marched him across the street and banged loudly on the door of the boy’s house.

After a moment, the door creaked open, and Ben’s parents appeared, their faces groggy and confused.

“They don’t speak much English,” Ben mumbled, his eyes glued to the floor.

“Then you’re going to tell them exactly what you did,” Harold said, his voice cold and commanding.

For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney

For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney

Ben hesitated, then began translating, his voice trembling as he explained what had happened.

His parents’ faces fell, their expressions a mix of shame and dismay.

Bowing repeatedly, they murmured apologetic phrases in their native language, their gestures sincere.

Harold let go of Ben, pointing a finger at the boy. “Next time, I won’t hesitate to call the cops. Got it?”

“Yes, sir,” Ben murmured, his head bowed low.

Harold turned and stomped back to his house, his adrenaline slowly fading. He collapsed into his armchair, staring at the car keys he had left on the table.

For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney

For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney

The image of Ben’s pale, terrified face lingered in his mind, unsettling him. Somehow, his anger didn’t feel as satisfying as it should have.

The next morning, Harold was startled from his coffee by the sound of clinking metal on his porch.

Grumbling, he got up and opened the door to a surprising sight: Ben’s grandmother and mother, both balancing trays of steaming food, carefully arranging them on the steps.

“What’s all this?” Harold asked, his tone sharp.

For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney

For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney

“Listen, I don’t need—what’s all this for?”

The women looked up at him nervously, bowing their heads slightly. Their smiles were polite but hesitant, and they didn’t say a word.

Harold waved his hands awkwardly, trying to shoo them away.

“It’s fine. You don’t need to do this,” he sputtered.

They continued their work undeterred, gesturing to the trays with small, encouraging nods. Harold sighed, stepping aside and muttering under his breath, “No one listens anymore.”

For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney

For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney

As they finished and disappeared back across the street, Ben appeared, shuffling up to the porch with his head low.

His face was flushed, and he avoided Harold’s gaze. Suddenly, he knelt down, bowing deeply.

“I’m sorry for what I did,” he said softly, his voice barely above a whisper. “I’ll do anything to make it up to you.”

Harold crossed his arms, his scowl deepening, but his voice lacked its usual edge. “Kid, get up. You don’t have to do this.”

Ben didn’t move. “Please,” he insisted. “Let me fix this.”

For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney

For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney

Harold sighed heavily. “Fine. Wash the car. And don’t scratch it.”

As Harold returned inside, he eyed the trays of food warily before sitting down to pick at the unfamiliar dishes.

Through the window, he watched Ben working diligently on the Barracuda, the boy’s careful movements a stark contrast to the chaos of the night before.

After some time, Harold stepped back outside. “You did a decent job,” he admitted gruffly. “For a guy who tried to get into it last night.”

“Thanks,” Ben replied, drying his hands on a rag. He hesitated before speaking again.

For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney

For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney

“The truth is… those guys made me do it. They said I’d be a coward if I didn’t help. They knew I know a lot about cars.”

Harold frowned. “Why didn’t you tell your parents that?”

Ben shrugged, looking down.

“It’s hard enough being new here. If I snitched, people would make fun of my sister. She’s finally starting to fit in.”

Harold studied him, his face softening.

“You’re a good kid, Ben. You just have bad taste in friends.”

For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney

For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney

Ben nodded, finishing the job. As Harold watched him clean up, he surprised himself by saying, “Come on in. Let’s eat before all this food gets cold.”

Ben’s eyes widened slightly, but he smiled. “Thanks, sir.”

Harold waved him inside, the faintest hint of a smile tugging at his lips.

That evening, he sat in his recliner, a cup of tea cooling on the side table. The soft hum of crickets filled the air, but a commotion outside drew his attention.

He leaned toward the window, pulling the curtain aside, and his sharp eyes spotted Ben down the street.

For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney

For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney

The boy was backed against a fence by the same two teens who had fled Harold’s garage that night.

Harold squinted, his knuckles tightening on the curtain. The taller of the two boys jabbed a finger at Ben, his voice carrying through the quiet.

“We’re not taking the fall for this! You better fix it.”

Ben’s shoulders slumped as he hesitated, then reluctantly handed over a set of keys. He pointed toward Harold’s garage, his expression filled with shame.

For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney

For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney

The two teens grinned, their laughter cutting through the stillness as they swaggered toward the garage.

Harold’s lips pressed into a thin line as he grabbed his jacket and headed outside.

Staying hidden in the shadows, he waited until the boys disappeared inside his garage.

Then, with a deliberate stride, he approached the building, flanked by a police officer he’d called earlier.

“Evening, boys,” Harold said coolly, flipping on the garage lights.

The two teens froze, their grins vanishing as the officer stepped forward. “Hands where I can see them,” the officer commanded.

For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney

For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney

The boys stammered, their bravado crumbling as they were cuffed and led toward the patrol car.

Ben stood nearby, watching the scene with a conflicted expression. Harold approached him, his voice steady but firm.

“You did the right thing, kid,” he said. “Criminals need to learn their lessons early. Better they fix their lives now than ruin them later.”

Ben nodded, a look of relief washing over his face. “I wasn’t sure if…” He trailed off, searching Harold’s face.

For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney

For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney

Harold patted Ben’s shoulder, his touch surprisingly gentle.

“You’ve got a good head on your shoulders. I could use someone like you to help me with the car. You interested?”

Ben’s eyes widened in surprise. “Really?”

“Yeah, but don’t let it go to your head,” Harold said with a smirk.

For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney

For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney

“And maybe, if you prove yourself, this car could be yours one day.”

Ben’s grin spread wide, and for the first time in years, Harold felt a flicker of pride he thought he’d never feel again.

Together, they walked back to the house, the night quieter than it had been in years.

Tell us what you think about this story, and share it with your friends. It might inspire them and brighten their day.

If you enjoyed this story, read this one: “Perfect neighbor”—that was Julia’s dream title. She wanted to be a role model for other women in the community. Imagine her face when she saw her mother ride a Harley-Davidson into the driveway. Pure embarrassment nearly drove Julia to the point of kicking her mother out, but the truth stopped her.

This piece is 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. Share your story with us; maybe it will change someone’s life. 

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