My Neighbor Copied Everything I Did Until I Discovered the Heartbreaking Reason – Story of the Day

In search of serenity, I relocated to a dilapidated farm that I had recently inherited. However, I was unaware that my neighbor’s copy of my yellow fence was the start of something far more profound and intimate.

My foster family did their best to raise me. Despite my cardboard tree costume, they clapped at my school plays, were patient and kind, and always prepared my lunch.

However, warm meals and courteous claps are only a part of true love. It’s… understanding your origins.

I was never given any information about my biological parents. According to the documents, they requested total confidentiality. No names. No birthdays. No tales. Just an empty area where a significant object ought to have been.

Maybe they were spies, I used to dream. or rock stars. Or lost in the jungle somewhere. Anything was preferable to believing they didn’t give a damn.

I grew up quickly. I was distributing flyers outside strip malls by the time I was fifteen.

I walked dogs for individuals who hardly knew my name when I was sixteen. When I was eighteen, I served coffee for cranky regulars who gave me life advise without asking and tipped with nickels.

“My dear, you ought to wed a wealthy man. Your eyes are friendly.

I had learnt drink orders by heart and had a crooked name tag by the time I was 19, making me an official barista. More employment followed. carer. mail carrier. a gardener. I even gathered roadkill off the highway for a spell.

Don’t enquire. Really, don’t.

I knew how to live. But I had the feeling that ill luck was ingrained in me.

I got my ideal office job by the age of 27. a steady income. weekends off. It was like winning.

I became ill that same day. Doctors shrug after six months of testing.

“It might be stress.”

Yes, I’m serious.

I got a job as a nanny at thirty. I took money from the family, according to the other nanny. I was fired even though I didn’t. I had a single bag, my emergency savings in my jacket pocket and a blank expression on my face as I stood outside the building.

My phone then rang.

“Ellie? “It’s Jake, the lawyer for your father,” a kind voice stated.

“Who am I?”

Henry, your father. He died not long ago. You have been designated as his farm’s only heir. The distance from town is roughly thirty kilometres. Tomorrow, you can pick up the keys.

“A farm?I said it again. “A dad?”

Gently, he said, “Biological.” “I’ll go into further detail in person.”

That night, I didn’t get any sleep at all. I had a dad. He left me a house. Something was mine for the first time in my life.

I sat there for a minute after I pulled up to the farm, gazing at the fields, the home, and the quiet. One question kept coming back to me like a persistent insect.

He left it to me, but why?

The house appeared worn out. Weeds were all over the garden, and chipped paint was peeling off the walls. Then I noticed the barn, though. It was sanitised. The doors were sturdy and straight, and the red paint seemed new. It had a proud appearance.

I went inside out of curiosity. I was struck immediately by the smell of hay. They swept the floor. Hay was stacked neatly along the walls.

As though they had just been gathered, a row of fresh eggs sat in a basket. Clean enough to drink, a bucket of water gleamed in the corner.

Then there were the creatures. The chickens pecked the straw and clucked quietly. A large, white-and-brown cow stood quietly and blinked at me.

The most peculiar aspect was the dog. He appeared to have been waiting for me as he sat at the door. He had quite shaggy fur. I knelt down.

“Come here, boy…”

As if we had known one other for years, he came trotting over and licked my hand.

“Okay, weird,” I murmured, looking around me. “Who’s been feeding you?”

A week had gone by since my father’s death.

Who has been handling all of this, then? The neighbours must have been involved.

After leaving my bag by the door, I surveyed the interior of the house. Dust drifted like lazy snowflakes in the sunlight.

One picture was hanging on the wall. A man in his fifties. He had warm eyes. The mere sight of my father made my chest hurt.

I sat on the ground and took in my surroundings. That dude was unknown to me. I was unaware of that farm. I wasn’t afraid, though, for some reason. I remained.

I had a purpose every morning when I woke up. In addition to painting the porch and repairing the fence, I also learnt how to gather eggs without getting pecked.

I just knew what to do, but I had no idea how. I felt as though a hidden switch had clicked inside of me.

“Farmer Mode ON.”

However, she arrived just as I was beginning to feel comfortable.

Linda. My neighbour.

I initially assumed she was simply shy. Then I found her a little strange.

Then she began to imitate everything I did. Things started to get strange at that point.

“What the…?”

With a bowl of porridge halfway to my lips, I froze by the kitchen window.

I had painted my fence a brilliant yellow just the day before. I was on a tight budget, and it was the only paint can I could find in the shed. The fence looked happy, but the paint smelt terrible.

I was looking over the property line when I noticed Linda’s fence. It was the same hue of yellow, too.

“Maybe just a coincidence.”

I constructed a new mailbox the following day. It was wooden, with a small sloping roof and a small carved bird perched above, and I was proud of it. I needed three Band-Aids and the entire afternoon.

Taking a step back, I said, “You nailed it, Ellie.”

When I went outdoors the next morning, I saw it there. Linda’s postal box. The same form. same roof. It was the same bird.

I mumbled, “You’ve got to be kidding me,” while gripping my coffee cup.

When I spotted Linda outside, I made an effort to be kind and waved. She scurried into her barn as if I had caught her in the act, but she never waved back.

Then the daisies appeared. They were my favourite. I positioned them close to my front steps in a curving line.

The morning after?

The flowers were the same for Linda. The same curve. They were surrounded by the same small row of stones. I simply stood outside and gazed at her garden.

Is she observing me? Are you intentionally copying me?

I attempted to ignore it until yoga.

I began my daily practice one lovely morning by rolling my mat on the lawn. Just a few stretches to help you relax.

I turned to see Linda swaying in my exact position.

She had on a floppy hat and pants. Once more, she was copying.

That was it. I had lost my patience. I knocked on her wooden gate after marching across the yard.

“Hey, Linda! We need to talk!”

Slowly, the door creaked open. She remained motionless and quiet. I looked into her dark eyes. broad. I mean it. A little frightened.

“Why are you copying everything I do? What do you want from me?!”

She didn’t respond. simply took a step back and gave a small nod.

I went into the house after her. I noticed them at that point.

Letters. dozens of them. All over the table. All of them were addressed to me.

“What are these?”

She gave it to me after picking up the top one. She trembled her fingers. I took it open.

“My lovely Ellie,

I’m not sure how to approach you or whether you’d even want to listen.

However, I am your mother. I lived close to your father. Although we didn’t have a formal divorce, we lived apart. I was… different when you were born.

I am autistic.

I was swamped by life. Your father thought that you should be raised by a stable, loving family, but I was constantly aware of you, and I took care of the farm after he passed away. Then you arrived.

I had no idea how to talk to you or how to approach you.

I therefore began to follow your example.

It was how I stayed close.

The letter was read again. And once more.

I looked up and said, “You…”

She was scarcely breathing as she stood motionless. I picked up a second letter, an older one. A picture dropped out. Linda was cheerful and carrying a kid.

“Is this…?”

“That’s my daughter. Ellie.”

“Me?”

“My daughter,” she said quietly again. “You’re Ellie.”

All of a sudden… I have no idea why, but… I spun around and took off running. Let’s go back to my yard. Beyond the flowers. beyond the mailbox.

I also started crying. I wasn’t sure if I was prepared for it, and I had no idea how to mend anything.

A couple of days went by.

I remained indoors. No coffee, no reading, and no watering of the daisies. I simply laid on the couch and watched the shadows move over the ceiling in the hopes that they would make sense.

I wasn’t ill. Not in a manner that any physician could correct. It was a chest aching of the sort that makes everything feel… It is simultaneously hefty and weightless.

I believed that tranquilly would result from learning the truth.

But I found a mother instead of closure. And for some reason, that confused me more than all the years I had been perplexed.

Then I opened the front door one morning. There was a pile of letters on my porch, large envelopes bound with twine.

With shaking hands, I carried them inside. A year was written on each envelope. For each year of my existence, I received one letter. A total of thirty letters.

I read the first one. Next, the second. Then they all.

They were all handwritten in a nice, clean script. A few of them had drawings. Some had tucked inside dried petals. They were all brimming with amazement, grief, love, and emotion.

So much affection.

For birthdays, first days of school I didn’t tell her about, and college I never finished, Linda wrote to me every year. Wishing into the nothingness, she pictured it all.

Every single page brought tears to my eyes. Wept. Because I didn’t feel forgotten for the first time in my life.

I opened the door once more on the third morning.

They had watered the flowerbeds. They fed the animals. The garden appeared to have just been swept.

There was a jar of jam on the doorstep with a folded note tucked under it.

“I kept the milk in my refrigerator.

“Love, Mom.”

Mom.

I gazed at that single word while holding the note in my hands.

It didn’t feel like fiction for the first time. My mother was an awkward, introverted, and complex woman who expressed her love through gestures and letters rather than words.

And I understood… Perhaps I hadn’t been let down by her. Maybe it was the circumstances. The manner that before either of us could keep it together, life fell apart.

Dad’s shame now resides with me—in the stillness he left behind, in these walls, and in this land. However, I can change the conclusion.

I decided then and there. I went outside into the bright morning light. barefoot as usual.

In her yard, Linda was stumbling in a pathetic yoga pose, her sunhat almost covering her eyes. She was still trying, though.

My heart hurt. I made my way over to the barrier.

“That’s… the warrior pose. I’m not a huge fan either.”

She turned slowly after freezing. She pinched at her lips in a hesitant little smile.

I also said, “You’re doing great,” “But you’ll do better without the hat.”

She removed it, ran her fingertips over the brim, and placed it lightly on the grass. She then assumed the tree posture. She stumbled and toppled over.

For the first time in days, I actually laughed.

I said, “Okay,” and moved towards the fence. “Let’s make a deal. I’ll show you one pose, and you try it. But… no more mailbox copying.”

“Okay,” she said in a whisper.

“You’ll do better if you relax your fingers.”

Finally, both of us were standing under the same sky and on the same side of the garden. A bit awkward. A bit uncertain. But no longer by themselves.

We made tea at my house later. I gestured towards her letter’s photo.

“That photo… that’s you?”

She gave a nod.

“And my daughter Ellie. It’s you and me.”

“I’ve read all the letters. Thank you, Mom.”

She used both hands to hold her teacup.

“Can I… try that one pose tomorrow? The one with the leg in the air?”

I gave a nod. We both grinned. Then we chuckled. And in some way, it seemed as though life was rediscovering its hue.

And what do you know?

The strangeness of that yellow fence had subsided. It might have been the start. similar to us.