On My 60th Birthday, I Received a Mysterious Voice Recorder with a Plea for Help and It Led Me to the Man Who Broke My Heart — Story of the Day
"Grace, it’s Martha. I don’t have much time. Meet me at our old hotel. It’s important. And whatever you do—no police." That message on my 60th birthday led me straight into the past I swore I’d never face again.
I had never expected a gift on my birthday. Over the years, the day had become nothing more than a formality—just a handful of perfunctory phone calls from distant acquaintances, wishing me good health in the same monotone voices.
No excitement. No surprises. Just another mark on the calendar. But that year, something was different.
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A small package sat on my doorstep, wrapped neatly in craft paper. No return address. No note. Just my name, written in black ink.
I bent down, hesitating before picking it up. My mailbox usually held nothing but bills and supermarket flyers. Something about that felt… off. But curiosity got the best of me.
Inside, nestled between layers of tissue paper, was a voice recorder.
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I frowned. Not exactly the kind of birthday gift one expects. A scarf, maybe. A book.
But this?
Still, I pressed play.
[Recording: 03/12, 7:42 PM]
"Grace, it’s me. It’s Martha. Listen, I don’t have much time. I need you to come to the hotel we booked together years ago. Please. It’s important. And whatever you do, no police."
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Martha’s voice was urgent, almost breathless. A far cry from the confident, teasing tone I remembered.
I gripped the recorder tighter. Martha always had a flair for the dramatic. She could turn a lost earring into a full-scale mystery. But this… this was different. The tremble in her voice wasn’t an act.
My mind whirred with possibilities.
Is she in trouble? Is this some elaborate joke?
I exhaled sharply, grabbed my bag, and called a taxi before I could talk myself out of it.
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"It’s probably a prank," I muttered under my breath as the car pulled up. "A birthday surprise. Nothing serious."
But the moment I stepped into the dimly lit hotel lobby, the unease tightened around my chest.
The receptionist, a tired-looking man with coffee-stained cuffs, barely glanced up. When I asked about Martha, his forehead creased.
"Yes, ma’am, she stayed here. Room 214. But she left late last night… with a man. Black sedan. I assumed he was family."
A sharp chill crawled up my spine.
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"Was the room paid for?"
"Yes, through tomorrow."
"I really need to check the room."
The receptionist hesitated, eyeing me warily. "Ma’am, I really shouldn’t... Hotel policy."
"I understand, but she left me a distressing message. I just need to check."
A pause. Then, with a sigh, he slid me a keycard. "Five minutes. You were never here."
The elevator ride was slow, each floor dinging louder than the last. When I reached Room 214, I hesitated before turning the knob.
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The door creaked open. And then... I froze.
A man stood in the middle of the dimly lit room, staring at me. In his hand, an identical voice recorder.
Richard.
My breath hitched. Decades had passed, but time had done nothing to erase his face from my memory. The same steady gaze. Only now, there were traces of silver in his hair and a sharpness in his eyes I didn’t remember.
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He looked just as stunned.
"Grace?" His voice was careful as if testing the name.
My fingers tightened around my bag strap.
What the hell is he doing here?
"You got the same message," I stated, more than asked.
He nodded. "Looks like it."
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Neither of us moved. The air between us was thick with unspoken history, the kind that had no business resurfacing in a dim hotel room.
Then, out of the corner of my eye, I spotted something. Martha’s things were scattered across the bed. And among them, a small business card.
I picked it up. An old restaurant. In our hometown.
Coincidence? No.
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My pulse quickened.
I didn’t want to do it. I didn’t want to travel with Richard, to dig up old ghosts. But Martha…
Martha might be in trouble. And that was enough.
I needed to make sense of everything, to keep track of the twists before they tangled into something unmanageable. So, I did the only thing that made sense. I pressed "record" and started documenting the chaos.
[Recording: 03/12, 8:55 PM]
"I don’t know what’s going on, but Richard is here. He got the same message. If this is a prank, it’s a cruel one. But if it’s not… I need to find Martha. I’m going to the restaurant. God help me."
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***
The car hummed along the dark highway, the road stretching endlessly ahead. The occasional flicker of headlights passed, but the world outside remained eerily quiet.
Inside, silence sat between Richard and me like a third passenger.
Martha. Focus on Martha.
She had orchestrated something. I was sure of it.
“You’ve barely said two words,” Richard muttered.
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“Not much to say.”
“Is there something you’re not telling me?”
He always knew when I was hiding something. And I was. But this wasn’t the time for old wounds.
“We need to find Martha first,” I said, avoiding his gaze.
A pause. Then, a chuckle. “Some things never change.”
I ignored him.
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The closer we got to town, the more discomfort pressed against my ribs, nostalgia twisting with unease. Finally, the restaurant came into view. A nearly empty parking lot. Dusty trucks.
Inside, the place smelled of stale coffee and old wood. A few patrons hunched over drinks. An older man smirked at us.
“You’re looking for a woman in a ridiculous fur coat and an even more ridiculous scarf, aren’t you?”
Richard and I exchanged glances.
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“That sounds right,” I said cautiously.
“She was here. Wasn’t alone.”
I stiffened. “Who was she with?”
“Strange man. Didn’t let go of her arm. Even while eating. Like he was afraid she’d run.”
A chill crawled up my spine.
Richard leaned forward. “What else?”
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The man shrugged. “Odd fellow. Wore sunglasses indoors. Barely spoke. But he asked one thing—how to get to that old tourist castle outside town.”
The castle. My stomach dropped. Summers spent searching for treasure, telling stories of secret rooms. But this wasn’t a game.
I turned to Richard. His gaze was locked on me, sharp, knowing. I reached into my bag, pulled out the recorder, and pressed "record."
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[Recording: 03/12, 11:17 PM]
"The restaurant was a dead end, but we have a lead. The castle. If this is a setup, it’s a damn good one. I should have known better than to trust Martha’s ideas. But here I am, about to follow them anyway."
***
The castle loomed against the night sky, its jagged silhouette swallowed by mist. The stone walls, cracked with time, bore the weight of stories long forgotten. A place of childhood adventures had turned into something much darker.
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I stepped inside first, the damp air wrapping around me like an unwelcome embrace. Richard followed.
“Martha?” My voice echoed.
No answer. Dust covered every surface, the scent of mildew thick in the air. The castle felt like it was watching us.
Then... "BAM!"
The heavy wooden doors slammed shut. I spun around, heart hammering, yanking at the iron handle. Locked.
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“Come on!” I shoved against the door. Nothing.
Richard wandered toward the center of the room, brushed dust off an old wooden chair, and sat like we had all the time in the world.
“We’ll figure it out.”
I clenched my fists. “Martha could be in trouble!”
He smirked. “Or sipping brandy, laughing at us right now.”
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“You think this is an adventure?”
“Isn’t it? Not the first time you didn’t want to be stuck somewhere with me.”
That was it. The match to the gasoline I’d carried for years.
“Don't!” I stepped closer. “You don’t get to joke. You let me walk away. You let me believe it was easier for you if I did.”
“That’s not fair.”
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“Isn’t it? You never fought for me.”
“And what was I supposed to do? You never told me why you left. You were just... gone.”
“You were always so sure of everything, always certain I’d wait forever.”
“I loved you. Still do.”
The words hit me like a blow.
I had been young and scared. Finding out I was pregnant, I convinced myself Richard wouldn’t want the life I had wanted. So I decided for both of us.
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His gaze locked onto mine. "Grace."
I turned away, but he wasn’t letting this go.
"Martha told me. You had a son. He’s mine, isn’t he?"
Silence. Answer enough.
Richard stepped closer. "And my son… he has kids?"
"Yes."
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Richard stared at the floor, then looked up, something different in his expression.
“Grace... Can I hold you?”
The words shattered something inside me. A sob broke free.
"I was young and stupid. But I never stopped loving you," I choked out. "I missed you. Regretted it. Every day."
Richard pulled me into his arms, warmth wrapping around me. I gripped his coat, afraid to let go.
“We’ve spent too much time looking back,” he murmured. “Right now, we need to look forward.”
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Suddenly, his fingers brushed mine. “All you have to do is take my hand.”
I hesitated, then laced my fingers through his, gripping tightly.
Richard gave a knowing smile before turning toward the far wall. He reached for an old, moth-eaten tapestry, pulling it back in one swift motion.
“I always knew about the secret exit.”
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***
The old wooden door groaned as Richard and I pushed it open, crisp night air rushing in. I blinked against the sudden floodlights illuminating the castle’s entrance.
And then I froze.
Martha stood there, grinning like the Cheshire Cat, her tilted fedora and impossibly bright scarf fluttering in the breeze. But it wasn’t just Martha.
Behind her, there was my son, wearing black glasses - the same dark glasses the man at the restaurant had described. The ones I assumed belonged to a stranger.
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My grandchildren were also there. My breath caught. Richard stiffened beside me, his fingers still wrapped around my hand. Martha’s grin widened.
“Oh, come on, don’t look so shocked. You weren’t ever going to do it on your own, so I had to step in.” She adjusted her hat. “I had a feeling you two still had unfinished business.”
I could barely process her words.
“Mom. We were just waiting for the right moment to tell you.”
Richard pulled him into a hug, his smile amazed.
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“You already knew?” I asked, my gaze flicking between them.
Martha scoffed. “Of course. We just needed a little… theatrical touch to make it all come together.”
I turned back to my son. “How long?”
He hesitated. “A while. I met Dad last year. We didn’t know how to tell you. Martha… well, you know Martha.”
I swallowed hard. I had missed so much.
Martha clapped her hands. “Well, isn’t that the best birthday gift ever?”
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I let out a breath. “You’re impossible.”
“I know. Now, are we eating cake or what?”
[Recording: 03/13, 2:30 AM]
"I should be mad. I should storm off. But for the first time in years, I feel like I belong somewhere again. Damn you, Martha. You win."
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