This short story is from <Heartwarming Collection of Short Stories for Seniors: 2 Books in 1> by Bradley Windrow. It is perfect for seniors, even for dementia patients. Be sure to read until the end, as there’s a special gift waiting for you! hope you enjoy it!


Mistakes are the portals of discovery. –James Joyce

Lyle and Marge adored each other, but after years of spending nearly every weekend together, they secretly longed for a bit of solo time. So, when the chance came for separate weekends—Lyle heading to a bachelor party and Marge off for a girl’s trip—they jumped at it. But then disaster struck.

The bachelor party got canceled after the bride called off the wedding, and Marge’s sister fell ill, canceling their weekend plans. Yet neither Lyle nor Marge wanted to admit their plans had fallen through.

“I’m off to the bachelor party,” Lyle said, slinging his bag over his shoulder.

“Yep, heading to my sister’s,” Marge replied, zipping up her suitcase. Both walked out the door, determined to keep up the lie. Instead of confessing, they checked into separate hotels, thinking they were outsmarting the other. Little did they know, they were pulling the same stunt.

The real fun started when Marge texted Lyle’s best friend, Greg, asking how the party was going. Greg, clueless, replied,

“Bachelor party? That’s off! The bride called it quits yesterday. Didn’t Lyle tell you?” Marge grinned. So, Lyle was faking it, too! Meanwhile, Lyle received a text from Marge’s sister:

“Sorry I canceled; I hope you and Marge are having fun!” Busted. But Lyle wasn’t about to let Marge win. The game was on. Determined to keep up the charade, Marge called Lyle, her voice overly cheerful.

“Hey, honey! How’s the bachelor party? Things are crazy here with my sister—wine, gossip, facials!”

“Oh, it’s wild here, too,” Lyle said, smirking in his quiet hotel room. “Greg’s three shots in, and karaoke is a disaster.” Marge, now fully committed, continued,

“We’re about to do pedicures! It’s a riot.” She stifled a laugh, glancing at her empty hotel room.

“Poker game here,” Lyle replied, “but Greg’s so drunk he probably won’t make it through the first hand.” They both grinned, knowing exactly what was happening but refusing to break.

The fake updates continued all evening. Marge posted a picture of herself holding a glass of wine next to a pool—though it was clearly the hotel bar. Lyle responded with a blurry shot of “the party,” which was actually just a TV playing sports highlights.

By Sunday, both returned home simultaneously, dragging their suitcases inside, still pretending.

“How was the weekend?” Marge asked with an innocent smile.

“Pretty epic. You know how bachelor parties go,” Lyle replied, matching her fake tone. “And yours?”

“Unforgettable. My sister sends her love,” Marge said, grinning.

They exchanged one final, knowing look. Neither would ever admit the truth. From then on, whenever one mentioned “bachelor party” or “girls’ weekend,” the other knew they just needed some alone time—and they both secretly enjoyed the memory of the weekend that never was.


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