This Week's Featured Stories

If you're looking for a laugh, a midday pick-me-up or a dose of inspiration, you'll love our featured stories. You can read three free stories every month by picking from the selection below or by searching through every Chicken Soup for the Soul story ever published using the box to the right. You can also have stories delivered right to your inbox with our free, featured story emails. If you'd like to have unlimited access and be able to choose the perfect story for any moment, sign up for a premium subscription and have the freedom to enjoy any of our 20,000+ stories any time!


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98: Reservation for One

Reservation for One Don’t judge too harshly, for if your weaknesses were to be placed under your footsteps, most likely you would stumble and fall as well. ~Richelle E. Goodrich Drunk drivers are selfish, and mothers who drive drunk with their children in the car should be locked up forever with the other crazy, trashy, drug-addicted, prostitute, thieving women. There is no gray area… period. Even before I had children, I knew what kind of mother I would be: giving, loving, nurturing, safety-conscious — basically perfect. I would never put my children in harm’s way. I dreamt of being that soccer or baseball mom, you know, the kind that drives a minivan and volunteers at her kids’ Christmas and Valentine’s Day parties. I’d bake fresh oatmeal-raisin cookies (not chocolate-chip because oatmeal and raisins are healthy) and have them waiting, hot out of the oven with ice cold glasses of soy milk when the children got off the school bus. My babies would love me so much and draw pictures of them and me — with hearts for clouds; I’d hang their artwork on the refrigerator door. I’d be Supermom. But, supermoms don’t end up doing time and supermoms’ mug shots don’t end up on the front page of the local... (more)
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99: Two in the Morning

Two in the Morning Tears are words that need to be written. ~Paulo Coelho I woke drenched in sweat, the kind only abject fear or chemotherapy could cause. I looked at the clock: 2:13 a.m. I sat up. Or, well, half sat up. The radiation site throbbed, my skin felt brittle, and my muscles stabbed me when I moved. Slumping to the side, I sighed, squinting down at a package my friend Jeff sent. It sat on top of three other packages, and beside five more stacked near the bed. Therein nestled the fear. Yes, I had stage three cancer. Yes, my tumor was the size of a mouse. Not a single doctor told me I might live through this. But that wasn’t what woke me up and drenched me with sweat. It was my mother. My ninety-four-year-old mother knew only the basics of my diagnosis. She didn’t live with me and didn’t own a spy satellite. Yet somehow, I felt she knew I’d received all these packages, but I hadn’t written one thank-you card. Not one. In her book, that was inexcusable. I needed to make some thank-you notes, but my imagination had died on the day of my diagnosis. Radiation, chemo and the constant threat of death crushed my tiny natural courage. I’d not drawn, written or painted. I’d done nothing creative for two and a half months. It felt like... (more)
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100: My Obsession with a Cold Case

My Obsession with a Cold Case The difference between the difficult and the impossible is that the impossible takes a little longer time. ~Lady Aberdeen Last year on Holy Saturday, I was visiting my grandparents’ grave. It was always quiet, which I appreciated. Lilies were everywhere, along with stuffed bunny rabbits at the children’s graves. In the distance an owl was hooting. I sat in silence for a while, then began to walk on the grass barefoot when a man approached me. He looked a little younger than me, with black curly hair. “Do you have a pen?” he asked. I was a little startled. First because he disrupted my quiet, second because the request was so odd. “No, sorry,” I said. “Would the office have a pen?” “I think so,” I said. He headed toward the office, and being nosy, I wandered to look at the grave he was visiting. She was a young girl, aged fourteen. From the picture on her gravestone, I could see that she had long blond hair, blue eyes. She was a stunner. When I saw the man coming back, I walked away. I didn’t want to intrude. But I was haunted by our strange intersection. What was the story there? Was he a family member? An old boyfriend? On the Day of the Dead, I visited my grandparents’ grave... (more)
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101: Wow, You’re So Lucky!

Wow, You’re So Lucky! Luck is not chance, it’s toil; fortune’s expensive smile is earned. ~Emily Dickinson “Wow, you’re so lucky!” a friend exclaimed. I cocked my head. That’s an odd reaction to front-page news that I had helped launch a new investment bank as a Partner and CFO. Then three other people said the same thing. Why are they saying that? Sure, I’m fortunate to have the opportunity, but it’s not like I got the job through a scratch-off lottery ticket or Publishers Clearing House unexpectedly showed up at my door. I knew that people said odd things unwittingly and I couldn’t let their insinuations make me second-guess myself. Maybe I didn’t fit the bill of what they envisioned. My varied career background? Or that I was a mom with a husband, two kids, and lots of pets? Who knows. At the time, I was publisher of a leading technical industry magazine. A former colleague (I had been his client when I worked in finance at an oil and gas company) approached me with his vision for starting an investment bank. “I’d follow you into a fire,” I quipped, as I had always had tremendous respect for his capabilities, values and leadership. “Besides, how hard could it be?” Actually, I knew... (more)