When I was twelve, my world ended. My mother died in an accident, and suddenly it was just me and my father. I clung desperately to her memory—her photos, her old mug, even the faint scent on her pillows. Our house felt like the last piece of her I had left.
Three years later, Dad remarried. Joanna swept in with her perfect smile, her two kids—Hannah and Mark—and an energy that seemed to fill every corner of the house. At first, I was happy for Dad. He was smiling again, and I thought maybe life would feel normal.
But slowly, Joanna began erasing my mother.
First, the photos disappeared. Then my mother’s piano—gone without a word. Even her favorite mug vanished from the kitchen.
When Dad wasn’t home, Joanna would sneer at me. “I’m finally getting rid of this junk,” she’d hiss, tossing my mother’s things into boxes. Her children cheered her on, delighted at the destruction.
Seven years later, my father collapsed from a sudden heart attack. I was nineteen, and the grief nearly consumed me. I thought at least Joanna, who had been his wife, would grieve with me.
But when I returned from the funeral, my worst nightmare unfolded.
My belongings—clothes, books, everything—were dumped on the porch in trash bags. Suitcases stacked like garbage. Joanna stood in the doorway, arms crossed, her children smirking at her sides.
“This isn’t your house anymore!” she said coldly. “Your father is gone, and I am the head of this house. It’s time for you to live your own life.”
“And I FINALLY have a room of my own!” Hannah added gleefully.
My chest tightened as I dragged my things to my aunt’s. That night, I cried until my throat was raw, clinging to the few pieces of my mother I still had.
The next morning, a sharp knock woke me. A man in a suit stood at the door, holding a thick envelope.
He handed it to me, his eyes steady. “Open it,” he said firmly. “I know how to make your stepmother pay for everything she’s done.”
With trembling hands, I tore it open. Inside were legal documents—my father’s will.
And there, in black and white, was the truth: the house, the savings, even the piano Joanna had claimed was hers—they all belonged to me.
The lawyer leaned closer. “Your father never left her a thing. He wanted to make sure his daughter was protected. Everything Joanna has been enjoying… she has no right to it.”
My heart pounded. For the first time in years, I felt my mother close again—like justice was finally on my side.
And Joanna? She was about to lose everything.