The Summer Everything Shattered
That summer, my world collapsed—money gone, Dad gone, nowhere to run. And just when I needed family the most, my stepmother slapped a price tag on my grief.
I almost lost myself completely.
The Beginning of the End
I stood in my tiny rented apartment, staring at empty shelves, half-packed suitcases, and a mountain of boxes. For ten years, I had worked nonstop—no weekends, no breaks—saving every penny to open my dream: a cozy bookstore café.
And just as I was about to step into that dream, my landlord doubled the rent.
But losing my apartment wasn’t the worst part.
Because then, just days later, my Dad died.
And that was the moment everything truly shattered.
My Raymond
I still called him that in my mind. Raymond. To me, he was more than just “Dad.” After Mom passed, it was just the two of us. I remember nights when I’d bury my face in my pillow, sobbing, and he’d sit at the edge of my bed, his voice steady.
“Hannah, look at me. You’re not alone. I’m here.”
He always brought me books from the library, his eyes lighting up as he handed them to me.
“I found another story for you. Should we read it together?”
I’d nod, reaching for him. He’d stroke my hair and whisper,
“You’re my little star, Hannah. All I have.”
I believed every word.
Then Lydia came.
The Stepmother’s Promise
“Raymond, I want us to be a family,” she had said back then, smiling sweetly. “I’ll be like a second mom to Hannah.”
I looked into her eyes and believed her.
And Chloe, her daughter, peeked from behind me, her tiny voice squeaking,
“I’ll be like a sister to you! I promise!”
I wanted to believe that, too.
Raymond wrapped his arms around all three of us, his face glowing with hope.
But over time, Lydia took control. After the wedding, she carried keys to every room, locking away parts of our home. Chloe smirked as she flipped through my books.
“Hannah, why do you need so many? You’ll never make money from them.”
When I left for college, Dad called me late at night, whispering when Lydia was asleep.
“Hannah… you’ll always be my girl. They’re good people, but… I feel like a guest in my own house.”
“Dad…”
I heard him swallow his tears.
Years later, I sat on the floor surrounded by boxes, wondering if I’d ever done enough for him. If he’d be proud of me now, fighting just to keep my head above water.
“Alright, Hannah. Breathe.”
I needed to say goodbye to Dad. And I told myself I’d stay in his house—just for a little while. Just to breathe.
But I knew Lydia wouldn’t like it. Chloe even less. To them, Raymond had just been a wallet—a kind heart they’d twisted with sweet words.
Now he was gone.
And I was left to face his “family” alone.
The Funeral & the Trap
The funeral was hot, suffocating.
I stood there, my dress sticking to my back, listening to people praise how kind Raymond had been.
Lydia stood beside the casket, dabbing her eyes with a perfectly folded tissue. Chloe sniffled into her shoulder. I could almost see Dad leaning against the old oak tree, rolling his eyes at the theatrics.
Later, in the living room, Mr. Whitaker, the family attorney, cleared his throat.
“Raymond left clear instructions. The house goes to Hannah.”
I exhaled in relief—until he flipped to the last page and frowned.
“However… there’s an addendum. The final decision about transferring the deed depends on… the good judgment of Lydia.”
My stomach dropped.
“What does that mean?”
“It means,” Whitaker said carefully, “your father wanted to ensure certain conditions were met. Lydia will decide the terms. You must agree to them.”
WHAT?
Raymond would never have done this. Not without telling me.
Lydia’s eyes widened, her voice dripping with fake sweetness.
“Of course, I’ll decide what’s fair for everyone.”
As soon as Whitaker left, her mask slipped.
“Alright, Hannah. Here’s how this is going to work.”
The grieving widow was gone. Now, it was just Lydia—cold, calculating, ready to squeeze every last drop from me.
*”If you want this house—the one your father *wanted* you to have—you’ll buy Chloe an apartment. A nice one.”*
*”With *what* money?”*
She smirked. “Don’t play dumb. You’ve been saving for years.”
*”That was for my *café!”
“Oh, Hannah,” Chloe chimed in, *”don’t be selfish. You’re the oldest. You should *help* the family.”*
Family. The word burned in my throat.
“And if I refuse?”
Lydia’s smile turned icy. *”Then we *all* live here. And trust me, we’ll make sure it’s… uncomfortable for you.”*
I had nowhere else to go. My apartment was gone. Rent was impossible. If I pulled my café deposit, I’d lose everything.
So I swallowed my rage.
*”Fine. I’ll stay. We’re *family, right? We’ll… work it out.”
Lydia’s eyes gleamed.
“Staying was the worst choice you could’ve made.”
Living in Hell
It was torture.
Every morning, Chloe blasted music, laughing with her friends about “the spinster in the back room.” Lydia cooked just enough for two, smirking as she said,
“Oh, you’re still here? There’s burned toast if you want.”
But then—they crossed the line.
I came home one day to find my room gutted.
My clothes were dumped in the yard. My books—my father’s photos—soaked in the rain. Chloe leaned against the doorframe, chewing gum.
“Oops. We needed the space. You don’t mind, right?”
I didn’t say a word.
That night, I dug through an old address book and found a number I hadn’t dialed in years.
Cynthia.
Lydia’s mother. The one person Lydia hated more than me.
And the best part?
Cynthia had the right to live here too.
I pressed call. She answered on the second ring.
“Cynthia? It’s Hannah. Raymond’s daughter. I… need your help. And I think you might want mine, too.”
For the first time in weeks, I almost smiled.
If Lydia thought I was hard to live with?
She had no idea what was coming.
Revenge Served Cold
The next morning, I woke up to screaming.
I bolted upright. Then—smoke. Herbal, thick, like burning lavender and sage.
Cynthia.
By the time I reached the kitchen, Lydia was shrieking.
*”MOM! What the *hell* are you doing?!”*
Cynthia sat at the table like a queen, calmly tossing herbs onto a smoldering tray.
*”Cleansing the air. Raymond deserves peace, not all this *nonsense.”
Lydia’s face turned red. *”I didn’t *invite* you!”*
I leaned in the doorway. *”Actually, *I* did. She’s family too.”*
Cynthia grinned. “Damn right.”
Lydia sputtered. “You can’t just—”
“Oh, I can.” Cynthia pulled out a letter—creased, old. *”Raymond gave me this. His *real* will. The one where he begged me to keep it safe because he didn’t trust you.”*
My breath caught.
*”You *lied,” I whispered.
Lydia paled. “That’s not—”
“Try me, baby girl,” Cynthia snapped. *”Take me to court. I’ll tell them *everything*—how you shoved papers at him when he could barely *hold a pen.”
Chloe whimpered. *”Mama, this isn’t *fair!”
Cynthia scoffed. *”Life’s not fair, sweetheart. Pack your bags. You’ve got your dad’s old place upstate. Time for some *family bonding.”
Lydia’s nostrils flared. I just shrugged.
*”You always said we should stick together as a family. So here we are. *Sticking.”
Cynthia cackled.
“Bye-bye, Lydia.”
A New Beginning
Hours later, the house was silent.
Cynthia and I sat at the table, steaming mugs in hand. She raised hers.
“To Raymond. And to strong girls who don’t let witches win.”
I laughed—really laughed—for the first time in weeks.
“To family.”
She winked. *”Now, focus on that café. *Your* way. In peace.”*
I looked out the window. The yard looked just like it did when Dad was here.
And now?
It would stay that way.
I smiled up at the sky.
Dad would’ve been proud.