I Found Out Why My Stepson Was So Sad Every Sunday — It Broke My Heart
Every Sunday at exactly 5 p.m., like clockwork, my stepson Josh would come back from his mom’s house. And every Sunday, the same thing happened—he walked through the front door, kicked off his sneakers, and went straight to his bedroom. No smile. No “Hi.” No hug. Just silence.
Josh used to be full of life. A bubbly, chatty ten-year-old who always had a story to tell, especially when he first moved in with my husband, Patrick, and me. We were closer to the school he wanted to attend, so it made sense. And we loved having him around.
Back then, he was excited about everything. He’d follow me into the kitchen and ask to help with dinner, or we’d spend hours baking cookies and laughing. He even called me “Liv” like it was natural, like I had always been there.
But lately? That happy boy was gone.
He came back from his mom’s place every Sunday like someone had turned off a light inside him. No words. No eye contact. Just this heavy sadness that followed him everywhere. He wouldn’t talk about what happened over the weekend either, no matter how gently I tried to ask.
One evening, after another silent Sunday return, I looked at my husband while we were chopping vegetables for dinner.
“Do you think he’s okay, Patrick?” I asked softly, slicing carrots as I tried to keep the worry out of my voice.
Patrick shrugged, focused on dicing potatoes. “Honestly, I think he’s perfectly fine. Linda does like to push him, though. I’m sure she gave him a mouthful about studying and school in general.”
“Yeah, I get that,” I said, frowning. “But I push him too—remind him to do his homework, eat healthy, all that stuff. And he never acts like this with me. He even jokes around when I nag him. So, this is different. But… I know bio-mom has the trump card over step-mom. So, I’m not going to say anything.”
Patrick sighed. “Olivia. If you want to talk to him, just go for it. Walk up and ask him whatever you want. But I’ll talk to him after dinner too.”
I nodded, glad he was finally going to step in. I just needed to know Josh was okay. Because whatever was going on wasn’t normal.
That night, after dinner, Patrick started a little fire in the backyard so they could make s’mores—one of Josh’s favorite treats. I stayed in the kitchen, pretending to clean, but I was really listening through the open window.
“It was fine, Dad,” Josh said when Patrick asked about the weekend. “Mom was her usual self, I guess.”
“But then why are you so sad?” Patrick asked gently. “Did something happen? Your mom is great, but I know that she’s a lot to deal with.”
Josh hesitated, and then I heard him say something that made my heart sink.
“It’s draining being there, Dad. But I know how important it is for me to keep spending weekends with Mom.”
Patrick’s voice was calm. “It is important. But at the same time, if it’s becoming too much, we can always change the arrangement to every second week. Okay?”
I peeked outside and saw Josh thinking about it. But then, his face darkened, and he stood up quickly.
“I’m going to bed. Good night!”
He walked back inside fast. I thought he was just going to pass me, but then he stopped, wrapped his arms around me, and hugged me tight.
“Good night, Liv,” he whispered before disappearing into his room.
I stood there, holding my breath. Something was wrong. Really wrong. This wasn’t just a kid being tired of switching homes. This was deeper, heavier. Something was hurting Josh.
I wanted to help. But I didn’t want to push too hard. I knew how tricky blended families could be. So, I waited.
But the truth came out the following weekend—like a punch to the chest I never saw coming.
That Sunday, Patrick went out to get groceries, and I was relaxing on the couch, sipping tea, waiting for Josh to come home. As usual, I heard the familiar rattle of Linda’s old sedan pulling into the driveway.
A few months ago, our neighborhood had some trouble with teenage thieves, so Patrick installed a high-tech security system. It was so fancy that if someone walked onto the porch, the live camera feed would show up on our TV automatically. It made me feel safer, and Patrick had even added an app to our phones for extra access.
“It’s going to make us feel safer, Liv,” Patrick said proudly when he finished setting it up.
That day, I was watching a cooking show when suddenly the feed switched, showing me what was happening live on our porch.
And what I saw made my heart stop.
There was Josh, standing outside with his mom, Linda.
“Here’s your cookies,” Linda said, handing him a container. “I’ll see you next week. And you know what you have to do…”
Josh didn’t say anything right away. But I saw his shoulders drop, like the weight of the world was on them.
“Mom, I don’t want to,” he said finally, his voice shaky.
I leaned in closer to the screen, chills running up my arms.
“You have to tell them the truth, Mom!” Josh’s voice cracked. “I hate lying to Dad, and they know something is up. If Dad knew that you’re making me steal from his house every week, he’d be so mad!”
My mouth dropped open. I blinked, sure I had misheard.
“Stealing?” I whispered to myself.
“And what about Liv?” Josh continued, almost in tears. “She’s going to notice her things keep disappearing. All the sanitary towels and the lotions… Mom, I can’t keep doing it.”
Oh my God. I had noticed things were missing—small things at first. My skincare products, feminine supplies… I thought maybe I was just miscounting. But now, the truth hit me like a train.
What else had Josh taken?
Then Linda’s voice got sharper. “So what, Josh? They have more than enough money. I told you, I need some of Olivia’s jewelry next time. If I can pawn one of her fancy necklaces or rings, I’ll have enough to cover my debt.”
I stood up, tea forgotten. My heart was pounding in my ears.
“And try and get some money, honey,” Linda added. “Your father keeps a wad of cash in his sock drawer, doesn’t he? That’s for emergencies. And helping your mother is an emergency.”
I couldn’t take it anymore. I stormed to the front door and flung it open.
“Linda. Hello,” I said, my voice ice cold.
Josh jumped, startled, and immediately reached out to hug me.
“Hi, Liv,” he said, clinging to me.
Linda glared at me but said nothing.
“I heard all of that,” I said, keeping my voice firm.
Josh held onto me tighter. I could feel how scared and ashamed he was, how much he didn’t want to be part of any of this.
“Josh, sweetheart, go to your room for a bit, okay?” I said softly.
He nodded and hurried inside.
Then I turned to Linda. “What’s going on?” I asked. “Tell me the truth, or I’m calling Patrick right now.”
Her face paled. She looked down and then started talking fast.
She explained she was behind on rent, drowning in debt, and desperate. She said she didn’t mean to hurt anyone, but she didn’t know what else to do.
“I’ll give you the money to get you back on your feet,” I said, “but Josh stays with us until you do. And you will not ask that boy for anything else. Ever. Do you understand me?”
“He’s my son, Olivia,” she said coldly.
“Yes,” I said. “Your son—who you’re teaching to lie and steal. If you don’t stop this right now, I’ll press charges. I mean it. Take the money and fix your life. But leave Josh out of it.”
Linda finally nodded. “Thank you,” she muttered.
“I’ll transfer the money tonight. Send me a breakdown of what you need.”
She nodded again and walked off the porch.
As I closed the door, trying to collect myself, Josh came running out of his room, crying.
“Thank you,” he sobbed. “I didn’t want to steal! I’m so sorry!”
I dropped to my knees and held him tightly. “Oh, sweet boy. You don’t have to be sorry. None of this is your fault. I’m going to help your mom, and we’re going to fix everything. I promise.”
And I meant it. Because that little boy—my stepson—deserved to feel safe and loved. Not used.
