I Arrived at My Mom’s Lake House and Found a Party I Never Invited
When my mother passed away, she left me her cherished lake house — a quiet refuge filled with our shared memories. I guarded it carefully, visiting only to feel her presence again. After my father remarried, my stepmother Carla made little effort to hide her disdain for my mom. She’d mock her taste and replace her belongings with her own. I drew a firm line: the lake house was off-limits. It was sacred — a piece of my mother that no one had the right to touch.
On the fifth anniversary of Mom’s passing, I drove to the lake house to spend the day in silence and reflection. But when I arrived, peace was nowhere to be found. Cars lined the driveway. Music thumped. Laughter spilled from the porch. Through the window, I saw Carla — drink in hand — entertaining her friends. Someone had even propped their feet on my mother’s embroidered pillow. My heart sank. She had stolen the key and invaded what wasn’t hers. Instead of confronting her, I walked away — calm but resolute. A different plan began to form.