I thought I’d need to confront my stepmother when she used stolen keys to throw a party at my late mother’s lake cottage. Instead, karma—and the law—handled it better than I could have imagined.
That cottage wasn’t just a house. It was the sanctuary my mom bought before marrying my dad, a place where she painted, read me stories during rainstorms, and taught me to make blueberry pancakes at sunrise. After she passed, I kept it exactly as she left it. Sacred ground.
Carla, my dad’s new wife, never respected that. She mocked my mom as “whimsical” and dismissed her art as “finger painting.” Finding her drunk with friends at the cottage, feet propped on my mom’s handmade pillow, felt like a punch to the chest.
But I had security cameras. With video, audio, and even Carla’s mocking texts as evidence, my lawyer secured a restraining order, property damages, and trespassing charges.
Carla soon left my dad, but I still have the lake house—safe, preserved, and filled with my mother’s memory. Strong waters. Strong heart. And justice, too.
