My father wanted to live with his mistress and lied about everything to get out of it. But I discovered the whole truth during a chance encounter with someone I thought was dead.
When I was eight years old, my mother was sent to the hospital. She was very ill, and my father took me to visit her from time to time. But one day, he came home with sad news. “I’m sorry, Josh, your mother is gone,” he said.
I cried inconsolably that night, but Dad told me we had to pack our bags. “Where are we going?” I asked.
“We can’t stay in this city any longer with so many memories of your mother. We need to move and make a fresh start if we’re going to have any chance of overcoming this loss,” he replied. So I helped him while I mourned my mother, and we hit the road a few hours later.
We drove for what seemed like the longest time and finally reached a house that wasn’t so different from ours. “You’re going to love this place and you’re going to make tons of new friends in the neighborhood,” my dad told me.
But a few days after we moved in, a woman started coming to our house all the time. “Josh, this is Erica, a good friend of mine,” my dad introduced us.
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“It’s nice to meet you, Erica,” I said.
“Oh, yeah, sure. So, Owen, what’s for dinner?” she said, barely paying attention to me and speaking only to my dad. I was confused, but my dad was smiling. I wanted him to be happy.
Just a few months after my mother died, they got married, and Erica moved in with us. After the wedding, it became clear that she hated me. She yelled all the time and gave me tons of chores.
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I wasn’t a rebellious child, far from it, but nothing I did was right. “My God! You’re useless like your mother!” she exclaimed one day.
“Don’t talk about my mother! Did you know her?” I asked him irritably.
“Of course I knew her! Her illness was bringing your father down, and he had to leave,” Erica yelled.
“Josh! What are you doing upsetting your new mother?!” my father yelled, bursting in. He whispered something I couldn’t hear to Erica and continued to frown at me.
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“She started talking about my mother,” I replied.
“Don’t answer me. Go to your room and finish your homework now!” he said.
“Fine!” I replied and went to my room. Years passed, but Erica still didn’t want me around. As soon as I was old enough to take care of myself, they even took long vacations without me, but I didn’t care anymore. I wanted nothing to do with that woman. But one day, she crossed the line.
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Coming home from school, I saw her in my room. I was 17 and saving up to move out of this hellish house. “What are you doing here?” I asked her irritably.
“I’m cleaning up this mess. Also, this photo needs to go immediately. I will not tolerate another woman’s photo in my house. It’s been years. You need to move on,” Erica retorted.
“Don’t you dare touch this photo!” I threatened.
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“I do what I want in my own house! You’re just a brat, as always. I can’t wait for you to leave,” she continued.
“I can’t wait to leave too and never have to deal with a harpy like you again!” I shouted, finally losing my temper. But my father heard our argument and joined us.
“What’s going on here?”
“As always, your son is causing trouble, and now he’s insulted me,” Erika said smugly. She knew Dad would take her side.
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“Josh! How many times do I have to tell you to respect your mother!” he yelled.
“She’s not my mother! She’s an evil witch sent from hell! I hate her!” I screamed, tears welling in my eyes. I saw the angry look on my father’s face and thought he was going to hit me. But before he could do anything, I acted quickly.
I grabbed my mother’s photo frame from Erica’s horrible hands and ran away. I arrived at the bus stop and decided to hop on the first one that came along. Without realizing it, I had arrived in my hometown. I walked down those streets I barely remembered, wondering if I could find our old house.
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Luckily, I remembered the neighborhood and saw our house. But a new family was living there, and the children were playing in the yard. Seeing them running around reminded me of how horrible my childhood had been, thanks to my stepmother.
So I went into town and wandered around until I saw a homeless woman. I would recognize those eyes anywhere. She looked like my mother. “Hello, ma’am,” I said shyly.
“What can I do for you, young man?” she replied.
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I couldn’t help but wonder if she was really my mother. It was hard not to notice her resemblance. But how could she be my mother? My mother has been dead for years. “Are you Emma Fraser?” I dared to ask. She finally looked at me, and her eyes widened.
“Do you know me?” she asked.
“My name is Josh,” I replied.
“Josh! Is that really you, son? Wait, of course it is! Oh my God!” she said and hugged me fiercely. We cried for a while, holding each other.
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“Mom, what happened? My dad said you were dead,” I asked when we had calmed down.
“That bastard! I can’t believe he said you,” she said, then paused and then continued, “I remember the time you visited me in the hospital. But after a while, you stopped coming, and Owen wasn’t answering my calls. I thought something had happened.”
“He made us move,” I told him.
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“That horrible man. When I got out, I found out Owen had taken all our savings and filed for divorce. He also arranged for full custody. But he handled everything through lawyers. I had no way of finding you,” Mom continued.
“I can’t believe he did this, let alone got custody of me. His new wife has hated me from the start,” I added.
“I think it has something to do with bloodline. Owen was obsessed with passing on his last name. But anyway, I had to sell our old house, which was the only thing he left me, to pay lawyers and private investigators to find you. But none of them could do it,” Mom explained.
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“I’m so sorry, Mom!” I said, sobbing.
“It’s not your fault. You were a child. I shouldn’t have given up, but I ran out of money. No one wanted to help a homeless woman. But all that matters is that we found each other,” she comforted me.
“Don’t worry. You won’t be homeless anymore,” I said. I had saved for years to get away from my father and stepmother. They don’t rent to 17-year-olds, but my mother was an adult. We found a place together and started our lives over.
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I found a job after graduation and started taking night classes, while my mother finally resumed her career, which she had had to give up when she became ill.
I also changed my last name to “Fraser,” my mother’s maiden name, to sever all ties with my father. He took me away from my mother for many years, so he no longer had the right to call me son.
What can we learn from this story?
- The truth eventually comes out. Some evil people get away with their plans, but often, good prevails.
- Blood doesn’t make a family. Josh’s father was obsessed with the issue of lineage, but ultimately, his son changed his last name because it wasn’t family to him.
Share this story with your friends. It might brighten their day and inspire them.
If you liked this story, you might like this one about a girl whose stepmother sold all of her late mother’s clothes.
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