My father wanted to live with his mistress and lied about everything to get away with 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 really sick, and my father took me to visit her every once in a while. 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 that we had to pack. “Where are we going?” I asked.
“We can’t stay in this town any longer with so many memories of your mother. We have to move and get a fresh start if we have a chance at getting over this loss,” he answered. So I helped out while crying for my mother and got in the car a few hours later.
We drove for what seemed like the longest time and eventually reached a house that wasn’t that different from the other one. “You’ll love it here, and you’ll make tons of new friends around the neighborhood,” he told me.
“It’s nice to meet you, Erika,” I said.
“Ah, yes, sure. So Owen, what are we having for dinner?” she answered, barely paying any attention to me and addressing my father only. I was confused, but my father was smiling. I wanted him to be happy.
But their happiness went really fast. They got married only a few months after my mother’s death, and Erika moved in with us. After the wedding, it became clear that she hated me. She yelled all the time and gave tons of chores.
I wasn’t a rebellious kid by any means, but nothing I did was right. “God! You’re useless just like your mother!” she exclaimed one day.
“Don’t talk about my mother! Did you know her?” I asked angrily.
“Of course, I knew her! Her sickness was bringing your father down, and he had to leave,” Erika yelled.
“Josh! What are you doing upsetting your new mother?!” my father suddenly walked in. He whispered something I couldn’t hear to Erika and continued frowning at me.
“She started talking about my mother,” I replied.
“Don’t talk back to me. Go to your room and finish your homework now!” he said.
“Fine!” I answered and went to my room. Years passed, and Erika never wanted me around. As soon as I was old enough to take care of myself, they even went on long vacations without me. But I no longer cared. I didn’t want anything to do with that woman. However, she crossed the line one day.
I came home from school and saw her in my room. I was 17 years old and saving to leave this hell house. “What are you doing here?” I asked her irritably.
“I’m cleaning up this mess. Also, this picture has to go immediately. I will not tolerate another woman’s photo in my house. It’s been years. You have to move on,” Erika answered.
“Don’t you dare touch that picture!” I threatened.
“I’ll do whatever I want in my own house! You’re just a brat as always. I can’t wait until you’re gone,” she continued.
“I can’t wait to leave either and never have to deal with such a harpy like you again!” I yelled, finally losing my temper. But my father heard our fight and joined us.
“What is going on here?”
“As always, your son is causing trouble, and now he has insulted me,” Erika said smugly. She knew that Dad would take her side.
“Josh! How many times do I have to tell you to respect your mother!” he bellowed.
“She is not my mother! She’s an evil witch sent from hell! I hate her!” I yelled with tears in my eyes. I saw the look of anger on my father’s face and thought he might hit me. But before he could do anything, I moved fast.
I grabbed my mother’s picture frame from Erika’s awful hands and ran off. I got to the bus stop and decided to hop on a bus. Without noticing, I arrived at our old hometown. I walked these streets that I barely remembered and wondered if I could find our old house.
Luckily, I remembered the neighborhood and saw our place. But a new family was living there, and their kids were playing in the yard. Seeing them running around only reminded me how awful my childhood had been, thanks to my stepmother.
So, I walked into town and wandered around until I saw a homeless woman. I would recognize those eyes anywhere. She looked just like my mother. “Hello, ma’am,” I said tentatively.
“What can I do for you, young man?” she answered.
I couldn’t help but wonder if she was actually my mother. The resemblance was hard to miss. But how could she be my mother? My mother’s 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.
“I’m Josh,” I replied.
“Josh! Is that really you, son? Wait, of course, that’s you! Oh my god!” she said and hugged me fiercely. We cried for a while, holding each other.
“Mom, what happened? My father said you died,” I asked when we had calmed down.
“That evil scum! I can’t believe he said that you,” Mom started. “I remembered when you visited me at the hospital. But after a while, you stopped coming, and Owen didn’t answer any of my calls. I thought something had happened.”
“He moved us away,” I told her.
“That horrible man. When I got out, I discovered that Owen had taken all our savings and filed for divorce. He also arranged so that he would have full custody. But lawyers handled everything through lawyers. I had no way to find you,” Mom continued.
“I can’t believe he did that, especially get custody of me. His new wife hated me from the beginning,” I added.
“I suspect it has something to do with lineage. 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 with, to pay for lawyers and private detectives to find you. But none of them could,” Mom explained.
“I’m so sorry, Mom!” I cried.
“It’s not your fault. You were a kid. I shouldn’t have given up, but I ran out of money. No one wants 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 got a place together and started our lives again.
I got a job after graduation and started taking night courses, while my mother finally returned to her career which she had to give up when she got sick.
I also changed my last name to “Fraser,” my mother’s maiden name, to cut off anything related to my father. He took me away from my mother for many years, so he had no right to call me son anymore.
What can we learn from this story?
- The truth will come out. Some evil people get away with their plans, but more often than not, good prevails.
- Blood doesn’t make you family. Josh’s father was obsessed with lineage, but in the end, his son changed his last name because he wasn’t family to him.
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