My Stepmother Kicked Me Out Two Days After My Father Died – The Next Morning, a Bunch of SUVs Showed up in Front of Her House
Ellie expects grief, not betrayal, when her father passes away. She makes a last-ditch call after being evicted from her childhood home by the mother who never wanted her.
But power, not sympathy, is what lies on the other end. And everything changed in unexpected ways the following morning.
I was ten when my mother passed away. My father truly did what he could.
He cried when he thought I wasn’t looking, placed messages in my lunchbox, and prepared French toast on Sundays.
Even if the pain had shattered him, he was still my father.
When I was fourteen, Cheryl appeared. When I was there, her smiles never seemed to reach her eyes, and her perfume gave me migraines. She was warm and radiant, Dad thought. She did give him a flawless performance, to be honest.
However, I was aware. Her generosity was conditional. I also didn’t ever meet any of them.
I tried, though. For him… he was worthy of happiness.
It seemed like the last part of the world I knew fell apart when he passed away five years later. There was no warning, no farewell, and it was an unexpected heart attack.
I had just graduated from high school, was just 19 years old, was still working out how to spend my gap year and get to the dentist by myself, and now I was an orphan. Since my birthday fell a week after my father’s passing, I hadn’t even celebrated it.
Cheryl had begun to treat me like a visitor in my childhood home before the funeral had even concluded. When the house was already hers, she moved in, replacing the framed family portraits with her own and discarding Dad’s old magazines.
On one occasion, I observed her scraping his name off the mailbox. She simply cleaned the brush in a pail of soapy water without even flinching when she observed me observing.
“Eleanor,” she whispered, her voice akin to a branch snapping in the winter. “You realize that you’re no longer really family? It’s time to leave, then.
I refrained from arguing. What purpose would it have served?
I packed a duffle bag as a result. Underwear, toiletries, a couple of shirts and pants, and a pair of boots went in. I reached for my guitar. I didn’t dare touch my dad’s scarf that was still hanging on the coat rack as I passed it.
I was unable to.
I stayed on my best friend’s couch that evening.
“You can certainly remain here, Ellie,” Katie said. “My home is yours.”
She placed a glass of water and a blanket on the side table. We didn’t discuss it. We didn’t need to.
With my hands tightly clutched on my tummy to prevent me from unraveling, I lay there and stared at the ceiling fan. My sorrow was weighty, yet it wasn’t loud. It felt like wet cement sitting in my chest.
But before I went to sleep, I called Janine, my dad’s older sister.
At the right points in my story, she gasped after hearing the first ring. It’s not everything I recall saying. All I can recall are the few gasps and the quiet on the other end.
It was the sort of silence that envelops you when someone is listening to both what you can and cannot say.
At last she spoke something.
Her words, “I’ll take care of it, darling,” “Are you okay at Katie’s or must I fetch you?”
I groaned, “I’m fine,” I said. “But… help me, please.”
“Ellie, of course. Return tomorrow morning and gather the remaining items. There, I’ll see you.
The following day, I arrived at the house where I had lived since birth—the one with the chipped front stairs and the crooked birdfeeder my father had constructed. He and I painted it together, and I recall getting paint all over us.
However, the house appeared differently this time.
Like they were recording a crime scene, five black SUVs lined the curb. By the front door stood a pair of suit-clad males. One remained motionless while the other looked at his watch. I would have assumed he was a robot if I hadn’t seen him blink.
My heart was racing.
To keep me out, had Cheryl contacted security?
With stiff shoulders, I got out of the car and rang the bell.
When the door opened, Cheryl was standing there looking as though someone had drained her of all her vitality.
“Oh! She exclaimed, “You’re here!” in an abruptly sweet voice. “I was just… just about to call you, sweetheart.”
My dear?
It nearly made me chuckle.
“What’s going on?” I inquired. “I just came to get my things.”
Before she could respond, Janine appeared from the hallway, dressed in a superbly fitted slate-gray suit and heels that clicked across the driveway. In her hands was a folder.
Her smile was as sharp as marble. “Perfect timing,” she remarked. “Come on, you two. We were only going to make some clarifications. I’ve already organized my legal team. Yes, Cheryl.
I went inside after them both. Cheryl followed me, her mouth opening and closing as if she was unsure whether to cry, shout, or tug at someone’s hair.
Two attorneys were seated around a table in the living room. One was older and composed, reading aloud from a pile of papers, while the other was paging through legal pads with the ease of someone who has done this a thousand times.
Cheryl exploded, “This is ridiculous,” and began to pace the floor. “You can’t just come in here and…”
Janine held out her hand.
“Sit,” ordered she. “Cheryl, stop talking. Let’s avoid making things more difficult than it has to be.
Cheryl took a seat. Seldom.
Confused and nervous, I hovered close to the entrance, attempting to make sense of the tense, suit-filled room.
“What is this? What’s happening? Quietly, I asked.
Janine’s expression softened as she turned to face me.
“Cherry was never included in the deed by your father. In your name, Ellie, he put this house and the entire property into a trust. He did it shortly before you turned eighteen.
All he wanted was for Cheryl to be unaware. He wasn’t supposed to go so abruptly, though, so he didn’t talk to you about it. Darling, this was something he would only bring up on his deathbed.
“You mean… the house is mine?” I let out a gasp.
I recalled that the year before, I had celebrated turning eighteen. My dad had given me such a proud expression. When I informed him that I would be taking a year off after high school, he nodded and grinned. “I understand,” he assured me.
However, I was unaware that he was secretly making plans for my future. A future without him.
Only now, when Aunt Janine recalled and had to evict Cheryl, had the trust returned.
According to Cheryl, “That’s absurd,” and she laughed harshly. “Thomas would never do that without telling me!”
Across the table, one of the attorneys slid a folder in her direction.
Calmly, “This is a certified copy of the trust, ma’am,” he stated. “You were permitted temporary residence under the terms of the trust… but now that the beneficiary has come of age and revoked permission, you no longer have a legal claim to remain.”
Cheryl stuttered, “You can’t just kick me out,” she said.
Adding, “You have one hour to collect your personal belongings,” the attorney. “After that, any items left behind will be considered abandoned property.”
I thought I was out of breath. The room’s air was electric and heavy.Was that the house where I had grown up, cried, and even been evicted from?
“This isn’t over,” said Cheryl, trembling.
She was given a list of authorized things by one of the attorneys as he approached her. Individual attire. Just toiletries.
A man in a black suit crossed his arms and stood quietly beside the stairway.
“Who are these individuals? Additionally, why are five SUVs outside? I whispered as I bent in Janine’s direction.
The sister of my father hardly looked up from her folder.
Her words, “Private security,” “I have a really close friendship with the owner. I wasn’t confident that Cheryl would leave peacefully.
Naturally, she didn’t. Nor did I think Cheryl would leave peacefully.
Cheryl muttered to herself as she stomped up the stairs.
Aunt Janine shouted out, “Hurry up,” after her.
She attempted to slam the bedroom door once, but the security guard opened it again while observing her packing in stern quiet.
My dad laughing while he burned pancakes was playing in the back of my head as I stood in the kitchen, holding on to the edge of the counter.
“They’re… crispy, Ellie,” he had murmured, snorting his gag reflex. “I’m sure they’ll be fine with some whipped cream and honey?”
With two stuffed suitcases in tow, Cheryl took 47 minutes to return to the ground. She had a tight jaw and a blotchy face, yet her eyes were bright and glassy. She appeared to have been suppressing tears that she didn’t deserve.
She stopped by the front door and then turned around halfway as if she had something to say, perhaps a last jab, an apology, or something prearranged to cheer herself up.
However, she didn’t.
Like a ghost, she simply shook her head, lowered her gaze, and stepped out into the sunlight. Like a silent bodyguard, one of the black SUVs crawled down the street behind her.
I watched her go as I stood in the doorway. A bit later, I entered the kitchen.
Quietly, Aunt Janine crossed the kitchen to pour two glasses of water. Without saying anything, she handed me one, and we sat down at the dining table where I used to do my homework while Dad tried to make a curry that my mom used to enjoy or stirred soup on the stove.
“Are you okay, darling?” Aunt Janine inquired.
Though I believe it was more habit than truth, I nodded.
Saying, “I think so,”
In the silence, we sat. The refrigerator was humming. A bird outside once shouted out, and someone up the street answered.
“You know, I really miss your mom, Ellie,” she replied. In particular, her pecan pie. I’ve been considering it for a while. We should attempt baking it, even if I’m terrible at it.
I grinned.
“We can certainly accomplish it. Mom’s recipe book was kept by Dad. The cupboard beneath the kettle is where it should be.
After locating the recipe book, we started baking.
Aunt Janine said, “I always hated her,” without warning. “Ellie, I am aware that this is a loaded statement. It’s true, though. Cheryl, the first day I met her, I just didn’t feel well.
She made an effort to settle into my kitchen. However, your father… We didn’t see her the way he did, I suppose. Perhaps he didn’t want to witness our actions.
I gently nodded while combining the flour and eggs.
I said, “I feel that,” “Why didn’t he tell me about the trust?”
“Because he was aware that Cheryl would attempt to manipulate it.” Or alter it. Or do something terrible. He didn’t want the burden of protecting what was already yours to fall on you.
And, sweetheart, I believe my brother believed he spent more time with you. That was taken away from him by his unexpected heart attack. He trusted me to keep you and things safe.
I gave another nod.
“I ought to have intervened as soon as Cheryl began to act up. But, Ellie, I froze. I was also in mourning.
“Thank you,” I said softly as I chopped pecans. “You saved me… you saved my home.”
Aunt Janine grabbed my hand and extended her arm.
“Ellie, you were never going to remain down for very long. You bear my mother Eleanor’s name. You’re the grandchild of a woman who never took bullshit from anyone and built her home by hand!”
We then bided our time till our pie arrived. Although it wasn’t as good as my mother’s, it provided the solace we required.
I took a while to unpack. The corners smelled somewhat of dust and lavender, and the walls still had fading pinholes from posters I had removed years before.
Half-expecting everything to be gone, I opened the closet to find a box of childhood mementos that Dad had never allowed Cheryl to discard.
Every floorboard creak greeted me like an old friend as I walked around the home barefoot. I ran my fingertips over the light switches Dad had marked in his sloppy handwriting in the hallway.
I hesitated in his bedroom, their bedroom.
As I entered, the door creaked quietly.
He still had a full closet. The tan jacket he wore every fall, the faded sweatshirts, and plaid shirts. Without intending to, I buried my face in it. It had the scent of aftershave, cedar, and the mornings when he hummed while brewing coffee.
I refrained from crying. I simply stood there and took a deep breath.
Later, I had my guitar resting over my lap as I sat cross-legged on the floor of my bedroom. Like muscle memory, the song I had written after the funeral eventually returned to me.
It wasn’t flawless. I wasn’t either.
However, the quiet in the house felt different now. The house was no longer haunted. It was restorative. It was also mine.
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