When my mom passed, she left me her most cherished possession — a serene lake house that had been her refuge. I kept it exactly as she left it, visiting only to honor her memory.My dad remarried quickly. His new wife, Carla, never hid her disdain for my mom’s “boho” style, mocking her art and lifestyle behind fake smiles. I made it clear the lake house was off-limits.
On the anniversary of Mom’s death, I drove there to spend the day alone — and found strangers’ cars in the driveway, music blaring. Through the window, I saw Carla and her friends drinking, laughing, and using my mom’s handmade pillow as a footrest.It turned out Carla had stolen my spare key from my apartment while I was away, planning a “gathering” at the house. She dismissed my anger, saying I was “dwelling on the past.”
