When my dad passed away last year, it felt like the house lost its soul. He'd built that place himself, a sprawling two-story home that always smelled like pine and fresh paint.

After his death, my husband, Jason, our six-year-old daughter, Emma, and I moved in to help my stepmother, Lorraine.

She and my dad had been married for five years, but Lorraine made sure that everyone knew she'd been his "rock" during his final days.

"You can't deny it, darling," she said to me after her speech at the funeral. "Seriously, Calla, if I went on my holiday to Thailand, your father would have died by himself. All alone. Poor thing."

Living with her, though, was like walking on a tightrope. Everything about Lorraine was sharp—her stilettos, her words, even the way she eyed Jason when she thought I wasn't looking.

But family is family, and I tried to make it work.

Until I found the robe.

It started innocently enough. I was folding Jason's laundry, something I did a thousand times without a second thought. As I opened his closet to hang up a shirt, I noticed something out of place.

There it was, a small glossy gift bag shoved into the corner, partly hidden beneath his jackets.

Curiosity got the better of me. I pulled it out, my pulse quickening when I saw what was inside: a lace robe, sheer and intimate.

My first thought was that Jason had bought it for me. Christmas was around the corner, and while he wasn't exactly the romantic type, maybe this was his way of surprising me.

I smiled at the idea of him stepping out of his comfort zone.

If only that had been the truth.

A few days later, Lorraine called me into her room. Her voice was syrupy sweet, the kind of tone that always set me on edge. She had changed the room since my father passed. It was now a maroon, velvety... something. Luxurious yet somehow seductive... I couldn't quite find the words to describe it.

"Oh, Calla, sweetheart," she cooed. "You won't believe what my new boyfriend got me!"

New boyfriend? Lorraine hadn't mentioned anyone else before.

When I walked in, my stomach dropped.

There she was, draped in the robe, my robe. The one I'd found in Jason's closet. She twirled, the lace floating around her like some cruel joke.

"You like it?" she purred, smirking at my expression. "He has exquisite taste, don't you think? And I have a pair of heels that would make it look magical."

I couldn't breathe. My mind raced, piecing together a picture I didn't want to see.

Was Jason...? No. He wouldn't. Lorraine?

No. Never. Unless... Would he?

"Where... where did you get that?" I managed to stammer.

Lorraine's smirk deepened.

"Oh, my boyfriend gave it to me," she said. "I just told you, Calla! You're not listening to a word I say, sweetheart! Don't you worry, maybe you'll get one too... Anyway, he's discreet."

My knees felt weak. Look, there could have been a logical explanation. But something felt so wrong. I stumbled out of her room, her laughter echoing behind me.

That night, I cornered Jason after reading with Emma. She had gone to sleep quickly, ready for her "Dress as your favorite character" day at school. She was going as Princess Belle.

My heart was pounding, my hands shaking.

"Jason," I began, my voice trembling. "I need to ask you something, and I want the truth."

He looked up from the TV, confused.

"What's wrong, honey?" he asked. "Hang on, let me pause this movie."

"Did you... Did you give Lorraine a robe? The lace one I found in your closet?"

Jason's face twisted in disbelief.

"What? No way! What are you talking about?"

"She showed me a robe before dinner tonight," I said, tears threatening to spill. "The same one I found in your closet."