After my father passed away, my husband Jason, our daughter Emma, my stepmother Lorraine, and I moved into the house he left behind.

A few weeks ago, while I was putting away Jason’s clothes, I noticed a box tucked away in the back of his closet. Inside, I found a sheer lace robe. I assumed it was meant to be a surprise for me — maybe a romantic gift — so I chose not to say anything.

Fast forward to last weekend. Lorraine called me into her room with a smug smile on her face.

“Oh, sweetheart, you won’t believe what MY NEW BOYFRIEND gave me,” she said excitedly.

When I walked into the room… my jaw dropped.

 

She was wearing the exact same lace robe I had found in Jason’s closet.

“Do you like it?” she asked, smirking. “He has exquisite taste, don’t you think?”

Her eyes sparkled with mischief.

I froze. My mind was racing. Was Jason cheating on me? With her?

All I could manage to say was:

“Where did you get that?”

Her smirk widened.

“My boyfriend gave it to me,” she said. “I just told you, Calla! You never listen, sweetheart. Don’t worry — maybe you’ll get one too. He’s very discreet.”

I stumbled out of the room, heart pounding and hands shaking, her laughter echoing behind me.

Later that evening, I confronted Jason.

“Jason,” I said, voice trembling. “I need to ask you something, and I need the truth.”

“What’s wrong, babe?” he asked. “Hold on, let me pause the movie.”

“Did you… did you give Lorraine a lace robe? The one I found in your closet?”

“What? No way! What are you even talking about?”

“She showed it to me before dinner. It’s the same one I saw in your closet.”

“You seriously think I’d buy her something like that? Are you kidding me?”

“Then how did she get it?” I pressed.

“I don’t know,” he said, running his hand through his hair. “I swear, Calla — I didn’t give her anything. The only thing I gave Lorraine today was a piece of garlic bread.”

The next few days, I couldn’t shake the feeling that something wasn’t right.

Then, one afternoon, while I was organizing Emma’s art supplies in the dining room, I overheard Lorraine talking on the phone.

“Yes, Kerry, of course I planted it,” she whispered. “Her idiot husband didn’t even notice. It’s only a matter of time before they’re tearing each other apart. Once they’re out, the house is mine. I told you — that’s why they moved in. They want my house.”

My heart dropped.

She had planned everything. She had planted the robe in Jason’s closet to make it seem like they were having an affair. She wanted to tear us apart and take over the house my father left behind.

That night, I told Jason everything I had overheard. His face turned dark with anger.

“She’s trying to destroy our marriage,” he said. “And we moved Emma here for this? This ends now.”

So, we came up with a plan.

The next morning at breakfast, I casually told Lorraine that Jason and I were thinking about moving out. Her face lit up instantly.

“Oh, well, if you think that’s best…” she said, barely hiding her excitement.

That evening, we invited a lawyer friend over for dinner — someone Lorraine didn’t recognize. We told her he was a “realtor” helping us look for new homes. Throughout the meal, Lorraine kept going on about how much she preferred living alone.

“I’m getting older,” she said. “I need my space. And I’m sure you two need yours. Don’t you want to give Emma a little brother or sister?”

Later that night, Jason encouraged me to fight for what was rightfully mine.

“Come on, babe,” he said. “This house is your father’s legacy. He built it with his own hands. It’s part of you. Do you really want to hand it over to Lorraine?”

“I don’t know,” I admitted. “Honestly… I’m just not sure.”

Seven days later, we called a “family meeting” in the living room.

Jason handed Lorraine a stack of papers.

“What’s this?” she asked, flipping through the pages.

“It’s the deed to the house,” Jason said calmly. “We had it reviewed. Turns out, Calla and I are the primary beneficiaries. This house isn’t yours, Lorraine. It’s ours.”

Her face went pale.

“That can’t be! Calla, what did you do? Your father would never leave me with nothing!”

“He didn’t leave you with nothing, Lorraine,” I said. “He left you a lot of money. But this house… this house is mine. It’s my childhood home. Of course he wanted me to have it.”

She started to protest.

“And before you try any more tricks,” Jason added, “know this: we’re not going anywhere. But you… you should probably start packing.”

“Maybe your boyfriend can take you in?” I said nonchalantly.

Lorraine froze.

“What? There’s no boyfriend?” I asked.

“I made it all up!” she cried. “There’s no boyfriend. No affair. I planted the robe to make it look like something was going on. I wanted you to believe it. I just wanted you to leave.”

“I know,” I said. “I heard everything. But listen — I’m giving you a week. That’s more than you deserve, and I’m only doing it because that’s what my father would’ve expected from me.”

“I’ll do better!” she begged. “I’ll cook, clean, help with Emma’s homework — anything!”

“I don’t want my daughter around you,” I said firmly. “I’m sorry, but that’s just how I feel.”

Within a week, Lorraine was gone.
And finally, I had peace in the home my father loved so dearly.