The Shameful Secret
A young man is so embarrassed by his one-eyed mother that he locks her away, refusing to let her attend his graduation. But secrets have a way of coming out—and his shame won’t stay hidden forever.
A House That Wasn’t Empty
When Mrs. Yarrow, my late father’s neighbor, called me, I thought I’d misheard her.
“Carla, can you please do something about your tenants?” she snapped, her voice sharp with frustration. “The noise is unbearable!”
My stomach dropped. Tenants?
I hadn’t rented out Dad’s house. I couldn’t even bring myself to step inside since he passed away last year. The house was frozen in time—a place where grief still lived in the walls.
“Mrs. Yarrow,” I said slowly, “there’s been a mistake. There shouldn’t be anyone there.”
She sighed. “Well, someone’s living there, dear. And they’re turning the place into a disaster.”
My hands shook as I grabbed my keys. Who would do this?
The Betrayal
The moment I turned onto Dad’s street, my heart pounded.
The driveway was packed with beat-up cars. The front door hung open, and loud music thumped through the walls. Beer cans littered the yard, and the porch—where Dad’s rocking chair used to sit—was now covered in stains.
It felt like watching someone spit on his grave.
Then I saw it—a familiar car parked in the garage.
Nate’s Honda.
My husband Phil’s best friend.
The truth hit me like a punch.
Phil did this.
He’d turned my father’s house—my last connection to him—into a party den for his buddies. And he’d been lying to me for months.
Suddenly, all the unexplained cash made sense. The new shoes. The talk of a weekend trip.
He’d been renting out my father’s house behind my back.
Rage burned through me. This wasn’t just about money.
This was betrayal.
Revenge Has a Plan
I could’ve stormed home, screamed at him, thrown things.
But that wouldn’t be enough.
He needed to feel what I felt—the shock, the gut-wrenching betrayal.
So I called Nate.
“I know you’re living in my father’s house,” I said coldly. “I could have you kicked out tonight.”
Silence. Then, “What do you want?”
“Help me teach Phil a lesson,” I said. “And you get one more month—rent-free.”
He hesitated.
“Choose now,” I snapped. “One more month, or nothing.”
“Fine,” he muttered. “What’s the plan?”
And just like that, the trap was set.
“The House Is on Fire!”
The next morning, Phil’s phone rang.
“Dude, the house is on fire!” Nate yelled, panic in his voice.
Phil nearly choked on his coffee. “What?!”
“I don’t know what happened—sparks, smoke, the fire trucks are here! It’s bad!”
Phil bolted from the table. “Work emergency!” he lied to me before rushing out.
But as he sped toward the house, his mind raced. How would he explain this? How would he hide the truth now?
Then—his phone rang again.
Me.
“Hey,” I said, my voice calm. “Just wanted to let you know—I’m showing Dad’s house to buyers today.”
His blood ran cold. “WHAT? You’re selling it?!”
“Why not?” I said lightly. “It’s just sitting there.”
“But—it’s a family relic!” he shouted. “You can’t just sell it!”
“Too late,” I said. “I’ll be there soon.”
Click.
Phil slammed the gas pedal down, his heart hammering.
But when he screeched up to the house—no fire. No smoke.
Just Nate, sitting on the porch, looking guilty.
“What the hell?” Phil snarled.
Nate winced. “Sorry, man. Carla made me do it.”
Phil’s stomach dropped.
She knew.
The Fallout
Phil didn’t come home that night.
Instead, he checked into a motel, fuming.
How dare she trick him like that?
He’d only rented the house to help them! She was the one clinging to the past, treating the place like a shrine.
She cared more about a ghost than her own husband.
So the next morning, he filed for divorce.
And he demanded the house—their house.
Let her keep her father’s place, he thought bitterly. Let her live with her grief.
But grief has teeth.
And I wasn’t done biting back.