The Summer Everything Fell Apart — Until I Took It Back
That summer, my whole world collapsed. Our money vanished. My dad passed away. I lost my apartment. And just when I needed family the most… my stepmother gave me a price for staying in my own father’s house.
It was the summer I nearly lost myself completely.
I stood in my tiny rented apartment, the walls bare and cold. The shelves were empty. My suitcases sat open, my books boxed up in the corner. I had spent ten years working like crazy—no weekends, barely any rest—just to save up enough to start my own little dream: a bookstore café.
But the dream was slipping through my fingers.
My landlord suddenly raised the rent so high I couldn’t afford it anymore. I had to leave.
But losing the apartment wasn’t even the worst part.
Just a few days later… my dad died.
And that was it. That was when everything shattered.
His name was Raymond. I still called him that in my head, like a secret nickname only he and I shared.
When my mom died, it had been just the two of us. I was a child, crying into my pillow every night, and Raymond—my Raymond—would sit on the edge of my bed and say, “Hannah, look at me. You’re not alone. I’m here.”
He brought me books from the library all the time.
“I found another story for you,” he’d say. “Should we read it together?”
And I’d always nod, holding out my arms for him. He’d stroke my hair gently and whisper, “You’re my little star, Hannah. You’re all I have.”
And I believed him. Every word.
But that was before Lydia came into our lives.
“Raymond, I want us to be a family,” she said when they first met. “I’ll be like a second mom to Hannah.”
She looked me right in the eyes when she said that. I believed her.
And then there was her daughter, Chloe—tiny, shy, hiding behind her mom.
“I’ll be like a sister to you! I promise!” she squeaked.
I told myself it would work. That maybe, just maybe, we’d become a real family. Raymond hugged all three of us at once, his face lit up with hope.
But after the wedding, things changed.
Lydia started taking over. She walked through our house with keys in her pockets like she owned the place. Chloe roamed around saying things like, “Why do you even have so many books, Hannah? You’re never gonna make money from them.”
When I went to college, Dad would call late at night, whispering so Lydia wouldn’t hear.
“Hannah… You’ll always be my girl,” he’d say quietly. “They’re good people, but sometimes I feel like a guest in my own home.”
“Dad…” I’d whisper, my heart breaking. I could hear him trying not to cry.
Years later, after losing him, I sat surrounded by boxes. My café dreams were on hold. Everything felt like it was slipping away. I asked myself if he’d still be proud of me. I needed space to breathe, so I made a decision: I’d stay at his house for a while. Just to grieve. Just to heal.
I knew Lydia wouldn’t be happy. And Chloe? Even worse. To them, Raymond was just a wallet. They had bent his kindness with fake sweetness for years. But now he was gone.
And I was left to face his “family” alone.
I still had hope, though. I still believed there was a place for me.
I didn’t know that Lydia had other plans.
The funeral was hot and miserable. Sweat stuck my dress to my back. People stood up and said how kind Raymond had been, how generous. I kept staring at the coffin, waiting for him to sit up and roll his eyes at all this fake crying.
Lydia dabbed her eyes with a tissue, perfectly folded. Chloe leaned against her, sniffling dramatically.
Later, back at the house, Mr. Whitaker—the family lawyer—stood up in the living room and cleared his throat.
“Raymond left very specific instructions,” he said. “The house goes to Hannah.”
My heart jumped.
But then he turned the last page of the document and frowned.
“However… there’s an addendum. The transfer of the deed depends on the judgment of Lydia.”
I froze.
“What does that mean?” I asked.
“It means,” Whitaker said gently, “your father wanted certain conditions met. Lydia will set the terms. If you agree and follow them, the house becomes yours. I’ll supervise the process.”
What? No way. Raymond would never…
I turned to Lydia. Her eyes looked wide, sweet. Her voice was soft.
“Of course, I’ll decide what’s fair for everyone,” she said.
Then she smiled at Whitaker. “We’ll have a family meeting and get back to you.”
The second the front door closed, Lydia’s face changed. Sweet Lydia was gone. The mask dropped.
“Alright, Hannah,” she said coldly. “Here’s how this is going to work…”
Her voice was sharp. Her eyes gleamed like ice.
“If you want this house—the one your daddy wanted you to have—you’ll buy Chloe an apartment. A good one. One she deserves.”
“What? With what money?” I asked, stunned.
“Oh, don’t play dumb,” she sneered. “You’ve been hiding money away for years.”
“I worked three jobs to save that. It’s for my café.”
Chloe rolled her eyes. “Don’t be selfish, Hannah. You’re the oldest. You should help the family.”
Family. That word made me feel sick.
“What happens if I don’t?” I asked.
“Then we all live here together,” Lydia said. “And I promise… it’ll be very uncomfortable.”
I was trapped. I had nowhere else to go. The rent in town was crazy. I couldn’t pull out my café deposit or I’d lose everything I’d worked for.
I took a breath.
“I’ll stay for now,” I said. “We’re family. We’ll… work it out.”
That was my biggest mistake.
It was a nightmare.
Chloe blasted music every morning. She laughed with her friends and called me “the spinster in the back room.” Lydia made food only for her and Chloe.
“There’s some burnt toast, if you want,” she’d say with a fake smile.
But one day… they went too far.
I came home after job hunting, tired and drained—and found my room stripped bare.
Boxes piled in the hallway. My clothes tossed in the yard. It was raining.
My books, my father’s old photographs—ruined.
Chloe stood at the top of the stairs, chewing gum.
“Oops,” she said, grinning. “We needed the space. You didn’t mind, right?”
I didn’t say a word. I just walked inside, dripping wet, and opened my suitcase.
Buried in the back was an old address book.
And in the back of that book was a name: Cynthia.
My so-called step-grandmother. Lydia’s mother.
The one woman on earth that Lydia hated more than me.
The best part? Cynthia had legal rights to live in that house too. Just like me.
I dialed the number. Cynthia answered on the second ring.
“Cynthia? It’s Hannah. Raymond’s daughter. I… I need your help. And I think you might want mine too.”
I smiled for the first time in weeks.
If Lydia thought I was hard to live with… she had no idea what was coming.
The next morning, I woke to screaming.
Lydia’s voice bounced off the walls.
“Mom! What the hell do you think you’re doing?!”
“Good morning to you too, baby girl,” Cynthia said, calm as ever.
I peeked around the corner.
Cynthia sat in the kitchen like a queen. Slippers on her feet, pajama pants rolled up, herbs and incense burning on a tray. Smoke curled through the air. Lydia’s face was bright red. Chloe looked like a ghost.
“This STINKS!” Lydia screeched. “You’ll burn the whole house down!”
“I’m cleansing the air,” Cynthia said. “Raymond deserves peace—not screaming banshees and backstabbing.”
“You weren’t invited here!” Lydia yelled.
“Actually,” I said, stepping in, “I invited her. She’s family too, remember?”
Cynthia smiled at me. “That’s right, sugar. I’m still family.”
“This is ridiculous,” Lydia snapped.
Cynthia flicked ashes onto the tray. “Want ridiculous? I’ve got that letter Raymond gave me. You know, the one where he begged me to hold onto his real will because he didn’t trust you?”
Lydia paled.
“I’ll take this whole thing to court if you push me,” Cynthia warned. “We’ll see what the judge says about how you tricked a dying man.”
“Mama!” Chloe whined. “Where are we supposed to go?”
Cynthia sipped her tea.
“You’ve still got that old house upstate, remember? The one with all the rooms? It needs some love… and maybe new plumbing.”
I shrugged. “You always said we should stick together as a family. So here we are. Sticking.”
Cynthia laughed. “Pack your bags, Lydia.”
By the afternoon, the house was quiet again. Boxes gone. Silence.
Cynthia and I sat at the kitchen table, warm tea in our hands.
She raised her cup to me.
“To Raymond. And to strong girls who don’t let witches win.”
I grinned.
“To family.”
She winked. “Now go build that café of yours. I’ll hold down the fort here.”
I looked out at the yard. It looked just like it did when Raymond was alive. And now, with Cynthia by my side, I knew it would stay that way.
I knew—finally—I was home.
