When my dad passed, he left me an inheritance meant for when I turned 18. I didn’t think much of it—just a promise for the future. But then, my mom and stepdad suddenly bought a huge house, far beyond their modest incomes. The truth slipped out one evening: they had used my money.
“Don’t be dramatic,” Mom snapped. “This house is for you too.”
“So when I’m 18, you’ll move out and it’s mine?” I asked.
My stepdad smirked. “Don’t be ridiculous. It’s our house.”
I swallowed my anger—until last weekend. His family was visiting, and when I made myself breakfast before work, he sneered, “Selfish not cooking for everyone.”
“I’m late for work. You can make it,” I said.
“Don’t talk to me like that in my house.”
Something inside me snapped. “Your house?” I shot back. “You mean the one you bought with my inheritance? The money Dad left me?” The room went silent. His relatives stared, stunned. My mom paled, and my stepdad had no witty comeback this time. For once, the truth was out—and I refused to shrink back into silence again.
