Dad remarried just six months after Mom’s funeral. His new wife, Cassandra, moved right into the house. I (F29) had my own place, but my younger brother Noah (15) still lived with Dad.
From the start, Cassandra wiped away every trace of Mom. Family photos vanished from the walls. The framed wedding picture? Gone. Every last photo of her was shoved into boxes and stacked in Noah’s room.
A few weeks in, Cassandra sighed loudly at the dinner table:
“Ugh. These sad old photos… They’re just dragging us down.”
Noah whispered to me later:
“It’s like Mom never existed. Like I don’t belong here anymore.”
Not long after, Cassandra announced she was pregnant—with triplets. Dad glowed with pride, beaming at her. Noah, meanwhile, barely touched his food. Later he told me he cried himself to sleep every night.
And then came yesterday.
Noah had spent the afternoon reading quietly in his room. Dad and Cassandra came home earlier than expected.
She stepped through the door, wrinkled her nose, and declared:
“Why is this place so gloomy? Doesn’t anyone open a window?”
Marching into Noah’s room, she scowled.
“You’re still here?”
Noah blinked. “…Where else would I be?”
Cassandra crossed her arms.
“We need this room. The babies will be here soon. All your stuff—yes, including those dusty boxes—has to go.”
Noah’s voice cracked.
“That’s not stuff. That’s Mom. That’s my whole life.”
Her reply was like ice.
“Was your life. My family is the focus now.”
She called out:
“Michael! Tell your son to move his things!”
Dad’s voice, distant and flat:
“Maybe it’s for the best, Noah. Just until things settle.”
Noah called me later, sobbing.
“She kicked me out. Said I’m not a priority. Dad just… let it happen.”
By the next morning, I was at our old home—the one that used to feel warm and alive, now stripped of personality, scrubbed clean, and reeking of lemon polish.
Cassandra, in silk loungewear, sat at the kitchen island spooning yogurt. She smirked when she saw me.
“Well, well. Look who decided to show up.”
I kept my tone even.
“I’m here to pack.”
Her smile widened, sharp as glass.
“Perfect. You can take Noah’s things to your place. There’s plenty of it.”
I froze.
“My place?”
She leaned forward, her voice low, deliberate:
“Yes. Because he’s not coming back here.”
I stood there, her words echoing like a slap.
“He’s not coming back here.”
My chest tightened. For a moment, I couldn’t breathe.
I set my jaw. “You don’t get to erase him. Or Mom.”
Cassandra’s spoon clinked against the bowl. She laughed—soft, but cutting.
“Erase? Please. I’m building a *real* family. You and your little brother? You’re just… remnants.”
Something in me snapped.
“Remnants?” My voice shook, not from fear, but fury. “Mom raised us. This was her home. You can bleach the walls, box the photos, and play pretend with Dad—but you’ll never replace her.”
Her smirk faltered. Just for a second.
The front door opened. Dad stepped in, briefcase in hand, looking exhausted. He froze at the tension in the kitchen.
“What’s going on here?”
I turned to him. “What’s going on? Cassandra kicked Noah out. Your son. A fifteen-year-old boy who just lost his mother.”
Dad’s eyes darted between us, guilt clouding his face.
“Cass…” he started weakly.
She stood, silky robe swishing around her ankles. “Don’t you dare backpedal now, Michael. You agreed this was best.”
Dad’s voice cracked. “I never said—”
“You did,” I cut in. “By saying nothing. By letting her throw him away.”
The room went silent. Dad’s mouth opened, closed.
Finally, I grabbed my bag. “Noah stays with me. If you want him in your life, you’ll fight for him. If not…” I shook my head, my throat burning. “You’ve already lost him.”
I turned toward the door, pulse pounding in my ears. Behind me, Cassandra hissed, “Ungrateful brat.”
And then—Noah’s voice.
From the hallway, clutching a half-packed duffel:
“Don’t worry, sis. I’m ready. Let’s go.”
I froze. He’d been listening. Watching. Waiting.
Dad stepped forward, hand half-raised.
“Noah, wait—”
Noah’s glare was sharper than any words. “You already chose, Dad.”
We walked out together.
The slam of the door behind us was final.
But as we loaded his things into my car, I couldn’t shake the feeling… this wasn’t over.
Not by a long shot.
