After Mom passed away, Dad didn’t stay single for long. At first, I, Jillian, was fine with it; everyone deserves happiness, right? But then came Marlene. Her entrance into our lives was like a whirlwind, tossing everything about!
It seemed her focus was especially on anything that reminded Dad of my late Mom. And that’s where my tolerance ended. I don’t want to come off as a brat because I was honestly fine with him remarrying. But that changed when his new wife started DESTROYING my mom’s stuff!
It all started subtly. Photos of Mom vanished from the living room, meaning she’d taken them down. Her favorite throw blanket, the one she’d wrapped around us during cold winter nights, got stained with red wine.
But the final straw for me was Mom’s wedding ring—Marlene claimed it was “lost.”
One afternoon, I arrived home earlier than usual. The sound of incessant scrubbing drew me to the living room. My eyes went WIDE and MY HEART DROPPED when I saw the scene in front of me!
Fragments of a familiar ceramic vase were scattered on the floor near Marlene.
My stepmother was nonchalantly wiping the area as she whistled to herself.
“ARE THOSE MY MOM’S ASHES?” I gasped, spotting the remains of what used to be the glass vase holding Mom’s urn.
Marlene looked up, her expression unreadable. “Oh, her urn just fell off the shelf. Lucky it didn’t ruin my new carpet,” she replied. She spoke as if she was talking about some random nuisance and not my late mother’s remains.
What REALLY got my blood boiling was that this time, she was transparent about her true intentions. SHE WAS SMIRKING as she looked back at me!
I was SO LIVID! But I didn’t say anything and went straight to my room. What frustrated me the most was that my Dad seemed oblivious to his new wife’s actions. Or he was in denial and was desperate to marry again.
Maybe he was one of those people who couldn’t stay single for long. People who felt they needed to move on to the next person as fast as possible so they don’t have to focus on their grief. Whatever the reason, I couldn’t talk to my Dad since my Mom passed.
I knew he’d think I was rebelling against him remarrying.
Lying on my bed that evening, I kept thinking about Marlene’s smirk and it fueled a fire within me! I realized I could not let her behavior slide anymore and I had to take matters into my own hands. That same night I came up with a cunning plan.
I figured if Marlene could pretend accidents happened, so could I! But this time, I vowed that the one who’d suffer wouldn’t be me!
The next day, I played it cool and pretended everything was fine between my stepmother and me. I brought over a large box, sealed and formidable, claiming it held the last of Mom’s possessions. Giving it to Marlene, I asked her:
“Could you please keep this box safe? I would ask my Dad but he can be forgetful and misplace it. Please take care of it for me, it holds a lot of sentimental value for me?”
I could see confusion flickering in her eyes but she took the box and promised to look after it.
That night, I lay in bed, plotting the box’s “mysterious fate.”
By morning, I was woken up by Marlene being at the center of chaos! The woman was frantic and shouting. She walked up and down lifting chairs, looking under tables, and rummaging everywhere!
I came in as she was ranting in the kitchen. “I can’t find my favorite cashmere sweaters, my iPad, and other valuable items!”
When I saw my Dad coming, I motioned for him to hang back and listen.
“Where did you last see them?” I asked. “I don’t know, they were scattered around the house,” she replied with exasperation.
“Well, you shouldn’t worry so much. Calm down and tell me what happened to the box I gave you yesterday?” I redirected her focus.
“A box? What does that have to do with anything because you said it was your mother’s!?” Marlene’s voice was shrill, panic edging into every word.
“I did! So, what happened to the box?” I pressed, keeping my voice calm.
“I… I accidentally dropped it into the sink while washing dishes last night,” she started explaining. “So I left it on the doorstep so I wouldn’t forget to take it to the garage to hide it there,” she rambled on.
“But when I came back, it was gone… Someone might have stolen it.” Marlene concluded dismissively and in frustration.
“Interesting,” I mused, crossing my arms. “The box containing my mother’s last belongings disappears accidentally, just like her photos, just like her ashes. You did it on purpose, didn’t you?!”
She looked guilty before her face changed to annoyance. Replying she vented, “I don’t know why you’re going on about your dead mother. She’s GONE, so her things should be gone too!” Still keeping calm because I knew my Dad was listening in, I said:
“Well, at least you’re admitting what you’ve been doing with my Mom’s things. The box was a test.”
“The items that you thought had gone missing, I put them in the box,” I informed her. “I wanted to see what you’d do with it if you thought it was my Mom’s prized possessions.”
“How DARE you touch my stuff!” Marlene exploded. “I will tell your Dad, and he will be on my side because I am his wife now, not that old hag you call your mother!” Her mouth was practically foaming at this point!
“While you’re gone to college, I take care of your Dad and this house! He’ll believe me, not you, no matter what you say!”
That was her mistake and the nail in the coffin for my father. He stepped into the kitchen, his expression one of shock and betrayal. The truth about Marlene’s character and her disregard for anything that wasn’t hers had never been clearer.
As she stood there, gaping at us, her favorite things had vanished as my mother’s had. And with them, her place in our home. Dad hadn’t said a word yet, but the look he gave me said everything.
“I just wanted you to understand, Dad,” I said softly. “I wanted you to see.”
He nodded, wrapping an arm around my shoulders. We watched Marlene scramble to salvage what she could. It was a harsh lesson, but necessary. My father divorced her and she had to leave the ruined marriage without her favorite things.
We later discovered that she threw the box in a dumpster which was collected that morning. Mom’s memory, and what she left behind, deserved that respect—at least from those who claimed to care.
Dad and I finally went for therapy to allow us both to heal properly from our loss.
This work is inspired by real events and people, but it has been fictionalized for creative purposes. Names, characters, and details have been changed to protect privacy and enhance the narrative. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.
Source: Amomama
