My Stepmother Threatened to Keep My Father’s Inheritance Unless I Buy My Stepsister a House — Story of the Day

I… I need your help. And I think you might want mine too.”

At that moment, I almost smiled.

If Lydia thought I was hard to live with, she had no idea what was coming.

The following morning, I woke up to screaming.

It jolted me out of bed before I could even rub my eyes. For a second I thought, God, what now?

But then I caught a whiff of something herbal, like a bonfire made of old lavender and who-knows-what.

And I knew. Cynthia. Halfway to the kitchen, I could already hear it.

“Mom!

What the hell do you think you’re doing?!” Lydia’s voice cracked, high, and panicked.

Cynthia’s tone was as dry as dust, sweet as a lemon left out too long. I leaned against the doorframe and watched.

Cynthia sat at the kitchen table like she owned the place, pajama pants tucked into fuzzy slippers. She set up an old metal tray lined with half-burned sage, dried rosemary, and — was that a cinnamon stick?

Smoke spiraled lazily up to the ceiling.

Lydia stood there in a nest of hair curlers, her face red as a beet. Chloe lurked behind her, eyes wide.

Cynthia didn’t even look up. She just kept muttering, tossing bits of herbs onto the glowing tip of her incense.

“I’m cleansing the air.

Raymond deserves a peaceful rest, not all this screeching and backstabbing.”

I snorted. They both whipped their heads toward me.

“Actually,” I said, scratching my head like I’d just remembered something, “I invited her. She’s family, too.

Right?”Continue reading…