Everything fell apart that summer — money gone, Dad gone, nowhere to run. And just when I needed family most, my stepmother gave me a price for staying.
That summer, I almost lost myself completely.
I stood in my tiny rented apartment, staring at the empty shelves, suitcases, and a pile of boxes. For ten years I had worked without weekends, saving every dollar I could to open my own little bookstore café.
And just when it felt like I was finally on the doorstep of something truly mine, my landlord raised the rent so high I couldn’t afford it.
But losing my apartment wasn’t the worst part.
Because then, just days later, my Dad died. And that was the moment everything truly broke.
My Raymond.
I still called him that in my mind. Raymond…
To me, he had always been more than just “Dad.” It was just the two of us after my Mom passed. He sat at the edge of my bed when I buried my face in the pillow.
He always said it so calmly. He used to bring me books from the library.
“I found another story for you. Should we read it together?”
I nodded and reached my hands out to him. He stroked my hair and whispered,
I believed every word.
But after that summer when Lydia came along, everything changed.
“Raymond, I want us to be a family,” she said back then. “I’ll be like a second Mom to Hannah.”
I looked her straight in the eyes and I believed her.
And Chloe, her daughter, hid behind my back and squeaked in that tiny voice,
I promised myself to believe it too. Raymond wrapped his arms around the three of us. His eyes shone with hope.
But over time Lydia took control of everything.
After the wedding, she walked through the house with keys to every room tucked in her pocket. My stepsister Chloe wandered around.
“Hannah, why do you need so many books? You’ll never make money from them.”
When I left for college, Dad often called me, whispering into the phone when Lydia was asleep.
“Hannah, you know… You’ll always be my girl.
They’re good people, but… I feel like a guest in my own house.”
I heard him swallowing his tears.
Years later, I sat on the floor surrounded by boxes, wondering if I’d ever done enough for him. If he were proud of me at that moment, trying so hard to hold on.
I needed to say goodbye to Dad. I told myself I’d stay in his house for a while — just to breathe.
The story doesn’t end here — it continues on the next page.
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