My Stepmom Demanded Rent—She Wasn’t Ready For What I Had Up My Sleeve

I was fourteen when my mom died—just months after her divorce from my dad. She’d been my anchor. When she was gone, Dad and I drifted. He buried himself in work; I floated around the house like a ghost. A year later he remarried. Karen arrived in a cloud of sharp perfume and bright lipstick,
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