Following her father’s death, Abigail’s stepmother forces her hand in Abi’s life, making cruel decisions. When Abi faces impossible odds, she trusts her gut to keep her safe.
My 15th birthday was anything but what I expected it to be. My father had passed on six months before, and due to having no relationship with my birth mother, I was forced to live with my stepmother, Linda.
I always felt that Linda didn’t like me. She seemed to put up with me for my father’s sake, but there was an underlying bitterness in all her interactions with me.
After my father’s death, I knew that Linda would try to get me out of the house, but I was only 15, so I thought that she wouldn’t be so cruel.
Person holding a wooden coffin | Source: Pexels
On the morning of my 15th birthday, Linda barged into my room with a devious smile playing on her lips. She held a gift-wrapped box in one hand and a cupcake in the other.
“Happy birthday, Abigail,” she said, her voice betraying a coldness that sent a shiver down my spine.
Despite the strained nature of our relationship, her gesture momentarily sparked a flicker of hope within me — at least she hadn’t forgotten about my birthday altogether.
Little did I know what was coming.
“Thank you,” I replied cautiously, taking a bite of the cupcake she handed me. “What’s in the box?”
“Open it! I know you’ve been talking about being more independent lately,” she said. “So, I thought I’d give you what you wanted.”
Cupcake with a candle | Source: Unsplash
What independence could she give to a teenager? I couldn’t even drive yet.
With shaky hands, I tore open the envelope, anticipation rearing its hopeful head.
Inside wasn’t a token of affection or celebration — instead, it was a lease agreement for a small apartment across town. The note read that she had even paid the deposit and the first month’s rent.
“I can’t live by myself,” I stammered. “What about school? This is too far!”
“Well, Abi, you wanted your freedom, doll,” Linda sneered. “Now you have it. You can take your things by the end of the week. I’ll have Paul, my assistant, drop off some boxes for your stuff.”
“But Linda, this is Dad’s house,” I said. “I don’t want to go anywhere.”
“Too bad,” she said. “You insist you want to be a doctor instead of contributing to the family business. I told you, my business is booming, and I have houses rapidly leaving the market. All I asked you to do was clean the houses for me between viewings. But you refused.”
It was true, but I didn’t have a choice. Linda wanted me to clean during the day — during school hours, and that was impossible.
“You can fend for yourself. I’m sure you’ll figure it out,” she said, exiting my room.
Empty room in an apartment | Source: Pexels
The gravity of her ultimatum hit me like a ton of bricks. If I wanted to stay, I would have to leave school and become Linda’s cleaner for the real estate business. But I couldn’t do that. I loved school and dreamed of becoming a doctor — it was a dream my father and I shared.
He always said that I had the heart for being a doctor. I missed him terribly.
But, at such a young age, I was faced with the impossible — homelessness and abandonment by the only family I had left.
I tried to figure out what to do for the rest of the week. I knew I couldn’t leave school, but neither could I live in that apartment — where would I get the money for food and rent?
Father kissing his daughter on the cheek | Source: Unsplash
Eventually, I went to my Aunt Maria. She’s my father’s sister, and although they didn’t get along well, she was my only option for survival.
I stood on her doorstep and told her everything that had happened to me. With open arms, she welcomed me into her home, offering me the warmth and stability I desperately craved.
“You have a bright future ahead of you, Abi,” she would say when we cooked together. “Don’t you let anyone extinguish that fire.”
Aunt Maria housed me throughout my school years and then again during medical school. She was a spinster, so it was always just us and her cat, Mimi. With her unwavering support and encouragement, I balanced school with part-time jobs, paving the way for my studies.
Cat playing with string lights | Source: Pexels
Years later, during a routine shift in the ER, fate pitched me a curveball. On a busy night, Linda was brought in bleeding from her temple because she had been in an accident. A driver had shot through a red light, running into Linda’s car.
“People are so reckless,” she said when I stitched her up, not recognizing me. “I’m grateful that I’m alive — if I could get my hands on that driver…” her voice trailed off.
“Do you think kicking out a fifteen-year-old girl is reckless, too?” I asked, carefully looking at her wound.
Linda gasped.
“Abigail?” she whispered.
“It’s Doctor Abigail Parker now, but yes, it’s me. Hold still,” I said as she winced.
“I’m so sorry. You disappeared, and I didn’t know where to start looking for you,” she stammered.
Linda had aged but was still the same person — cold and callous to the bone.
“It’s fine,” I said. “I made it to where I need to be. Let me finish stitching you up, and you can leave.”
Doctor sitting close to patient | Source: Pexels
Every part of me wanted to kick and scream and tell Linda how much she had hurt me, but I couldn’t do it.
That wasn’t me anymore — I was a doctor who had taken an oath, and now, Linda was my patient.
I finished with the stitches and sent her off on her way. Admittedly, I was happy to see her, only for her to know that I had survived, but I was also glad when she left.
Besides, Linda seemed to be getting her share of karma. Maybe the accident was just the beginning of fate paying her back for her wicked ways.
Doctor smiling | Source: Pexels
What would you have done if you were in my shoes at my age?
Here’s another story for you: Jill has gone her whole life knowing that her mother didn’t want her, so Jill’s father brought her up. Now, fifteen years later, a mysterious woman appears on their doorstep asking for Jill’s father. Who is she and what does she want?
Jill has gone her whole life knowing that her mother didn’t want her, so Jill’s father brought her up. Now, fifteen years later, a mysterious woman appears on their doorstep asking for Jill’s father. Who is she and what does she want?
Yesterday, my entire world turned upside down when a woman walked through the door. If I hadn’t known better, I would have thought she was just another person I hadn’t met before.
Instead, the woman who knocked on our front door was my mother.
Growing up, my Mom, Susan, didn’t want me. I was slower than most children, meeting developmental milestones later than my peers. This meant that I started walking slower and only really started talking when I was about three years old.
Instead of trying to do things differently with me — like being patient and caring, my mother declared that she couldn’t do it anymore. According to my aunt, she had said, “I wasn’t born to raise this misery.”
Little girl wiping her nose with a tissue | Source: Pexels
My aunt told me that Susan was stressed out by the thought of having to look after a child who could potentially never eat, speak, or walk on her own — this was because the doctors had said that my situation was unpredictable.
They said I could be fine in a few years or be stuck, unable to do things for myself.
My Dad, disgusted by my mother’s behavior, left her and decided to raise me by himself. My aunt, his sister, helped out whenever we needed her.
But even now, my father would never say anything wrong about my mother — he wanted me to think that she couldn’t take the pressure of being a mother and that she was only human. It was my aunt who told me the truth.
Father and daughter walking on street | Source: Pexels
Now, fifteen years later, this mysterious woman arrived on our doorstep, claiming to know my father.
“So, are you this wife?” she sneered, looking around our home as I invited her inside to wait for him.
“No,” I said, wondering how she could think that a seventeen-year-old would be married to my father.
“I’m Jill,” I said. “His daughter.”
The woman seemed to choke on her tongue.
“Are you okay?” I asked, getting her a glass of water.
“You must be kidding me,” she exclaimed, her face contorting with disbelief. “You can walk! You can talk! You’re beautiful!”
That’s when the realization dawned on me —this woman was Susan, my mother.
“Thank you, I think,” I said.
“Could I get a cup of tea?” she asked. “I have to take some medication.”
I entered the kitchen and put the kettle on, watching Susan take in her surroundings.
Person taking pills from a bottle | Source: Pexels
I couldn’t quite figure out why she was here. My aunt had told me that my mother didn’t want a child, so I shouldn’t hold onto the hope that she would come back for me one day.
But here she was, just sitting in our living room.
What if she did come back for me? I thought to myself. Maybe she wants a relationship now.
Of course, that wasn’t the case.
My father walked in, happily humming to himself until he saw Susan sitting in his armchair, sipping her tea.
“What are you doing here, Susan?” he spat, a testament to years of resentment.
Susan, composed and visibly shaken, revealed her true motive. The reason for her visit had nothing to do with a reunion like I had hoped but everything to do with needing a lifeline.
She was sick, and she desperately needed a liver transplant. She had contacted all her relatives, hoping for someone to be a match but nobody was.
Finally, she remembered I was still around and came to us as a last resort. She hoped that I would be the answer to her prayers. She wanted me to do a blood test.
Vials of blood | Source: Pexels
“You want me to be your donor?” I asked, my voice trembling with disbelief and anger.
Why did I think that she would want to reconsider with me? She came over because she had no other choice.
“I will leave it up to you, Jill,” my father said. “But you are not obligated to save the woman who had once declared you were a misery to her.”
That statement alone revealed how little my father thought of Susan — usually, he tried to soften the blow and speak nicely about her, but this was entirely different.
I have to make a decision soon. On one hand, there is a mother who never wanted me but now needs me to survive. On the other hand, I’d love to help a woman in need, but at what cost? The surgery is invasive and terrifying to me.
Girl sitting and thinking | Source: Pexels
If you were me, what would you do?
Here’s another story for you: A young brother and sister interrupt a wedding ceremony, clinging desperately to the bride and calling her “Mom.” She appears not to know who they are, but their shocking appearance reveals a hidden family secret that finally comes to light.
