It was a sunny day in mid-June when Jake, my stepson, arrived. I’m Lisa, a woman in my mid-40s, married to Mark. We have two children together, 8-year-old Emma and 6-year-old Noah. Mark has another son, Jake, from his first marriage.

Jake, now 16, visited every few years. He used to be sweet and polite, but this summer felt different. I hoped it was just teenage angst.

“Hi, Jake! How was the trip?” I greeted him warmly.

“Fine,” Jake mumbled, barely making eye contact.

Mark hugged his son. “Great to see you, buddy!”

Emma and Noah ran up to Jake. “Hi, Jake! We missed you!” Emma said with a bright smile.

Jake shrugged. “Yeah, hey.”

I noticed Jake’s disinterest but chose to stay optimistic. I wanted this summer to be special.

A week into Jake’s stay, I noticed a change. He was no longer the polite boy I remembered.

“Mom, Jake won’t let us play in the living room,” Noah complained.

Emma added, “He’s always on his phone or with his friends.”

I sighed. “I’ll talk to him.”

“Jake, can you keep it down? Your siblings need to sleep,” I said one night.

Jake rolled his eyes. “Whatever.”

The next morning, the living room was a mess. Empty pizza boxes, soda cans, and crumbs were everywhere.

“Jake, clean up your mess,” I demanded.

“Why should I? It’s not my house,” Jake snapped back.

It was late afternoon, and the sun was casting a warm glow through the kitchen windows as I finished tidying up the counters. Emma and Noah were supposed to be playing in the backyard. I hadn’t heard them for a while, so I decided to check on them. As I walked past Jake’s room, I heard Emma’s voice.

“Why do I have to do this?” she asked, her voice small and tired.

Curious and concerned, I pushed open Jake’s bedroom door gently and peeked inside. What I saw made my blood boil. Emma, my sweet 8-year-old daughter, was on her hands and knees, picking up dirty clothes and trash from Jake’s floor.

The room was a disaster zone. Clothes was strewn everywhere, empty snack wrappers, and a lingering smell of sweat and old pizza. Jake was lounging on his bed, scrolling through his phone without a care in the world. He barely looked up when I entered.

“Emma, what are you doing?” I asked, trying to keep my voice calm.

Emma looked up at me, her eyes wide and a bit teary. “Jake told me I had to clean his room,” she said softly.

I turned to Jake, struggling to keep my anger in check. “Jake, why is Emma cleaning your room?”

Jake finally looked up from his phone, a smirk on his face. “She wanted to help,” he said nonchalantly.

I knelt down next to Emma and gently took her hands, which were dirty from picking up after her brother. “Emma, you don’t have to clean Jake’s room. Come with me, sweetie.”

Emma hesitated, looking between me and Jake. “But Jake said—”

“I don’t care what Jake said,” I interrupted, my voice firmer now. “You don’t have to do his work. Let’s go.”

As I helped Emma stand up, Jake rolled his eyes. “She’s fine, Lisa. Why are you making such a big deal out of this?”

I stood up, glaring at Jake. “It is a big deal, Jake. You’re being lazy and disrespectful. Emma is your sister, not your maid.”

Jake shrugged, clearly unconcerned. “Whatever. She doesn’t mind.”

Emma clung to my hand, her eyes still wide with a mixture of confusion and fear. “I don’t like cleaning his room, Mom,” she whispered.

I squeezed her hand reassuringly. “You don’t have to, Emma. You’re not responsible for Jake’s mess.”

One weekend, Mark and I planned to visit friends out of town. We decided to leave the kids with Jake.

“Jake, you’re in charge. No parties, and take care of Emma and Noah,” I instructed before leaving.

“Yeah, yeah,” Jake muttered.

When we returned Sunday evening, the house was a disaster. Beer bottles and trash littered the floor.

“Jake! What happened here?” I shouted.

Jake sauntered in, looking unbothered. “Just a little get-together.”

Mark looked around, worried. “Where are Emma and Noah?”

Emma and Noah came out of the closet, looking frightened. Emma’s face was streaked with tears.

“He locked us in there all night!” Emma cried.

My heart broke. “Why would you do that, Jake?”

“They were annoying my friends,” he said nonchalantly.

Mark, looking uneasy, said, “Jake, that’s not okay.”

“Do something about it, Mark!” I demanded.

Mark sighed. “Jake, you can’t do this. Apologize to your sister.”

Jake rolled his eyes. “Sorry, Emma.”

“That’s it?” I yelled. “He needs to be punished!”

“We’ll talk about this later,” Mark said, avoiding my gaze.

I couldn’t believe Mark’s inaction. It felt like a betrayal.

The next day, I found money missing from my purse. “Jake, did you take my money?”

Jake shrugged. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

I decided to teach him a lesson. I bought fake money from a novelty shop and put it in my purse, setting a trap. I had enough of his behavior and it was time for a change.

After planting the fake money in my purse, I carefully monitored Jake. It didn’t take long. That afternoon, I saw him sneak into my room and rifle through my bag.

“Gotcha,” I whispered to myself.

I called my friend, Officer Mike. “Mike, I need your help with a little plan.”

“Sure, Lisa. What’s going on?”

I explained the situation, and Mike agreed to help. We set up the plan to teach Jake a lesson he wouldn’t forget.

The next day, Jake told me he was going out with his friends. Perfect timing.

“Have fun, Jake,” I said, trying to keep my tone casual.

I followed him discreetly to the café where he and his friends were hanging out. I watched from a distance, waiting for the right moment.

Mike entered the café in uniform, looking serious. He approached Jake’s table.

“Excuse me, son. I need to talk to you,” Mike said.

Jake looked confused. “What? Why?”

Mike pulled out one of the fake bills. “This money looks fake. Where did you get it?”

Jake’s face turned pale. “I… I don’t know. I didn’t do anything.”

“Stand up,” Mike ordered. “You’re coming with me.”

Jake stood, trembling. His friends watched in shock, whispering among themselves.

“Is this a joke?” one of Jake’s friends asked.

“No joke,” Mike said sternly. “Counterfeit money is a serious offense.”

I recorded the whole scene from outside, capturing Jake’s humiliation. He was on the verge of tears.

I walked into the café, acting surprised. “What’s going on here?”

Mike looked at me. “Ma’am, do you know this boy?”

“Yes, he’s my stepson. What’s happening?”

“We found him using counterfeit money,” Mike explained.

“Oh no, there must be a mistake!” I said, pleading. “Please, he’s a good kid. Can’t we sort this out?”

Jake looked at me with wide, teary eyes. “Please, Lisa, help me!”

Mike hesitated, then sighed. “Alright, since it’s his first offense, I’ll let him go with a warning. But next time, there will be serious consequences.”

“Thank you, Officer,” I said, feigning relief.

Jake hugged me tightly. “Thank you, thank you! I’ll never do anything like this again, I promise.”

We left the café, and once we were a safe distance away, I showed Jake the video.

“Jake, if you continue to behave like this, I’ll show this video to all your friends.”

Jake’s face fell. “You… you did this?”

“Yes, and it was for your own good. You need to understand that your actions have consequences.”

“I’m sorry, Lisa. I really am,” Jake said, looking genuinely remorseful.

From that day on, Jake’s behavior changed. He started helping around the house, treated Emma and Noah with respect, and even apologized to them.

“Hey, Emma, Noah, want to play a game?” Jake asked one evening.

“Sure!” Emma replied, surprised but happy.

Mark noticed the change too. “Jake’s different lately. What did you do?”

“Just gave him a little wake-up call,” I said with a smile.

The peace in our household was restored, and I felt a sense of satisfaction. It wasn’t easy, but it was worth it. I was committed to maintaining a respectful family environment, and it seemed like Jake finally understood the importance of that.