When I inherited my late mother’s lake house, I vowed it would remain untouched — a sanctuary in her memory.
That’s why my heart stopped when I arrived one summer afternoon to find strange cars in the driveway, loud music, and my stepmother
Carla hosting a party. My mother’s handmade pillow, embroidered with “Still waters, strong heart,” was being used as a footrest.
The house had been my mother’s pride long before meeting my father. After she passed, I kept it as she left it, visiting on anniversaries
to feel close to her. But when Dad remarried, Carla mocked my mom’s style, discarded her belongings, and belittled
her memory. Discovering her trespass at the lake house was the final betrayal — though karma was already waiting.
Unbeknownst to Carla, I had recently installed security cameras. Footage showed her unlocking the door with a stolen key,
mocking my mom’s keepsakes, and letting friends damage a stained-glass piece. Her text messages
revealed she’d planned it, calling the house a “hippie hut” and laughing about how I’d “never know.”
The evidence led to criminal charges, a civil judgment, and a restraining order. My father, heartbroken, ended the marriage.
Justice came not through anger, but through her own actions. Today, the lake house remains a place of peace, proof that karma never fails.
