When my stepmother threw a party at my late mother’s sacred lake house—using stolen keys—I was ready to confront her. But karma beat me to it.
That house wasn’t just property; it was my mom’s soul. When Carla mocked it, trespassed, and laughed with friends over wine, she crossed a line. What she didn’t know? I had security cameras.
With clear footage, texts, and a fierce attorney, I took her to court. She lost—her case, her lawyer, and eventually my dad.
Now, the lake house is mine alone again. Mom’s memory stays protected, not by revenge—but by justice.
