Inever thought my mom would need me to step in and help her. After all, she’s always been an independent person. That was until my new stepfather showed his true colors.
I am 26 years old, my mom is 49, and we have both recently had to rethink how much we trust the people closest to us.
A full trash bag | Source: Midjourney
To give some context, my dad died when I was 15 and my mom, Lydia, spent almost a decade alone.
She was the kind of sweet but strong woman who wore pink lipstick to the supermarket and pearl hairpins in her curls while checking bills at the kitchen table.
She worked, kept the apartment nice, went to the movies, but never went out with anyone. She’d say, “I’ve already had my great love, sweetheart,” and change the subject.
A well-maintained condominium | Source: Midjourney
Then, a little over a year ago, she met Keith. A charming man in his fifties, the kind who brings flowers on the second date and insists on walking on the outside of the sidewalk.
He fixed her leaky sink without charging her, carried her heavy shopping bags, and always stood up when she entered the room. My friends joked that he was like a character in a Hallmark movie, and honestly, I agreed.
He called me “little one” and “darling” and never forgot to ask me about my job, my car, or the endless list of plants I tried not to kill.
When he proposed to me after six months, it seemed fast, but my mom was radiant like I’d never seen her before.
A man proposing marriage to a woman | Source: Midjourney
I told myself that he deserved it and that I should stop being so paranoid.
***
The wedding was small, pretty, and a little cheesy.
He cried during his vows, promising to love her, protect her, and build a life together. My mom wore a fitted cream-colored dress and her favorite pink lipstick, and from the way he looked at her, I truly believed he meant it.
If this were a movie, the credits would have rolled. Real life went on.
A small chapel for weddings | Source: Midjourney
And right after the honeymoon, things started to seem strange.
At first they were small things I could have ignored if they hadn’t kept piling up. Every time I called her, I suddenly had to hang up.
I would say to her, “Hi, Mom, how’s married life?”, and she would laugh, but it was a forced laugh.
“Oh, darling, I’m busy,” she said.
“Busy with what?”
There was a pause, then a noise, and Keith’s faint voice in the background, as if he were lurking.
A worried woman talking on the phone | Source: Midjourney
Then he would hurry to hang up.
Her social media went silent, which, to my mom, was strange. She used to bombard me with selfies of her outfit of the day and pictures of her plants.
Suddenly, there was a deathly silence, and there was only a photo of a casserole dish that Keith had made.
When I finally insisted on making a video call, she positioned the camera at an oddly low angle.
No pink lipstick. No pearl hair clips.
A casserole dish | Source: Midjourney
Just a pale face and a gray sweatshirt.
“You look tired,” I told her.
“Oh, I’m just simplifying my life,” he replied, as if he were reading from a script.
The thing about people you love is that you can hear the tone of their voice change before you can even see them.
His was shrinking.
My instincts started screaming. So I stopped asking for permission and drove the three hours to her apartment on a Saturday morning.
A woman driving a car | Source: Midjourney
I sent him a message when I was five minutes away:
“Surprise visit, don’t be scared.”
He didn’t answer. I still had my key.
Entering that apartment was like entering a stranger’s house with the skin of my childhood.
The photos on the wall were the same, but the place smelled of bleach and a strong men’s deodorant, instead of my mom’s floral perfume.
A woman walking through a door | Source: Midjourney
I heard loud voices in the living room and my whole body froze. I turned the corner and froze.
My mother was barefoot on the wooden floor, her hair loose, clutching her robe with both hands as if it were armor. Her face was stained, her eyes wide open, and she was breathing shallowly.
Keith was standing by the sofa with a large black garbage bag in one hand and his makeup bag in the other.
I saw him tip over the toiletry bag and empty everything into the trash bag as if it were real garbage.
A black garbage bag full of dresses | Source: Midjourney
“Keith, what are you doing!” I yelled before my brain could react.
He turned away as if he’d been interrupted while arranging the Tupperware. Without any shame whatsoever.
“Hey, little one,” she said, as if she’d arrived early for brunch. “I’m just helping your mom finally get rid of all this nonsense.”
He shook the bag a little, satisfied.
“Now that she’s a married woman, she doesn’t need lipstick or tight dresses. They attract the wrong kind of attention.”
My mom blushed, but not in that cute way.
A man holding a black garbage bag | Source: Midjourney
“I didn’t ask him to do this,” she whispered, her gaze fixed on the floor.
Keith gestured with his hand as if she were a noisy advertisement.
“Lydia, that’s enough,” he said. “I’m doing what’s best for our marriage. A real wife doesn’t need to dress up. That’s for single women.”
Keith reached into a laundry basket and pulled out one of her floral dresses, the navy blue one that always made her walk a little more upright. He threw it in the trash bag without a second thought.
A navy blue dress with a floral print | Source: Midjourney
“Keith, stop!” I yelled, my voice bouncing off the walls.
My mom didn’t move. Her arms hung uselessly at her sides, and I realized it wasn’t the first time he’d done something like this.
“She should focus on cooking healthy meals, taking care of the house, behaving modestly,” Keith continued, as if reading from an instruction manual. “Not on looking like a bar girl. That’s why she’s also called in sick to work on Monday. Now she has a husband to take care of.”
My mom’s eyes filled with tears and she blinked hard, as if trying to stop them from flowing.
A woman holding back tears | Source: Midjourney
That was too much for me. Something in my chest went very, very still.
When I spoke again, my voice sounded calm, almost cheerful.
“Keith, you’re right.”
He blinked. “Pardon?”
“You’re absolutely right. It’s clear that Mom needs discipline and support to give her best.”
He straightened up, the garbage bag crunching, and his ego inflated like a balloon at a children’s party.
A woman and a man talking angrily | Source: Midjourney
“Well, I do what needs to be done,” he said.
“Exactly,” I replied. “And, frankly, I don’t think you’re going far enough.”
My mom turned her head towards me.
“What are you doing?”.
I gave him a small nod.
“Do you think so?” Keith said, trying not to sound too anxious.
“Of course,” I replied, pulling out my phone. “In fact, I’m texting Aunt Marie right now.”
A woman and a man arguing | Source: Midjourney
He froze, his hand halfway to another dress.
“Marie?” he repeated.
“Yes,” I said, keeping my tone casual. “You know how she always says women shouldn’t tempt men with makeup or dresses? She’s going to be so excited when you tell her about your mission.”
Her face twitched slightly. “What exactly are you going to tell her?”
“Oh, just explain your point of view to her,” I replied. “You know, about how wives shouldn’t dress well, work, or have hobbies.”
A man with a frightened appearance | Source: Midjourney
My mom held her breath. She realized what she was doing. Keith swallowed.
Aunt Marie is the wife of a pastor with very old-fashioned ideas, but she also has a spine of steel and a knack for controlling men. Keith knew it.
“Perhaps this is being taken out of context,” he began.
I interrupted him mercilessly.
A man and a woman arguing | Source: Midjourney
“Ah, I see. Then I’ll tell Mom’s work she’ll be back on Monday,” I added, as if I were giving the weather report. “With her entire wardrobe.”
My mom turned her head toward me. “Will you do it?”
“I’ve already started on it.”
Keith babbled like an engine without oil. “She can’t go back to work! She needs to focus on the house.”
“Don’t worry,” I said, nodding my head. “If someone has to look after the house, you can stay.”
A man with a surprised expression | Source: Midjourney
Keith looked at me as if I had spoken in another language.
“That?”.
“If you want the house to be a certain way,” I said, “you can keep it that way.”
He clenched his jaw so tightly I could hear his teeth grinding.
“Keith,” I said, dropping the sweet tone. “Since you threw out Mom’s clothes, she needs time to buy new ones. That means you can take care of the cleaning, the laundry, vacuuming, and anything else Mom had to do today. You know, the wifely chores you’re so passionate about.”
My mom’s lips twitched as if she was struggling to contain both a smile and a sob at the same time.
A man and a woman arguing | Source: Midjourney
“This is ridiculous,” Keith snapped.
“No,” I said, lowering my voice.
“What’s ridiculous is that you control the appearance of an adult woman. That you throw away her belongings. That you isolate her and call it love.”
He opened his mouth, but I didn’t give him room to make an excuse.
“Sit down,” I said.
I didn’t raise my voice. There was no need. Something in my tone of voice made him sit on the edge of the sofa, the trash bag still clutched in his fist.
A man sitting on a sofa | Source: Midjourney
“Because while you’ve been playing at being a dictator,” I said calmly, “I’ve also been talking to people.”
I reached into my bag again and this time pulled out a folder. My mom frowned, confused.
“What’s that?”.
I handed him the first page. Printed screenshots. At the top was Keith’s name, with messages in blue bubbles addressed to my cousin, who’s a real estate agent.
An envelope on a table | Source: Midjourney
The text read:
“How long does it take to put an apartment on the market? The owner wants to simplify his life and move into a house I’m buying.”
My mom put her hand to her mouth. “Keith, what is this?”
He leaned forward as if he was going to grab the paper, but I stepped between him and the document.
“It’s not what you think,” Keith said quickly.
“Really?” I asked. “Because it sounds like you were planning to sell Mom’s apartment behind her back.”
Her face took on a color she didn’t know humans could achieve.
A woman with a surprised expression | Source: Midjourney
My mom looked at him and then at me.
“Were you going to sell my house?”
“Our house,” he tried to say, but even he seemed unsure. “It was just an idea, Lydia. I was trying to simplify things, reduce your stress.”
“Taking away the place where I grew up?” I asked. “Taking her away from her neighbors, her job, her life?”
A woman with a surprised expression | Source: Midjourney
“You’re twisting everything,” Keith said.
“No, I’m raising the curtain.”
I turned to my mom.
“Mom,” I said gently, “he wasn’t simplifying. He was trying to control every aspect of your life.”
She stared at the screenshots. Then her shoulders, which had clearly been tense for months, finally relaxed. She looked at him, and I swear, something came back to her eyes.
“Go away,” he said.
An angry-looking woman | Source: Midjourney
Her voice was no longer soft.
Keith looked as if he had been slapped.
“Lydia, you’re not serious,” he said, trying to grab your arm.
I moved faster, getting between them, pushing her hand away before she could touch it.
“If you touch it again, I’ll let the whole building know what you’ve been doing.”
He stared at me, with a mixture of anger and fear in his eyes.
A man reaching out to touch a woman’s shoulder | Source: Midjourney
“You can’t just fire me like that,” Keith said.
“Look at me.”
“Pack your bags,” Mom intervened.
For a second, I thought maybe he’d try something, but then he looked back at the folder and my mom’s face. She wasn’t looking at him with fear anymore.
Mom looked at him as if he’d finally revealed the whole disguise and she didn’t like the play anymore. Keith went to his bedroom, muttering, slamming drawers, and cursing under his breath.
A woman with a tired appearance | Source: Midjourney
My mother collapsed onto the couch as if her lifeline had been severed. I knelt in front of her and took her hands.
“I’m so sorry I didn’t come sooner.”
She shook her head, and tears finally welled up in her eyes. “I thought I was being ungrateful. He kept telling me I was lucky someone loved me at my age.”
“Mom, you’re the prize here.”
We stayed like that until Keith came out with a suitcase and a backpack.
A man with two suitcases | Source: Midjourney
She stopped in the doorway, breathing heavily. “You’re going to regret this, Lydia. And so will you, little one.”
“Keith?” I asked.
He looked at me angrily.
“If you cause us any problems, we will take more serious measures,” I told him.
He clenched his jaw and left.
A man with a suitcase in his hand | Source: Midjourney
I locked the door behind him. My mom let out a shaky laugh that turned into a sob halfway through.
“I thought I was losing my mind,” she said. “He made everything seem reasonable when I was tired.”
“That’s how people like him act.”
***
During the following week, I stayed with her.
We went through what he had thrown away and salvaged what we could. I took her shopping for new dresses, new lipstick, and new perfume. She returned to work that Monday, as I had promised, a little shaky, but with her head held high.
An elegantly dressed woman | Source: Midjourney
Her coworkers surrounded her with hugs and coffee. One of them handed me a therapist’s card. My mom stared at it for a long time before nodding.
“Make an appointment,” he said.
And so I did.
She started going once a week, then twice. She joined a book club at the library because her therapist asked her what she had stopped doing that used to make her happy.
Apparently, the answer was to read romance novels and wear too much perfume.
The first time she went back to therapy with pink lipstick, she sent me a selfie from the parking lot.
A woman wearing pink lipstick | Source: Midjourney
“Guess who’s back,” he wrote.
Last month, she filed for divorce. I accompanied her to the lawyer’s office.
Keith tried to flood our phones with calls and text messages, claiming that I had manipulated her, that she was confused, that we were ruining everything.
She sent long paragraphs to my family about loyalty and marriage vows and how I was a bitter feminist who destroyed homes. Instead, I sent the screenshots to the family chat.
The messages about selling the apartment, the controlling messages, the list of rules I had written for my mom and that she had discreetly forwarded to me the night before I showed up.
A woman in a lawyer’s office | Source: Midjourney
Things like not wearing makeup except on Sundays, not hugging male coworkers, and not attending after-work events without him present. A long silence fell over the chat.
Then, one by one, the messages arrived.
“We had no idea.”
“We’re so sorry, Lydia.”
Even Aunt Marie sent me a private message saying, “You did the right thing, and if he contacts you again, send him to me.”
Finally, when I go to visit her, the apartment smells of her perfume again and there are books from the library piled up on all the tables.
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