I always thought I would be the one to confront and discipline my stepmother if she ever disrespected my late mother’s cherished lake house.
I never imagined karma would intervene first, delivering a justice far beyond what I expected. When my mother passed away, she left me one deeply meaningful possession: a beautiful lake cottage she had bought years before she met my dad. It was her sanctuary, a place where she found peace and inspiration. Growing up, summer afternoons were often spent there—Mom would prepare simple lunches, and we’d drive to the lake. While I played by skipping stones or building sandcastles, she would paint watercolors on the shore, whispering to me that the lake held all her best thoughts, and someday, it would hold mine too.
Rainy days were no less special. We’d cuddle up with blankets on the window seat, sipping hot cocoa as she read…
