When Calla finds a lace robe hidden in her husband’s closet, she assumes that it’s a romantic surprise. But her world turns upside down when she sees her stepmother, Lorraine, wearing it. Suspicion mounts and tensions spiral as Calla overhears Lorraine’s true scheme…
When my dad passed away last year, it felt like the house lost its soul. He’d built that place himself, a sprawling two-story home that always smelled like pine and fresh paint.
After his death, my husband, Jason, our six-year-old daughter, Emma, and I moved in to help my stepmother, Lorraine.
A couple packing | Source: Midjourney
She and my dad had been married for five years, but Lorraine made sure that everyone knew she’d been his “rock” during his final days.
“You can’t deny it, darling,” she said to me after her speech at the funeral. “Seriously, Calla, if I went on my holiday to Thailand, your father would have died by himself. All alone. Poor thing.”
Living with her, though, was like walking on a tightrope. Everything about Lorraine was sharp—her stilettos, her words, even the way she eyed Jason when she thought I wasn’t looking.
An older woman in a black dress | Source: Midjourney
But family is family, and I tried to make it work.
Until I found the robe.
It started innocently enough. I was folding Jason’s laundry, something I did a thousand times without a second thought. As I opened his closet to hang up a shirt, I noticed something out of place.
There it was, a small glossy gift bag shoved into the corner, partly hidden beneath his jackets.
A glossy gift bag | Source: Midjourney
Curiosity got the better of me. I pulled it out, my pulse quickening when I saw what was inside: a lace robe, sheer and intimate.
My first thought was that Jason had bought it for me. Christmas was around the corner, and while he wasn’t exactly the romantic type, maybe this was his way of surprising me.
I smiled at the idea of him stepping out of his comfort zone.
A lace robe on a hanger | Source: Midjourney
If only that had been the truth.
A few days later, Lorraine called me into her room. Her voice was syrupy sweet, the kind of tone that always set me on edge. She had changed the room since my father passed. It was now a maroon, velvety… something. Luxurious yet somehow seductive… I couldn’t quite find the words to describe it.
“Oh, Calla, sweetheart,” she cooed. “You won’t believe what my new boyfriend got me!”
A maroon bedroom | Source: Midjourney
New boyfriend? Lorraine hadn’t mentioned anyone else before.
When I walked in, my stomach dropped.
There she was, draped in the robe, my robe. The one I’d found in Jason’s closet. She twirled, the lace floating around her like some cruel joke.
“You like it?” she purred, smirking at my expression. “He has exquisite taste, don’t you think? And I have a pair of heels that would make it look magical.”
A smiling older woman | Source: Midjourney
I couldn’t breathe. My mind raced, piecing together a picture I didn’t want to see.
Was Jason…? No. He wouldn’t. Lorraine?
No. Never. Unless… Would he?
“Where… where did you get that?” I managed to stammer.
Lorraine’s smirk deepened.
A shocked woman | Source: Midjourney
“Oh, my boyfriend gave it to me,” she said. “I just told you, Calla! You’re not listening to a word I say, sweetheart! Don’t you worry, maybe you’ll get one too… Anyway, he’s discreet.”
My knees felt weak. Look, there could have been a logical explanation. But something felt so wrong. I stumbled out of her room, her laughter echoing behind me.
That night, I cornered Jason after reading with Emma. She had gone to sleep quickly, ready for her “Dress as your favorite character” day at school. She was going as Princess Belle.
A mom and daughter reading a book | Source: Midjourney
My heart was pounding, my hands shaking.
“Jason,” I began, my voice trembling. “I need to ask you something, and I want the truth.”
He looked up from the TV, confused.
“What’s wrong, honey?” he asked. “Hang on, let me pause this movie.”
A man lounging on a couch | Source: Midjourney
“Did you… Did you give Lorraine a robe? The lace one I found in your closet?”
Jason’s face twisted in disbelief.
“What? No way! What are you talking about?”
“She showed me a robe before dinner tonight,” I said, tears threatening to spill. “The same one I found in your closet.”
A shocked young man | Source: Midjourney
Jason’s jaw dropped.
“You think I’d buy her something like that? Are you serious right now?”
“Then how did she get it?” I demanded.
“I don’t know,” he said, running his hand through his hair.
A woman holding her head | Source: Midjourney
“I don’t know what to say,” I said.
His frustration seemed genuine, but doubt gnawed at me.
“I swear, I didn’t give her anything! Seriously, Calla. The only thing I’ve given Lorraine today was a piece of garlic bread at dinner.”
Over the next few days, I couldn’t shake the unease. Lorraine’s smug looks, Jason’s denial—it all felt like pieces of a puzzle I couldn’t solve.
A plate of garlic bread | Source: Midjourney
Then, one afternoon, as I organized Emma’s art supplies in the dining room, I heard Lorraine on the phone.
“Yes, Kerry, of course, I planted it,” she whispered. “That idiot husband of hers didn’t even notice. It’s only a matter of time before they’re at each other’s throats. Once they leave, this house will finally be mine. I’m telling you, that’s why they moved in. They want my house.”
My blood ran cold. She planned this. She had planned this!
A woman talking on the phone | Source: Midjourney
She’d planted the robe in Jason’s closet to make it look like they were having an affair. All to drive us out of the house my dad had left behind.
That night, I told Jason everything I’d overheard. His face darkened with anger, and he crunched his beer can in his fist, spilling the final contents.
“She’s trying to ruin our marriage,” he said, his voice tight. “And to think that we uprooted Emma for this? This ends now.”
An angry man | Source: Midjourney
We hatched a plan.
The next morning, over coffee and bagels, I casually mentioned to Lorraine that Jason and I were considering moving out. Her face lit up, though she tried to hide it behind a thin veil of concern.
“Oh, well, if you think that’s best…” she said, barely containing her glee.
That evening, Jason and I invited a lawyer friend over for dinner, someone Lorraine didn’t recognize. We told her he was a “realtor” helping us look for new homes, but honestly, we just wanted to figure out where we stood. Lorraine spent most of the dinner talking about how much she preferred to live alone.
Bagels on a counter | Source: Midjourney
“I’m old now,” she said, as if she were trying to convince herself. “I need my space. And I’m sure you kids need yours. Don’t you want to give Emma a baby brother or sister?”
I wasn’t sure that I wanted the house, but Jason had persuaded me to fight.
“Come on, honey,” he said. “It’s important for you to have a piece of your father’s legacy. You are his legacy, yes. But he built this with his hands. This home has been around since you were a child. You want Lorraine to have it, really?”
An older woman sitting at a table | Source: Midjourney
“I don’t know,” I said. “Honestly, I’m not sure what I want.”
A week later, we called a “family meeting” in the living room. Lorraine sauntered in, confident and smug, as if she’d already won.
Jason handed her a stack of papers.
“What’s this?” she asked, flipping through the pages.
A pile of paper on a coffee table | Source: Midjourney
“It’s the deed to the house,” Jason said calmly. “We had it reviewed, and it turns out that Calla and I are the primary beneficiaries. You don’t own this house, Lorraine. We do.”
Her face went pale.
“That’s not possible. Calla! What did you do? Your father would never leave me with nothing…”
“He didn’t leave you with nothing, Lorraine,” I said. “He left you with a lot of money. But this is my childhood home. Of course, he’d want me to have it.”
A shocked older woman | Source: Midjourney
Lorraine started to protest, but Jason cut her off.
“And before you think about pulling another stunt, know this: we’re not going anywhere. But you might want to start packing.”
“Or you can see if your boyfriend will take you in?” I said nonchalantly.
Lorraine stammered, her sharp tongue suddenly useless.
A close up of a woman | Source: Midjourney
“What? There’s no boyfriend?” I asked.
“I planned that! I staged the entire thing! There is no boyfriend, Calla. There is no cheating, which is what I wanted you to think. I wanted you to see the robe and know that… or think that something was going on.”
“I know,” I said. “I overheard you. But look, you have a week. I’ll give you that because it’s what my father would expect from me.”
“I’ll be better. I’ll do everything—the cooking, the cleaning, homework with Emma, you name it!” she begged.
An older woman covering her mouth | Source: Midjourney
“I don’t want my child around you,” I said simply. “I’m sorry, but that’s just how I feel.”
Within a week, Lorraine was gone. And I finally had peace in the home my dad had loved so much. I turned Lorraine’s bedroom into a reading room for myself, and half of it a playroom for Emma.
And that robe?
Lorraine had conveniently left it behind. I donated it to charity with the rest of the things she’d abandoned. Let someone else enjoy it because I sure as hell wasn’t keeping it.
A cozy reading room | Source: Midjourney
What would you have done?
If you’ve enjoyed this story, here’s another one for you |
I Suspected My Husband Was Cheating on Me and Followed Him One Day
When Lily and Jason’s son, Nathan, brings his fiancée home for the long weekend, Lily is excited to get to know the young woman. But during that weekend, she notices her husband acting strange. So, she tries to uncover what is going on with Jason — only to open a can of worms with secrets wriggling everywhere.
From the moment Nathan introduced us to his fiancée, I knew something was off.
It wasn’t that she wasn’t sweet or lovely, because she was. Her name was Tessa, and she’d come to Chicago with Nathan from his college in Michigan to spend a long weekend with us and meet the family.
A smiling couple | Source: Midjourney
My son and his new beau had been dating for over a year, and she’d just been a name until now. Now that she was here, I could see why my son was head-over-heels. Tessa was sharp, funny, and kind in a genuine way.
Within minutes, my eight-year-old daughter, Sophie, was practically glued to her side.
But my husband, Jason, was different that night. Usually, he’s animated and easygoing, especially around Nathan and his friends. But when Tessa was around, he was quiet, almost as if he were retreating into himself.
A smiling little girl | Source: Midjourney
It was strange. Very strange.
This work is inspired by real events and people, but it has been fictionalized for creative purposes. Names, characters, and details have been changed to protect privacy and enhance the narrative. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.
The author and publisher make no claims to the accuracy of events or the portrayal of characters and are not liable for any misinterpretation. This story is provided “as is,” and any opinions expressed are those of the characters and do not reflect the views of the author or publisher.
Someone Kept Throwing Eggs at My Husband’s Gravestone – One Day, I Saw Who It Was, and It Nearly Destroyed My Life
Every Sunday, I visited my husband’s grave to feel close to him, until I found raw eggs smashed against his gravestone. At first, I thought it was a cruel prank, but when I caught the culprit in the act, I was shattered to discover it was someone I trusted more than anyone else.
I lost my husband, Owen, one year ago. It was sudden. No warnings, no time to prepare. A heart attack stole him from me, just like that. Twenty-five years together, gone in a moment.
A crying woman | Source: Pexels
For months, I felt like I was walking through fog. Everything hurt. I tried to keep things together for our kids, but inside, I was crumbling. Every Sunday, I’d visit his grave. It became my ritual, my way of feeling close to him.
The cemetery was peaceful. Quiet. Just me, Owen, and the flowers I brought each week. It felt like I could breathe there. But three months ago, something changed.
A winter cemetery | Source: Pexels
The first time, I thought I was seeing things. Eggshells. Yellow yolk smeared across the base of Owen’s gravestone.
“Why would anyone do this?” I whispered to myself, crouching down to clean it. I kept looking over my shoulder, thinking maybe it was just kids pulling a cruel prank.
A gravestone covered in eggs | Source: Midjourney
I cleaned it, thinking it was a one-time thing. But two weeks later, it happened again. This time, there were more eggs—at least six. Broken, dripping down the stone. I cleaned it again, but my heart felt heavier.
I tried asking the cemetery staff for help.
“There’s been some vandalism at my husband’s grave,” I told the man at the desk. He looked bored, barely glancing up.
A sad woman talking to a man in an office | Source: Midjourney
“You can file a report,” he said, sliding a clipboard toward me.
“That’s it? Don’t you have cameras or something?” I asked.
He shook his head. “Not in the newer sections. Sorry.”
I filed the report anyway, but deep down, I knew it wouldn’t help.
An upset elderly woman sitting on her bed | Source: Pexels
The third time I found eggs, I cried. I didn’t even try to hide it. It wasn’t just the mess, it was the feeling that someone was targeting Owen, even in death.
“What do you want from him?” I shouted into the empty cemetery. My voice echoed back at me.
I couldn’t sleep the night before the anniversary of his death. Memories of Owen kept swirling in my mind. I could hear his laugh and feel the way he used to hold my hand when we walked.
A grieving elderly woman | Source: Pexels
By 5 a.m., I couldn’t take it anymore. I grabbed my coat and decided to go to the cemetery. The sun wasn’t up yet, and the world felt still.
As I walked toward his grave, I stopped in my tracks.
Eggshells. Fresh ones, scattered around. And a figure.
A gravestone covered in eggshells | Source: Midjourney
They were standing by the stone, holding something in their hand. An egg. I froze, my breath catching in my throat. The egg shattered against the stone, the sound sharp in the quiet morning air.
“Hey!” I yelled, my voice shaking. “What are you doing?”
The figure stiffened but didn’t turn. My heart pounded as I ran toward them.
A woman standing in front of a grave | Source: Pexels
They turned slowly, and my breath hitched.
“Madison?” My sister’s face stared back at me, pale and wide-eyed. She still had an egg in her hand, her fingers trembling.
“Why are you here?” she asked, her voice low and sharp.
“You!” I snapped. “You’ve been the one doing this!”
An angry woman | Source: Freepik
Her face twisted. “You wouldn’t understand.”
“Try me,” I said, stepping closer.
She laughed bitterly. “You think he was perfect, don’t you? The loyal husband, the loving dad. That man lied to you for years.”
“What are you talking about?” My voice cracked.
A bitter woman on a graveyard | Source: Midjourney
Madison’s eyes burned into mine. “We had an affair. Five years, Emma. Five years. He promised me everything — money, a future. But when he died, I got nothing. Not a damn cent. All of it went to you and your precious kids.”
I felt like the ground had disappeared beneath me.
“No,” I whispered. “You’re lying.”
A shocked woman on a cemetery | Source: Midjourney
“Am I?” she shot back. “Didn’t he leave everything to you? You’ve seen the will.”
I stared at her, my hands shaking. “How could you do this? To me? To him?”
Her voice turned cold. “You don’t get to judge me. He lied to both of us. He made promises he didn’t keep.”
I couldn’t speak. The words wouldn’t come.
A sad numb woman at a cemetery | Source: Midjourney
Madison dropped the egg, letting it fall to the ground. “You’ve always had everything, Emma. The perfect life, the perfect husband. Well, he wasn’t perfect.”
I watched her turn and walk away, her words echoing in my ears.
A woman walking away | Source: Midjourney
I sat on the damp ground by Owen’s grave, my mind spinning. Madison’s words were like daggers. “We had an affair. Five years.” How could she say something so vile? How could she claim that the man I had loved, trusted, and built a life with had betrayed me like that?
But the doubts started to creep in.
A thoughtful elderly woman | Source: Pexels
I thought about the times Owen had gone on last-minute business trips, always with a vague explanation. “It’s work, Em,” he’d say, giving me that easy smile. I’d never questioned him. Why would I? He was my husband.
Then there were the phone calls. He’d step outside sometimes, claiming it was “just a client,” but his voice was low, hurried.
A man talking on a phone | Source: Pexels
And Madison. She had always been close to Owen. Too close? I remembered the way she laughed at his jokes, even the ones I found annoying. The way she’d pat his arm when she thought no one was watching.
I shook my head, refusing to believe it.
An elderly woman hugging a photo | Source: Pexels
My chest ached as I stared at Owen’s name on the gravestone. “Did you lie to me?” I whispered. “Did I ever really know you?”
I barely noticed Madison storming off. She didn’t look back, and I didn’t call after her. I stayed by the grave for a long time, scrubbing away the yolk and shells with trembling hands. I cleaned it until there was nothing left but the smooth stone.
A woman scrubbing a headstone | Source: Midjourney
The next afternoon, I ran into Madison’s daughter, Carly, at the grocery store. She was holding a basket of vegetables and looked surprised to see me.
“Aunt Emma,” she said with a smile. “How are you?”
I hesitated. “I’ve been better.”
A niece talking to her aunt | Source: Pexels
Her smile faded. “It’s about the grave, isn’t it? Mom told me what happened.”
I swallowed hard. “Carly, did you know… about your mom and Owen?”
She frowned, looking puzzled. “Know what?”
“She said they… had an affair,” I said, my voice barely above a whisper.
A sad elderly woman | Source: Pexels
Carly’s eyes widened in shock. “What? No. She never said anything like that to me.”
“She claims it lasted five years. That he promised her money, but—” My voice broke, and I stopped.
Carly’s expression shifted to something between confusion and disbelief. “Wait. Mom told you that? She’s never mentioned anything about an affair. Ever. Honestly, Aunt Emma, that doesn’t sound like Uncle Owen at all.”
A thoughtful young woman | Source: Pexels
I stared at her. “Are you sure? She seemed so… certain. She said he lied to both of us.”
Carly sighed. “Mom’s been angry for years, Aunt Emma. You know that. She always said you had everything — a perfect family, a good husband, stability. She feels like she got stuck with the short end of the stick.”
“She’s jealous?” I asked, feeling a pang of guilt.
An elderly woman deep in thought | Source: Pexels
Carly nodded. “It’s not fair, but yeah. That’s how she sees it. But I never saw anything between her and Uncle Owen. Not once. And if something had been going on, I feel like I would’ve noticed.”
I bit my lip. “You’re sure?”
Carly nodded firmly. “Absolutely. Mom might be saying this just to hurt you. I hate to say it, but it wouldn’t surprise me.”
A confident young woman talking to her aunt | Source: Midjourney
I stared at her, unsure whether to feel relieved or more confused.
Carly placed a hand on my arm. “You loved Uncle Owen, didn’t you?”
I nodded, my throat tightening.
“Then hold onto that,” she said gently. “Don’t let Mom take that away from you.”
A woman hugging her aunt | Source: Pexels
Later that evening, I sat in my living room, staring at an old photo of Owen and me. He was smiling, his arm draped around my shoulders. We looked so happy.
Maybe Madison was lying. Maybe she wasn’t. I would never know for sure. But I couldn’t let her bitterness destroy my memories of Owen.
A woman looking at a photo of her husband | Source: Pexels
I thought about our kids, how much they adored their father. They deserved to remember him as the man who loved them, not as the person Madison was trying to paint him to be.
I wiped away a tear and took a deep breath.
“Goodbye, Madison,” I whispered to myself. “You’re not taking him from me.”
A hopeful woman in her living room | Source: Pexels
The next Sunday, I went back to the cemetery. I brought fresh flowers and placed them by Owen’s grave. The air was still and quiet, and for the first time in months, I felt at peace.
This work is inspired by real events and people, but it has been fictionalized for creative purposes. Names, characters, and details have been changed to protect privacy and enhance the narrative. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.
The author and publisher make no claims to the accuracy of events or the portrayal of characters and are not liable for any misinterpretation. This story is provided “as is,” and any opinions expressed are those of the characters and do not reflect the views of the author or publisher.
Leave a Reply