Every Sunday at exactly 5 p.m., like clockwork, my stepson Josh came back from his mom’s house. And every single Sunday, without fail, he would walk through the front door, barely say a word, kick off his shoes, and disappear straight into his bedroom.
No smile. No stories. No hugs. Just silence.
It was like watching a light switch flip. Our bright, funny, and talkative ten-year-old boy turned into someone else—quiet, cold, and distant. A stranger. And what scared me the most? He never, ever talked about what happened at his mom’s place.
I noticed it first, of course. Moms—or stepmoms like me—tend to notice the small things. The way he stopped laughing. The way he wouldn’t make eye contact anymore. The way he flinched when we asked about his weekend.
“Do you think he’s okay, Patrick?” I finally asked my husband one evening as we chopped vegetables in the kitchen together.
Josh had just come back from Linda’s house, and today he was more moody than usual. He barely looked at us and had locked himself in his room without even saying hello.
Patrick shrugged and kept slicing potatoes. “Honestly, I think he’s perfectly fine. Linda does like to push him, though. I’m sure she gave him a mouthful about studying and school again.”
“Yeah, I get that,” I said. “But I do the same thing, and he doesn’t react like this. He’ll maybe roll his eyes or crack a joke, but his mood doesn’t swing like this. Something’s not right. But again, I know bio-mom has the trump card over step-mom. So, I’m not going to say anything.”
Patrick stopped chopping and gave me a tired look. “Olivia, if you want to talk to him, just go for it. Walk up to him and ask whatever you want. But I’ll talk to him after dinner, too.”
That’s what I needed to hear. I just wanted to make sure Josh was okay. Because it wasn’t always like this.
When he first came to live with us—because we were closer to the school he wanted to attend—he was like a beam of sunshine in our home. He used to tell us stories about everything: school, lunch, even the weird dreams he had. He asked questions non-stop. He even tried to bond with me. We’d bake cookies for hours, just the two of us, talking and laughing like we’d known each other forever.
But that happy kid was slowly disappearing, one Sunday at a time.
We tried everything. Cooking his favorite meals. Hosting game nights. Even putting together fun movie nights with popcorn and his favorite ice cream. But no matter what we did, nothing cheered him up after a weekend with Linda.
That night, I waited anxiously as Patrick talked to Josh outside near the firepit. I stayed in the kitchen but kept an ear out.
“It was fine, Dad,” I heard Josh say. “Mom was her usual self, I guess.”
“But then why are you so sad?” Patrick asked gently. “Did something happen? Your mom is great, but I know she’s a lot to deal with.”
“It’s draining being there, Dad,” Josh admitted. “But I know how important it is for me to keep spending weekends with Mom.”
“It is important,” Patrick said. “But if it’s becoming too much, we can always change it to every second week. Okay?”
I saw Josh think about it for a moment, but then his whole face darkened.
“I’m going to bed,” he muttered. “Good night!”
He came stomping into the kitchen. I thought he’d just rush past me like usual. But instead, he suddenly stopped and hugged me. Tight.
“Good night, Liv,” he whispered, then disappeared into his room.
My heart broke right there. I wanted to stop him. I wanted to beg him to talk to me. But I didn’t. I didn’t want to push. I knew how complicated it was, growing up in two houses, having two moms. But something about this wasn’t normal. Something more was happening. And not knowing was eating me alive.
Then, last weekend, everything changed.
Patrick had gone grocery shopping with a long list I gave him. I was curled up on the couch, sipping my tea, waiting for Josh to get home from Linda’s. At exactly 5 p.m., I heard the sound of her old beat-up car pull into our driveway.
Now, a few months back, we’d had some issues in the neighborhood—teenagers stealing packages, vandalizing cars. So Patrick had installed a high-tech security system. If there was too much movement on the porch, the video feed would pop up on our TV.
“It’s going to make us feel safer, Liv,” Patrick said when he installed it. “There’s also an app for our phones. It’ll do the same thing.”
Honestly, I had rolled my eyes. But now I was grateful.
As I took another sip of tea, the TV feed suddenly switched from my cooking show to the live porch camera.
There they were. Linda and Josh.
“Here’s your cookies,” Linda said, handing him a container. “I’ll see you next week. And you know what you have to do…”
Josh’s face dropped.
He didn’t answer right away.
“Mom, I don’t want to,” he finally said.
I sat straight up. My stomach twisted.
“You have to tell them the truth, Mom!” Josh said. His voice cracked. “I hate lying to Dad. And they know something’s wrong. If Dad finds out you’re making me steal from his house every week, he’ll be so mad!”
“Stealing?” I whispered. I leaned in closer, hardly breathing.
“And what about Liv?” Josh added, nearly shouting. “She’s going to notice her stuff is missing! All the sanitary towels and lotions… Mom, I can’t keep doing it!”
My heart stopped. I had noticed things going missing. I’d thought I was being forgetful, or clumsy. But now the truth was pouring out—and it made me feel sick.
“So what, Josh?” Linda snapped. “They’ve got plenty of money. I told you, I need one of Olivia’s necklaces or rings next time. If I can pawn something nice, I’ll cover my debt.”
I blinked, stunned.
Linda wanted him to steal my jewelry?
“And try to get some money too, honey,” she added. “Your dad keeps a wad of cash in his sock drawer for emergencies. Helping your mom out is an emergency.”
I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. She was using her own son, manipulating him to steal from his own family.
The weight of it hit me like a truck. No wonder Josh had been acting so strange. He was carrying this horrible secret, probably scared and ashamed.
I didn’t think. I stood up, walked to the front door, and flung it open.
“Linda, hello,” I said coldly.
Josh looked up at me, startled. “Hi, Liv,” he mumbled, stepping forward to hug me.
Linda just glared. Her mouth was pressed into a tight line.
“I heard everything,” I said sharply.
Josh hugged me tighter, his body trembling.
“What’s going on, Linda?” I asked. “Tell me the truth, or I’m calling Patrick right now. Josh, sweetheart, go to your room, okay?”
Linda’s eyes widened at the mention of Patrick. She sighed and gave in, spilling her story in one fast, shaky breath. She talked about her debt, her unpaid rent, and how desperate she’d been.
“I didn’t know what else to do,” she said, her voice bitter and low. “I’m behind on everything. I can’t even afford to take care of myself, let alone Josh.”
“I’ll give you the money,” I said. “But Josh stays here until you get your life back in order. And you will not ask him to steal another thing. Do you understand me?”
“He’s my son, Olivia,” she snapped.
“Yes,” I said. “Your son, who you’ve been teaching to lie and steal. If you ever use him like that again, I will press charges. I’m serious. Take the money, fix your life, and stay away from Josh until you can be a mother again.”
Linda paused, then nodded. Quietly.
“Thank you,” she muttered.
“I’ll transfer the money tonight,” I said. “Send me a list of what you need.”
She nodded again, then left without another word.
I stepped back inside, trying to figure out how to tell Patrick all of this. Before I could even sit down, Josh ran into my arms, sobbing.
“Thank you,” he cried. “I didn’t want to steal! I’m so sorry, Liv!”
I held him tight, tears in my own eyes. “Oh, sweet boy. It’s okay. I’m here now. We’re going to fix this. And I promise, you won’t have to carry this alone anymore.”
