My mom left me something to build my future. By the time I reached for it, someone else had already taken it — and karma was just getting started. My name is Iven.
I’m 19, and I don’t even know how to start this without my hands trembling. What happened to me feels like something out of a dark movie, the kind where karma comes hard. I’ve never shared anything personal online before, but I’m mad and worn out.
So, if you’re listening, thanks for being here. My life used to be good. It wasn’t perfect, but I had a mom who loved me more than anything.
Her name was Olyse. She cooked mac and cheese from scratch on Fridays, couldn’t stand rainy days, and always kissed my forehead before bed, even when I pretended I was too grown for it. She was my everything.
She died when I was 9. Breast cancer. It was quick and cruel.
One day, she was hurrying me to soccer in her beat-up Subaru, and a few months later, I was standing by her hospital bed, holding her chilly hand and trying not to cry because she told me I had to stay tough. Before she passed, she set up a trust for me with $25,000 to be given when I turned 18. One night, she told me softly, “Use it for college, or your first place, or something that makes you proud.
That money is for you, baby.”
My dad was there too, agreeing with a nod. He promised he’d protect it. I believed him.
Back then, I still believed in people. For a while, it was just me and Dad. He was always working, but he tried.
I could tell he was hurting too, but he always showed up for my science fairs or to drive me to sleepovers. Then, when I was about 11, he met Vynith, and everything changed. Vynith had a smile that made people think she was warm.
She always knew the right words, complimenting my hair, asking about school, and bringing over brownies. She acted like the perfect stepmom like she was born for it. I wanted to believe she could make Dad happy again.
I wanted to believe I could be happy again, too. But life doesn’t always go the way we wish it would. They got married a year later.
That’s when her true self showed. At first, it was subtle. She started taking over the house, tossing out my mom’s stuff, and telling Dad it was “time to move on.” Then came her son, Joryth.
He was my age, but everything about him oozed entitlement. He walked into our lives as if he owned the place. Suddenly, everything was about Joryth: his favorite meals, football games, and his brand-new iPhone.
I was still wearing old jeans and hand-me-down hoodies while he swaggered around in designer shoes. But I didn’t complain, at least not at first. I kept thinking it was short-term.
Then my dad died of a heart attack. I was 15. I still remember that morning.
Vynith screamed so loud it made my ears buzz. I ran into the hallway and saw the paramedics wheeling him out, his face pale and still. Just like Mom.
It felt as if the floor had cracked open again. After that, everything crumbled quickly. Vynith became my legal guardian, and let’s just say she stopped acting like she cared.
She didn’t say it directly at first, but it was obvious. She started calling me “that boy” instead of my name. Joryth became her entire world.
The story doesn’t end here — it continues on the next page.
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