I never expected to find love after my divorce, but Todd changed everything. He adored my daughter, Meredith, and for the first time in years, I felt safe.
Then his mother arrived.
We’d just moved into our new apartment and were hosting a housewarming party when Deborah waltzed in with two giant suitcases. “I’m moving in,” she declared. “And that child’s room will be mine.”
Before I could react, she added the cruelest blow: “Your daughter from your first marriage isn’t welcome here.”
Meredith burst into tears. I was too furious to speak.
But my mother wasn’t.
Helen stood up, calm but deadly. “Deborah,” she said, “did you buy this apartment?”
“Of course not,” Deborah snapped. “But Todd—”
“Actually,” Mom cut in, “Sarah owns it. Legally. Her name is on the deed.”
The room went still. Todd looked shocked.
It was true. After my divorce, I’d been cautious. Todd and I had both saved, but the apartment was in my name alone.
Deborah’s face turned red. “This is ridiculous!”
“What’s ridiculous,” Mom said, “is thinking you can waltz in and demand a child’s room—especially after insulting her.”
Deborah turned to Todd, pleading. “You’re really going to let them—”
“Mom,” he said firmly, “you need to leave.”
She gaped. “You’re choosing them over me?”
“Every time,” Todd replied.
Humiliated, Deborah grabbed her bags and left.
We later found out she’d sold her house, assuming we’d take her in. Instead, she was stuck living with a cousin she despised.
That night, Todd hugged me. “I’m sorry I didn’t stop her sooner.”
I kissed him. “You stopped her when it counted.”
As Meredith slept peacefully in her butterfly room, I realized: Deborah had tried to break us. Instead, she’d made us stronger.
