My Stepdaughter Locked Me out of the House – Then I Found Out Why

“Let’s meet,” she interrupted.

“I’ll text you the address. Can you come now?”

“Lily…”

“Please. Just trust me.”

The line went dead.

The address came through a moment later.

I didn’t recognize it.

It wasn’t a house. Not her biological mother’s last known address. Not a friend’s place or a lawyer’s office.

Just coordinates to somewhere two towns over.

I drove there in a fog, rehearsing apologies for things I didn’t understand.

My stomach twisted the entire way.

I kept thinking about all the times I’d chosen Lily over myself. All the vacations I’d postponed. The promotions I’d turned down because they required travel.

The life I’d built around being there for a child who wasn’t legally mine.

When I pulled into the parking lot, I had to grip the steering wheel to steady myself.

It was a small salon next to a regional airport.

I sat there for a full minute, convinced I’d lost my mind.

Then I saw her.

Lily was standing near the entrance, hands shoved into her jacket pockets, shoulders hunched. She was nervous, watching the doors as if she were afraid I wouldn’t show up.

I got out of the car on legs that barely held me.

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