My Mom Accu$ed Me Of Seducing My Stepdad And Kicked Me Out…

My dad left before I was born. No calls, no birthday cards, not even a name on my birth certificate. Growing up, I was the girl with the single mom who never smiled. My mom was always chasing something—love, maybe—but I knew early on that I wasn’t what she wanted. I was an anchor. A reminder. A burden.

When I left for college, it was like I could finally breathe. I had scholarships, part-time jobs, and a dorm room that felt more like home than our apartment ever had. I called Mom sometimes. We weren’t close, but I still tried. Then one day, she called me.

“I met someone,” she said, her voice the happiest I’d ever heard it. “We’re getting married.”

I was surprised but genuinely happy for her. After all those years of watching her cry over dead-end relationships, I hoped she’d finally found peace.

I went home for the wedding. The house looked different—cleaner, brighter. And her new husband, Tom, seemed… nice. Too nice. He smiled too much, complimented me too often. But I ignored it. I wanted to believe she’d found something real.

One evening, while Mom was out grocery shopping, Tom sat too close on the couch. He asked me if I had a boyfriend. He brushed a piece of lint off my shoulder, then let his hand linger a second too long.

“I can see where your mom gets her beauty,” he said with a smirk.

I stood up and went to my room. I didn’t sleep that night.

The next morning, I tried to tell her.

Her face changed instantly. She didn’t listen. She didn’t ask questions.

Instead, she screamed.

“You little sl*t! You always wanted to ruin things for me! Were you trying to seduce him? Was that your plan?”

I stood there, frozen, the words slapping me harder than any hand ever could.

“You’re out. Get your things and go. You’re not my daughter anymore.”

She cut off my tuition. Blocked my number. Told family I was a liar. I couch-surfed for weeks, juggling classes and work while barely affording food. But I made it. I graduated. I built a life without her.

Years passed.

No calls. No apologies. Just silence.

Then, one day, I was working as an event planner for a corporate seminar. I was setting up chairs, checking seating charts—when I heard a voice I hadn’t heard in almost a decade.

“Is that you?”

I turned around.

It was her.

Older. Thinner. Eyes filled with something I didn’t recognize—was it regret?

“Hi,” I said flatly, professional tone on instinct.

She stepped closer. “I’ve been looking for you. I— I made a mistake.”

I didn’t say anything.

“I divorced Tom. Found out he… wasn’t who I thought. He said things about you—things I didn’t want to believe, but… I was wrong.”

I waited.

“I want to make things right. Can we talk?”

I looked at her. The woman who once chose a man over her own child. Who let me walk away with nothing.

“No,” I said calmly. “You made your choice. I survived. But I’m not looking back.”

Her face crumbled. Tears welled in her eyes.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered.

I turned away, my voice steady. “I hope you find peace. But I already have.”

And I walked away—toward the life I built without her.