Back then, my stepmother caused my parents’ divorce, but now my mother is giving her a house

More than 20 years later, my biological mother came to see me, bringing with her a land title certificate, which she gave to my stepmother—even though it was that same woman who once took my father away from her.

When I was 7 years old, my family broke apart. I remember those days clearly—every day was filled with arguments, shouting, things being broken. I would often hide in a corner of the house, covering my ears, but I still couldn’t block out the sound of my mother crying or my father’s angry roars.

Then one day, my father brought another woman home. He told me:

“Your mom and I are divorced. From now on, she is your stepmother.”

My mother went completely hysterical at that moment. She screamed and cursed at the woman:

“You shameless woman! You’re the one who destroyed my happiness. How could you do something so immoral?”

Those words were etched into my young mind. I believed that my stepmother was the reason my family was torn apart. From that day forward, I carried resentment in my heart. No matter how well she treated me, I couldn’t bring myself to forgive her.

After my parents divorced, I lived with my father and stepmother. To be fair, she took care of both of us very thoughtfully. Every day, she cleaned the house, cooked proper meals, and looked after me in every way—from food to sleep. But I couldn’t open my heart to her.

In my eyes, she was the woman who had taken away the family I once had. No matter how kind she was, I believed it was just her way of trying to win over my father.

When I was 12, I had acute appendicitis and had to be rushed to the hospital. Upon hearing the news, my stepmother dropped everything and rushed to be with me. She stayed up for several nights straight, personally cooking porridge and feeding me spoon by spoon, even helping with my personal hygiene without a single complaint.

I was moved to tears, but on the outside, I still acted indifferent. I was afraid that if I let my guard down, I’d be betraying my biological mother.

Then came a major turning point when I entered college. My father died suddenly in a traffic accident. At the funeral, my stepmother hugged me tightly and sobbed:

“My child, I’ve lost the man I loved. I know you’ve always blamed me for breaking up your family, but I couldn’t control who I fell in love with. I loved your father, and no matter what anyone says, I don’t regret the years I spent with him. And as for you, I’ve always considered you my own child.”

Those words choked me up. I realized that she was just a woman who had loved the wrong person, who found herself in the middle of a complicated love story. But in all the years that followed, she stayed by my side, supported me through college, and cared for me without ever complaining. The two of us leaned on each other to survive.

After graduating, I started working and my life gradually stabilized. I began thinking about how to repay my stepmother, wanting to give her a better life to make up for all the years she had sacrificed for me.

But just then, my biological mother appeared. After more than 20 years, she came to see me, bringing with her a land title. She handed it to my stepmother and said:

“This is a house I bought for you. Thank you for raising my child all these years. Think of this as payment for your services—please accept it.”

My stepmother shook her head and gave a sad smile.

“I don’t need a house. If the child wants to go with you, let them go. Now that you’re financially stable, they’ll surely have a better future living with you. I was planning to return to the province anyway.”

At that moment, I couldn’t stay silent any longer. I stood up and said to my biological mother:

“I’m not going anywhere. I want to stay with my stepmother—I want to repay her.”

My mother became angry.

“Why are you taking her side? She’s the one who destroyed our family!”

I looked straight into my mother’s eyes, each word cutting deep like a blade:

“When I was sick, who was there to take care of me? Who bought me new clothes, cooked every meal for me, took me to parent-teacher meetings? It was her. And you—what have you ever done for me? All these years, you never visited me even once.”

My mother broke down in tears. She hugged me tightly, her tears falling endlessly:

“I was wrong. I truly was. I’m so sorry…”

That day, the three of us sat together for the first time in so many years. There were no more accusations, no more heavy hearts. I held both my biological mother’s and stepmother’s hands and said:

“Honestly, I don’t want to lose either of you. I can have two mothers, can’t I?”

Both my mother and my stepmother burst into tears. It turns out that forgiveness is not a sign of weakness—it’s a way to free oneself. I decided to bring my stepmother to live with me, while my biological mother began visiting often, making up for the lost years.

At last, I found peace in my life after so many years of living in resentment. If I could choose again, I would still choose this path—the path of love instead of hatred.