AnnaMaria
When my mother got cancer, my father chose another woman and walked away. At eighteen, my twin brother and I became parents to our three younger siblings. Five years later, the man who abandoned us knocked on our door—and demanded something that stunned us into silence.
My name is Anna. I have a twin brother named Daniel.
When everything finally collapsed, we were barely adults. Eighteen years old. Fresh out of high school. Still arguing about dorms and student loans. Still believing that no matter how hard life got, there would be rules—someone would step in before everything broke.
We were wrong.
There were five of us kids. Daniel and me, the oldest. Then Liam. Then Maya. And finally Sophie—the baby of the family. At the time, they were nine, seven, and five years old. Loud. Curious. Always hungry. Always asking questions we didn’t know how to answer.
“Is Mom coming home tonight?”
“Why is Dad acting weird?”
“Can you come to my school early tomorrow?”
Nothing was fine. They just didn’t know it yet.
The diagnosis came on a Tuesday. I remember because Mom made pancakes that morning and apologized for burning them.
“I’ll do better tomorrow,” she said, smiling too hard.
By Friday, we were sitting in a beige doctor’s office while a man used words I hated instantly. Cancer. Aggressive. Treatment.
Daniel squeezed my knee under the table. Dad barely looked up from his phone.
Three days later, Dad gathered us in the living room.
“I’ll keep this short,” he said.
He didn’t sit down. He stood near the door—already halfway gone.
“I’ve been seeing someone,” he admitted. “For a while.”
Maya gasped. Sophie climbed into Mom’s lap. Liam stared at the floor.
“I can’t do this,” Dad continued. “I’m not strong enough to watch her get sick. I deserve happiness too.”
Daniel stood up so fast his chair tipped over.
“So you’re just leaving?” he demanded.
Dad shrugged.
“I’m moving in with her. She makes me feel alive. I can’t live in constant sadness.”
Mom didn’t cry.
Somehow, that hurt more than if she had.
“What about the kids?” I asked.
He looked at me like I was being unreasonable.
“You’re adults now. You’ll figure it out.”
Then he packed a bag.
No hugs. No promises. No plan.
The door closed, and something inside our home died with it.
After that, he vanished.
No calls. No birthdays. No money. No texts asking how treatment was going.
Nothing.
Mom faded slowly. Her voice weakened. Her body failed piece by piece. I slept in a chair beside her hospital bed while Daniel stayed home with the kids. One night, she took my hand.
“Promise me something,” she whispered.
“I promise,” I said, not even knowing what yet.
“Don’t let them take the kids away,” she said. “Keep them together.”
Daniel stood on the other side of the bed.
“We will,” he said. “I swear.”
She smiled once.
Her last smile.
Days later, we stood in a courtroom. The judge looked tired. So did we.
“Do you understand the responsibility you’re taking on?” she asked.
“Yes,” Daniel said.
“So do I,” I added.
The gavel fell.
At eighteen, we stopped being siblings who lost a mother.
We became parents.
The years that followed weren’t really years. They were survival.
Daniel and I enrolled in community college because it was close, flexible, and barely affordable. Every night, we planned life over the kitchen table.
“If I take morning classes, I’ll handle school drop-off,” I said.
“Okay,” Daniel replied. “I’ll work early and be back by three.”
“Liam has the dentist Thursday.”
“I’ll move my shift.”
Every decision revolved around the kids.
If one of us had exams, the other stayed home. If money got tight, Daniel worked construction at dawn and stocked shelves overnight. I waitressed evenings and weekends.
Sometimes we passed each other at sunrise.
“You sleeping?” I asked once.
“Eventually,” he said.
The kids never saw the fear.
They had packed lunches. Clean clothes. Birthday cakes—crooked, but real. One year, Sophie hugged me after blowing out her candles.
“This is the best birthday ever,” she said.
I turned away so she wouldn’t see me cry.
Slowly, life stabilized. Degrees finished. Steady jobs. Laughter returned to the house.
Then one Saturday morning, there was a knock at the door.
I opened it—and my stomach dropped.
My father stood there.
“Well,” he said, glancing inside, “you managed. I’ll give you that.”
Daniel stepped beside me.
“Why are you here?”
Dad sighed.
“We need to talk.”
“About what?” I asked.
He straightened his jacket.
“About what’s mine.”
“This house,” he continued. “Your mother and I bought it. After she died, it became mine.”
Daniel went rigid.
“You can’t be serious.”
“I am,” Dad said calmly. “My girlfriend and I are moving in.”
I took a slow breath.
“Okay,” I said.
Daniel turned to me in disbelief.
“Anna—what are you doing?”
“Handling it,” I replied.
Dad smiled, relieved.
“I knew you’d be reasonable.”
“When do you want to move in?” I asked.
“Tomorrow. Around two.”
“Alright,” I said. “I’ll have everything ready.”
That night, Daniel and I pulled out every document we’d ever saved.
Guardianship papers. Adoption records. Legal correspondence.
Then I remembered Mom’s voice in the hospital.
Talk to the lawyer.
The next day, Dad returned—confident.
“Well?” he asked. “I hope you didn’t waste my time.”
A man stepped forward behind us.
“Good afternoon,” he said. “I’m the family attorney.”
Dad frowned.
The lawyer laid the papers on the table.
“The deed was revised,” he said.
“The will was updated.”
“And guardianship and property transfers were legally completed.”
Dad’s face drained of color.
“She wouldn’t do that.”
“She did,” I said quietly. “Because she knew you.”
The lawyer spoke evenly.
“By abandoning your family, you forfeited your claim.”
Dad exploded.
“I’m her husband!”
“You were,” the lawyer replied.
Daniel opened the door.
“Get out.”
Dad left.
This time, no one followed him.
Life didn’t become perfect.
But it became ours.
Weeks later, we heard the woman he left Mom for had left him too.
No house. No leverage.
I didn’t feel victorious.
I felt finished.
Because karma didn’t arrive as revenge.
It arrived as truth.
And every time I unlock that door, I remember my mother—and the promise we kept.
Do you think the main character was right or wrong?
Let’s talk in the comments.
