When I married Ben, I knew his late wife Irene would always be a part of his life. I embraced my role as a stepmom to Lucas, his seven-year-old son, and soon, we were building a happy family. Lucas even started calling me “Mom,” and I thought everything was falling into place.
One night, as I tucked him into bed, Lucas whispered, “My real mom still lives here.” I dismissed it as a child’s imagination. But then strange things started happening. Toys I’d cleaned up reappeared, kitchen items returned to their old spots, and Irene’s photo moved back to its original place. It was unsettling, but I convinced myself it was coincidence.
One evening, Lucas told me, “Mom says you shouldn’t touch her things.” His words chilled me. Determined to understand, I went to the attic, where Ben kept Irene’s belongings. There, I found a hidden door leading to a small room—and inside, a woman I recognized from photos: Emily, Ben’s sister.