Every Sunday at 5 p.m., like clockwork, my stepson Josh came back from his mom’s place. And just like that, every single Sunday, he walked through our front door, kicked off his shoes, and went straight to his room—without saying a single word.
It was like someone flipped a switch in him. Our cheerful, talkative ten-year-old suddenly turned into a quiet, grumpy stranger.
And the most frustrating part? He never talked about what happened over there. Not a word.
I always wanted to ask him why he seemed so down, but I didn’t want to push him. Even though Josh had accepted me as his stepmother, I still didn’t know how much space I truly held in his heart.
One night, while making dinner with my husband, I couldn’t keep it in anymore.
“Do you think he’s okay, Patrick?” I asked as I chopped vegetables.
Patrick was slicing potatoes beside me. “Honestly, I think he’s perfectly fine,” he said. “Linda does like to push him, though. I’m sure she gave him a mouthful about studying and school.”
“I mean, I get that,” I said. “But I do the same thing, and he doesn’t react like this with me. He might joke around or roll his eyes, but he’s still himself. This is different. But hey… I know bio-mom has the trump card over step-mom. So I’m not saying anything.”
Patrick sighed. “Olivia, if you want to talk to him, just go for it. Just walk up to him and ask him whatever’s on your mind. But I’ll talk to him after dinner, too.”
That’s what I wanted. I just wanted someone to check in with Josh and make sure he was really okay. Because honestly? This wasn’t how it used to be.
When Josh first moved in with us—because our house was closer to the school he loved—he was all smiles and laughter. He talked our ears off about his day. He asked endless questions. He even took the time to get to know me. We used to bake cookies together, just the two of us, flour in our hair and laughter in the air.
But lately, it was like that bright little boy had disappeared.
Now we had to work hard just to get him to crack a smile after he returned from Linda’s. We’d make his favorite meals. We’d play video games with him. We even had movie nights with popcorn and candy just to lift his mood.
Nothing worked.
So after dinner, Patrick took him outside to chat while roasting marshmallows over a little firepit in our backyard. I stayed inside, pretending to clean up, but really I was straining to hear what they were saying.
“It was fine, Dad,” Josh said flatly when Patrick asked about the weekend. “Mom was her usual self, I guess.”
“But then why are you so sad?” Patrick pressed gently. “Your mom’s great, but I know she’s a lot to deal with sometimes.”
“It’s draining being there, Dad,” Josh admitted. “But I know it’s important for me to keep spending weekends with Mom.”
“It is important,” Patrick said. “But if it’s becoming too much, we can always change the arrangement to every second week. Okay?”
Josh was quiet for a moment, thinking. But then his face shifted. His brows pulled together like storm clouds rolling in.
“I’m going to bed. Good night,” he said suddenly.
He came back inside and walked toward the kitchen. I thought he was going to rush past me like usual, but he stopped. He wrapped his little arms around me in a tight hug.
“Good night, Liv,” he said softly, then walked away to his bedroom.
My heart ached. I wanted to stop him right there and beg him to tell me what was really going on. But I didn’t. I wanted to respect his privacy. Blended families are tricky, and kids carry so many emotions. Still, this wasn’t just about adjusting to two homes. Something deeper was bothering him, and it was tearing me up not knowing what it was.
Then, last weekend, everything changed—and not in the way I expected.
Patrick had gone out to get groceries. I was home alone, sitting on the couch, waiting for Josh to return from Linda’s. Right around 5 p.m., I heard the rumble of Linda’s beat-up old sedan pulling into the driveway.
A while back, our neighborhood had some petty thefts—teenagers sneaking around stealing mail or packages. So Patrick installed a top-notch security system with cameras that fed live footage to our TV and our phones.
“It’ll help us feel safer, Liv,” he said proudly when he finished setting it up.
I was sipping tea, casually watching a cooking show, when the channel suddenly switched. The door camera had been triggered. The screen now showed our front porch.
There they were. Linda and Josh. Standing outside.
“Here’s your cookies,” Linda said, handing him a container. “I’ll see you next week. And you know what you have to do…”
Josh’s shoulders dropped. His whole face fell.
“Mom, I don’t want to,” he said softly.
I leaned in, my heart thudding.
“You have to tell them the truth, Mom!” Josh’s voice cracked. “I hate lying to Dad. They’re starting to notice something’s off. If Dad finds out you’re making me steal from his house every week, he’ll be so mad!”
I froze.
“Stealing?” I whispered. My pulse pounded in my ears.
“And what about Liv?” Josh added. “She’s going to figure it out. Her stuff keeps going missing. Sanitary towels, lotions… Mom, I can’t keep doing this.”
My heart dropped. I knew I wasn’t crazy. I had noticed things disappearing—little things, but often enough to raise suspicion. And now I knew the awful truth.
What else had she made him take?
“So what, Josh?” Linda snapped. “They have more than enough money. I told you, I need some of Olivia’s jewelry next time. If I can pawn one of her fancy necklaces or rings, I’ll have enough to cover my debt.”
“What the—?” I gasped.
“And try to get some cash, honey,” Linda continued in a cold voice. “Your dad keeps some money in his sock drawer for emergencies. Well, this is an emergency. Helping your mom is an emergency.”
I couldn’t take it. She was manipulating her own son—using him like a puppet. Josh didn’t want to do this. He was scared and torn. No wonder he’d been acting like a ghost in our house.
Without thinking, I shot up from the couch and marched to the front door.
“Linda,” I said sharply as I opened it.
Josh jumped. “Hi, Liv,” he said nervously, trying to hug me.
Linda just gave me a cold, tight-lipped smile.
“I heard everything,” I said, keeping my voice firm.
Josh clung to me, his breathing shaky and fast.
“What’s going on, Linda?” I demanded. “Tell me right now, or I’m calling Patrick. Josh, honey, go to your room for a few minutes, please.”
At the mention of Patrick, Linda caved fast. She poured out her mess of a story—how she was deep in debt, couldn’t pay her rent, and couldn’t afford anything for herself or Josh. She was desperate and scared.
“I’ll give you the money to get back on your feet,” I said firmly. “But Josh stays here until you do. And you are never to ask him for anything again. Do you understand me?”
“He’s my son, Olivia,” she said coldly.
“Yes. Your son. Who you’ve been forcing to steal. One more move like this, and I will press charges. Take the help and pull yourself together. Josh deserves better.”
Linda’s face fell. Her pride deflated. She nodded slowly, understanding how serious I was.
“Thank you,” she muttered.
“I’ll send the money tonight,” I told her. “But I want a list of exactly what you need it for.”
She nodded again and turned away, walking to her car without another word.
I shut the door and leaned against it, trying to catch my breath. Just as I did, I felt arms wrap around me.
“Thank you,” Josh whispered, tears falling down his cheeks. “I didn’t want to steal. I didn’t know what else to do. I’m so sorry.”
“Oh, sweet boy,” I said, hugging him tight. “It’s okay now. I’m going to help your mom, and we’re going to fix this the right way. You’re not alone anymore. I promise.”