Every Sunday, my stepson, Caleb, returned from his mom’s house quiet and withdrawn, a shift from the joyful ten-year-old I knew. I asked my husband, Tom, to talk to him, but Caleb kept his feelings hidden. Then, our door camera’s mic caught a conversation with his biological mom that broke my heart and unveiled a shocking truth. Caleb used to make our home lively, sharing stories and helping me bake brownies. But lately, he’d come back from his mom’s, kick off his shoes, and disappear into his room. While preparing dinner, I shared my worry with Tom. “Is Caleb okay?” I asked, stirring pasta. Tom shrugged, chopping herbs. “He’s probably fine. His mom, Diane, can be pushy, maybe about schoolwork.” I frowned. “I push him too, and he’s okay. I don’t want to overstep as his stepmom, but something’s wrong.” Tom promised to talk to Caleb after dinner.
By the firepit, Tom asked Caleb about his weekend. “It was fine,” Caleb mumbled. “Mom was just Mom.” Tom pressed, “You seem down. Is it hard there?” Caleb sighed. “It’s exhausting, but I have to go.” Tom suggested fewer visits, but Caleb’s face darkened, and he ran inside, stopping to hug me tightly. “Night, Anna,” he said, heading to bed. His hug felt heavy, like he was hiding something big. Last Sunday, Tom was out buying groceries, and I waited for Caleb’s return. At 5 p.m., Diane’s car pulled up. Our door camera, installed after local thefts, switched the TV to the porch feed. Caleb and Diane stood there.
Diane handed Caleb a bag of cookies. “See you next week,” she said. “You know what’s next.” Caleb’s head dropped. “Mom, I don’t want to,” he said softly. My stomach twisted as I listened. “You need to tell them the truth,” Caleb pleaded. “I hate lying to Dad. They know something’s wrong. If Dad finds out you’re making me steal, he’ll be mad.” I froze. Stealing? Caleb added, “Anna’s noticing her stuff’s missing—her creams, her pads. I can’t do this.” I’d wondered why my things vanished. Diane hissed, “They’re loaded. Next time, grab Anna’s rings. I need to sell them for my rent.” She urged, “Check Dad’s drawer for cash. It’s for emergencies, and I’m an emergency.” I was stunned—Diane was forcing Caleb to steal.
My heart broke for Caleb, carrying this alone. I opened the door. “Diane,” I said coldly. Caleb clung to me, shaking. “I heard it all,” I said. “Caleb, go to your room.” Diane glared, but when I threatened to call Tom, she admitted her debts and struggles to support Caleb. “I’ll pay what you need,” I said. “But Caleb stays here until you’re stable, and you stop making him steal, or I’ll report you.” Diane nodded, humbled. “Thank you,” she said, promising to send her expenses. As she walked away, Caleb hugged me, crying. “I’m sorry, I didn’t want to!” he sobbed. “It’s okay,” I soothed. “We’ll help your mom and fix this.” Holding him, I wondered how to protect him and whether to tell Tom, but Caleb’s trust felt like a new beginning.
