Reddit Stories - SUBSEQUENT to the demise of my FATHER, my STEPMOTHER evicted me at the

Episode Date: July 1, 2025

#redditstories #askreddit #aita #familydrama #eviction #stepmotherissues #inheritancestruggles #legaladviceSummary: SUBSEQUENT to the demise of my FATHER, my STEPMOTHER evicted me at the most vulnerable time, leaving me homeless and without support. Struggling to navigate the legal complexities of inheritance, I turned to Reddit for advice and shared my heartbreaking story.Tags: redditstories, askreddit, reddit, aita, tifu, familydrama, eviction, stepmotherissues, inheritancestruggles, legaladvice, homeless, support, vulnerability, legalcomplexities, inheritance, heartbreaking, story, advice, redditcommunity, sharingBecome a supporter of this podcast: https://www.spreaker.com/podcast/reddit-stories--6237355/support.

I hope you enjoy this story. Subsequent to the demise of my father, my stepmother evicted me at the age of 18 with only two sacks of possessions, resulting in my homelessness until a kind educator discovered me seeking financial assistance. On the street. Okay, I'm new to this kind of thing. I don't usually post online, but I don't know where else to turn for an opinion. Things are really bad right now.

My dad passed away a week ago. It was pretty sudden. He was sick for a few months, but we all thought he was going to get better. He didn't. The funeral was two days ago. It was the hardest day of my life. I just turned 18 last month. My birthday was quiet because Dad was already in the hospital, but he made sure to call me and sing.

My stepmom, Clara, and my dad were married for about ten years. I was eight when she moved in. We never really got along. It wasn't like big fights all the time when Dad was around, more like she just didn't really like me being there. She had her own room she liked to stay in a lot. If I was in the living room watching TV, she'd come in, sigh really loudly, and then go back to her room.

Or she'd tell me to do chores that were already done. Dad used to tell her to leave me be sometimes. The house we live in was my dad's house before he met her. My mom died when I was very little, so it's always been just me and dad, then me, dad, and Clara. All my memories are in this house. So, the funeral was Tuesday. On Wednesday morning, yesterday, Clara came into my room.

I was just sitting on my bed. I hadn't really slept. She didn't knock. She just opened the door. She said, you need to start packing your things. I was confused. I asked, packing for what? Are we moving?

I thought maybe she meant she wanted to sell the house now that dad was gone, which would be sad, but I guess I could understand. She said, no, we are not moving. You are moving. You're 18 now. You're an adult. You need to be out by the end of the week. I was shocked.

I said, what are you talking about? This is my home. Dad would never want me to leave. Clara just crossed her arms. Your dad isn't here anymore to say what he wants. I am. And I say you leave. The house is mine now.

Or it will be, once the papers are sorted. It doesn't matter. You're an adult and you need to go. I tried to stay calm. I told her, Clara, I have nowhere to go. All my things are here. I just finished high school. I was supposed to start looking for a job and apply for colleges, Dad, and I talked about it.

I don't have any money saved up. She shrugged. That sounds like a personal problem. Not my concern. You have until Sunday. If you're not out, I'll pack your things myself and leave them on the curb. I asked her why she was doing this. I said, is it because you never liked me?

She actually laughed a little. Maybe. Maybe I just want my own space. Without a moping teenager in it. Your dad spoiled you. It's time you learned about the real world. Then she said something really weird. She said, if you make this difficult, I'll make it worse for you.

You have no idea how much worse I can make it. Her eyes looked strange when she said it. It was a bit scary, to be honest. She used to get like that sometimes when Dad wasn't home. If I did something she didn't like, like leave a glass in the sink. She'd grab her hair and pull it, just for a second, then look at me like that. I just told her, I don't think this is right, Clara. This is Dad's house, and I'm his son.

She just turned and walked out. Later, I heard her on the phone with someone, laughing. I haven't started packing. I don't know what to do. I don't have any other family. My grandparents passed away years ago. My mom was an only child. Dad had a brother, my uncle, but he lives in another country, and they weren't close.

I haven't even spoken to him since I was a little kid. I wouldn't even know how to contact him. I feel like I'm being completely reasonable by wanting to stay in the only home I've ever known, especially right after my dad died. I'm willing to contribute, get a job, pay rent once I'm on my feet. I told her this when I tried to talk to her again last night. She just slammed her bedroom door in my face. So, Reddit, Ida for not wanting to leave even if I am considered an adult?

Update 1. It's been a few days since my first post. Some of you said I should look into legal rights, but I didn't even know where to start with that, and everything happened so fast. Clara gave me until Sunday. I didn't pack. I kept thinking Dad would somehow walk through the door, or Clara would change her mind. I tried talking to her again on Friday. I knocked on her bedroom door.

She yelled through the door, if you're not out by Sunday, I'm calling the police to remove you for trespassing. I asked if we could just talk, figure out a plan. She started shouting, just a stream of words I couldn't really understand, like she was just making noise. On Sunday morning, I woke up and my bedroom door was open. Clara was standing there with two big trash bags. She said, I see you haven't packed. So, I'm doing it for you.

I jumped out of bed. Clara, no. Don't touch my stuff. She just ignored me. She started pulling clothes out of my drawers and shoving them into the bags. She wasn't being careful. My school books, some photos of my dad and me, she just threw them in. I tried to stop her.

I said, please, just give me some more time. A week. I'll try to find somewhere. She turned around so fast, her face was all red. Time? You've had all. the time you're getting. You think I want you moping around here, reminding me of things? You're a grown man, act like it. Get out. She threw a bag at me. It had some of my clothes and my

laptop in it. Take this and go. The rest will be on the porch. I grabbed the bag. I was still in my pajamas. I didn't know what else to do. I went to the bathroom to change. When I came out, about ten minutes later, she was dragging another trash bag towards the front door. My other bag, the one with my laptop, was already on the porch. She pointed to the door. Out. Now. Her voice was shaking, but her eyes were hard. I asked her, what about Dad's things?

His workshop in the garage? His clothes? She said, none of your concern. It's my property now. I just stood there for a moment. I couldn't believe it was happening. She then grabbed my arm. Her nails dug in.

I said, get out. I pulled my arm away. I didn't push her or anything. I just got my arm free. She stumbled back a step, then she screamed. A really high-pitched scream. He hit me. He's attacking me.

No one else was done. there. It was just us in the house. I said, Clara, I didn't touch you. Stop this. She ran to the phone in the kitchen and picked it up. I'm calling the police. I'll tell them you assaulted me. My heart was pounding. I didn't know if she was serious. Looking at her face, she looked like she was. She looked completely unhinged. I just picked up the other bag from the porch and walked out. out. I just walked. As I got to the street, I heard her lock the front door. Really loud. Like she slammed the deadbolt home. I had two trash bags with some of my stuff, the clothes I was wearing, and my phone. I don't have much money, maybe $50 in my wallet. I walked to the park down the street. I sat on a bench.

I tried to call the only friend whose number I remembered, Mike, from school. It went to voicemail. I left a message, but I don't know if he'll even get it or be able to help. His family doesn't have much space. I stayed in the park until it got dark. Then I went to a 24-hour diner and bought a coffee so I could sit there for a while. I must have looked a mess. The lady there kept looking at me.

I left after a couple of hours. I ended up sleeping on a bench in the bus station. It was cold. I didn't really sleep. Yesterday, Monday, I went back to the house. I thought maybe she'd have calmed down. I knocked on the door. No answer.

I could hear the TV on inside. I knocked again, louder. The curtains in the living room twitched. I saw her looking out. Then she dropped the curtain. She never came to the door. I waited outside for an hour. Then I gave up.

I spent last night on the same bench. My phone is about to die. I'm charging it at the library right now to type this. I don't know what to do. I really have nowhere to go. The comments on my last post mentioned shelters. I'll have to look into that. I just can't believe this is happening.

My dad has only been gone for just over a week. So, I guess that's it. She kicked me out. I'm homeless. Any advice on what to do next would be good, especially about shelters or getting food. Update 2. It's been a little over a month since Clara kicked me out.

I'm writing this from the library again. It's one of the few places I can sit for a while without being bothered, and they have computers and Wi-Fi. The first week was a blur. I tried Mike again, my school friend. He eventually texted back. He said his parents were really strict and there was no way he could let me stay.

He sounded sorry, but that was it. No other help. I don't blame him. It's not his problem. I found a homeless shelter. It's a place to sleep. Indoors. That's the best I can say about it.

It's crowded, noisy. You have to be in by a certain time, out by a certain time in the morning. Lots of rules. Some of the people there are okay. Some are clearly struggling with a lot of things. I try to keep to myself. My first night there, someone stole the shoes I had left by my cot. I had another one and wear those shoes to sleep now, if you can call it sleep.

Getting food is a daily thing. Sometimes the shelter has meals. Sometimes there are soup kitchens. I've learned where they are and when they serve. Other times, I don't eat much. The $50 I had is long gone. I tried asking people for money a couple of times. It's awful.

Most people just walk past like you're invisible. Some look at you with disgust. One guy told me to get a job. to get a job. It's not that easy when you don't have an address, can't get a shower every day, and all your clothes are in a trash bag that you have to carry everywhere. I lost some of my dad's photos. The ones Clara threw in the bag. The bag got wet one day when it rained hard before I got to the shelter. Some of the photos are ruined. That was a bad day. About two weeks ago, I went back to the house. I don't know why.

I guess I just wanted to see it. I stood on the sidewalk across the street. The windows were all dark. It looked empty. As I was standing there, a car pulled up to the curb. It was Clara. She got out. She didn't see me at first.

She was carrying shopping bags, looked like new clothes. Then she spotted me. Her face changed. She dropped her shopping bags on her lawn and marched right over to me. What are you doing here? She yelled. I said, I just wanted to see the house.

Clara, this isn't your house anymore. I told you to stay away. Are you stalking me now? She was shouting loud enough for the whole street to hear. I told her I wasn't stalking her. I just repeated that I was looking at my old house. She got closer, right in my face. If I see you here again, I'm calling the police and getting a restraining order.

You're harassing me. Then she did something that really shocked me. She started crying, right there on the sidewalk. My husband just died, and his horrible son is tormenting me. He's trying to break into my house. None of that was true. I was just standing there. A neighbor from a few doors down came out onto their porch.

Clara pointed at me, still crying. He's threatening me. Make him go away. I just turned and walked off. I could hear her still yelling and crying as I went. I didn't look back. What was the point? She was making a scene and people would believe her because she was a crying woman and I was.

Well, I look like a homeless person. I'm trying to find work. I've asked at grocery stores, fast food places. They ask if I have an address, a phone number they can call. When I say no, or give the shelters address, the look on their face changes. No one calls back. My high school diploma, my birth certificate, social security card, all that stuff was in the house. Clara has it.

I need those things to get a proper job or apply for any kind of assistance. I don't know how I'll ever get them from her. After that scene on the street, I'm scared to go near the house again. One of the guys at the shelter told me about day labor places, where you show up early in the morning and hope to get picked for a few hours of work, usually construction or moving stuff. I'm going to try that next week. I need money for basic things.

Soap. Sox. Maybe a new toothbrush. It's not just the physical stuff. It's being alone. Dad was always there. Now there's no one. It's a strange feeling. I just focus on getting through each day.

That's all I can do. Update 3. It's been six months. I don't know why I'm still writing these. Maybe just to have a record that I'm still around. I'm at the library. It's winter now, and it's cold. Really cold. The shelter is always full.

Sometimes I don't get a bed and have to find somewhere else. Abandoned buildings, doorways, anywhere out of the wind. The day labor thing worked a few times. I got picked for some really hard jobs, like carrying bricks or digging holes. The money was okay for a day's work, cash in hand. But it's not regular. Some days nobody gets picked. And if you look too rough, or if you're not strong enough, they don't choose you.

I've lost weight. I don't think I look very strong anymore. Someone stole my trash bag with my clothes a while back. I had it next to me while I was trying to sleep behind a supermarket. When I woke up, it was gone. It had everything. The few clothes I had left, my dad's ruined photos, a small notebook I used to write things in. Everything other than the laptop.

Good thing I sold it for $500 for getting food. But now I just have the clothes I'm wearing and I try to wash them in public restrooms when I can. I got sick a few weeks ago. A bad cough, fever. I couldn't go to the shelter because they were worried about me infecting others. I spent three days in an old, boarded up storefront. It was freezing. I thought I was going to die there.

Some outreach workers found me. They give out blankets and soup. They got me to a clinic. They gave me some antibiotics. I got better, slowly. I had to go back to the house. Not my choice. The clinic said I needed my ID to get more help,

or to get into some longer-term programs. They said I should try to get my documents from my last known address. So, I went. I dreaded it. I stood on the sidewalk for a long time, like before. This time, the house looked back. the house looked different. The garden was overgrown. There was a for-sale sign in the yard. My heart sank. If she sold it, my documents would be gone for good. I knocked on the door.

I was expecting Clara to open it and start screaming. But a man I didn't know answered. He looked confused. I asked if Clara was there. He said, Clara? No, she moved out a few weeks. ago. We just bought the place. I asked if she left anything, any mail for a previous resident, or any boxes. I gave my name. He was nice enough. He said he didn't think so. The house was empty when they got it. He let me look in the mailbox, but it was empty too. He asked if I was okay. I guess I didn't look good. I just said, thanks and left. So Clara sold the house. house. And she took all my documents, all my last things. Or she threw them away. It doesn't matter which. They're gone. I found out later from someone who knew a neighbor that Clara had a massive

yard sale before she moved. Sold everything. Furniture, tools from Dad's Workshop, everything. She apparently told people her husband had left her with massive debts and she was forced to sell. Another lie. Dad was always careful with money. I also heard she had some kind of breakdown right before she moved. The neighbor said she was seen throwing things out of the windows into the yard, screaming at no one. One day she apparently just started cutting up the rose bushes dad had planted for my mom,

hacking at them with a kitchen knife, crying and muttering to herself. Then a week later, she was gone. New people moved in. It feels like she's trying to erase me and erase my dad. I tried to get copies of my birth certificate and social security card. It's really hard without any existing ID and no fixed address. It's like a circle you can't break out of. You need ID to get help, but you need help, like an address, to get ID.

I'm tired. Not just sleepy tired. Hired deep inside. I saw a kid I knew from a kid I knew from, high school the other day. He was with his parents, laughing, carrying shopping bags. He looked right at me, then he looked away really fast and hurried on. Like he didn't know me, or didn't want to. That hurt more than the cold sometimes. I don't know what the point of this update is. Just saying things are still bad. Maybe worse. This might be my last post for

a while. No good news. Update 4. It's been nearly a year since Clara threw me out. I think it's about 11 months. I've lost track of dates. Every day is just about finding food and a safe place to sleep. I didn't go to the library as much anymore. It was harder to make myself presentable enough to not get kicked out. I don't look like myself. I'm thin. Really thin. My clothes are torn and dirty. My hair is long and matted. I know I smell bad. It's hard to care anymore.

I spend most of my time in the downtown area where there are more people. Sometimes people give me a dollar or some change if I sit by the entrance of the train station. That's what I was doing yesterday. Just sitting there, holding out a greasy paper cup. Not looking at anyone, not saying anything. Most people hurry by. Then I heard a voice. David? Is that you? I looked up. I didn't recognize her at first. She looked clean, professional. Then I saw her eyes. It was Ms. Evans, my English teacher from senior year of high school. She was one of the good ones. Passionate about books, always tried to get us to think. I just stared at her. I couldn't say anything. I was so ashamed. Her face was shocked. Her hand went to her mouth. She knelt down in front of me, right there on the dirty pavement. She didn't seem to care about her

nice clothes. David, what happened to you? She asked. I still couldn't speak. What could I say? She just stayed there, looking at me. Then she said, come with me. me. Please. Let me get you something to eat. I don't know why, but I went with her. Maybe because she was the first person who had looked at me like I was still a human being in a very long time. She took me to a small cafe. She bought me a big breakfast. Eggs, bacon, toast, coffee. I ate so fast, I felt sick afterwards, but it was the best food I'd had in months. She didn't ask too many while I was eating. She just watched. After I finished, she started to ask gently, What happened with my dad? Where was I living? So, I told her. I told her about dad dying.

About Clara kicking me out the day after the funeral. About the last year on the streets. Ms. Evans listened to everything. She looked horrified, then angry when I told her about Clara. When I finished, she was quiet for a moment. Then she said, this is not okay, David. What Clara did is monstrous. She told me she was going to help me. She took me to a store and bought me new clothes. Jeans, shirts, socks, underwear, shoes, a warm jacket.

She made me go into the store's restroom and change. I saw myself in the mirror for the first time in months. I almost didn't recognize the person looking back. Then she took me to a place, like a community center she knew. They had showers. She waited outside for an hour while I showered. It was the best shower of my life. Feeling clean was, strange.

Good, but strange. She paid for a room for me in a small, clean motel for a few nights. She said she'd come back tomorrow and we'd make a plan. Get my documents sorted. Look into options. Before she left me at the motel, she gave me her phone number. She made me promise to call her if I needed anything or if I just wanted to talk. I'm in the motel room now.

It has a bed and a door that locks. It's strange. I don't know what to feel. Ms. Evans also asked me about Clara if I knew where she was. I told her about the house being sold, about Clara moving. I told her I didn't know where Clara went and I didn't want to. Ms. Evans got this determined look on her face. She said, people like that shouldn't just get away with doing such terrible things to others,

especially to a child. I know I'm 18, but she still said child, maybe meaning when it started. She said she has some contacts, people who might be able to find out what happened with my dad's will, if there even was one, and where Clara might be. I'm grateful to Ms. Evans. I really am, but I'm also worried. What if Clara tries to hurt Ms. Evans? Or what if she tries to find me and somehow make my life even more of a mess than it already is? The last year has taught me that things can always get worse. For now, I'm just going to try to sleep in this bed. Update 5. It's been a couple of months since Ms. Evans found

me. I'm not on the streets anymore. Ms. Evans has been amazing. She's like a force of nature, but a kind one. She helped me get a temporary ID. With her help as a reference, and using her address, we managed to apply for a copy of my birth certificate. It finally came through last week. She paid for everything. She found a room for me to rent in a house with an older lady who needed a bit of help around the garden. It's small, but it's safe and clean. I do odd jobs for the landlady to help with rent, and Ms. Evans helps me cover the rest for now. I started a basic computer skills course at the local community college. Ms. Evans thought it would be good for me to get some qualifications. It's hard. My concentration isn't great. Sometimes I just sit there and can't

take anything in. But I'm trying. I go every day. Miss Evans also talked to a lawyer friend of hers. Just for advice. The lawyer said that without seeing my dad's will, it's hard to say what my rights were. She said if the house was solely in my dad's name, I might have had inheritance rights. If it was jointly owned with Clara with rights of survivorship, then it would have automatically gone to Clara. or if Dad made a will leaving everything to Clara, that would be it. The lawyer said trying to find out now, after the house is sold and Clara is gone, would be expensive and difficult, with no guarantee of success. She said Clara's actions were morally awful, but proving illegality would be tough.

Ms. Evans was angry, but she accepted it. She said we should focus on my future. I was starting to feel a tiny bit. Not normal, but less like I was drowning. Then Clara found out about me or about Ms. Evans helping me. It happened last week. I was at the community college when my phone rang with an unknown number. I almost didn't answer, but knowing Ms. Evans sometimes calls from different numbers when

at work, I took the chance. When I answered, it was Clara on the line. She immediately launched into accusations, questioning if I thought I was clever for getting a teacher to help me in spreading what she called lies about her. I found myself unable to respond. Clara taunted that she knew exactly where I was and about Ms. Evans, whom she referred to as an interfering woman. She questioned whether I truly believed Ms. Evans could protect me. When I finally managed to ask what she wanted, Clara's response was chilling. She said she had wanted me to stay gone, calling me a street rat who was now trying to ruin her. I defended myself,

explaining I was just trying to live my life, which made her to laugh. She declared I didn't deserve a good life after what I had done. Confused by this accusation, I questioned what exactly I had done wrong. Her answer was devastating. She said simply existing. She ranted about me always being in her house with her husband, claiming he had loved me more than her. This surprised me. If Dad had truly loved me more, he had shown it strangely by allowing Clara to make my life subtly miserable for years. I chose not to argue this point. Clara's tone then shifted dramatically as she began to cry, blaming me for her husband's death. She insisted that if I hadn't been such a burden causing him stress, he would still be alive.

The accusation was absurd. Dad had died from an illness that had nothing to do with me. When I tried to reason with her, she only became more hysterical, insisting on her version of events. She said that a teacher had got lawyers on her, and she'd received a letter. I realized then how she had found out. Ms. Evans' lawyer friend must have sent an inquiry about Dad's will declare as old address, which had been forwarded. I attempted to explain that Ms. Evans only wanted information about Dad's will, but Clara denied any will that included me, claiming everything was rightfully hers before

abruptly ending the call. I was shaking. I told Ms. Evans immediately. She was furious. She called the lawyer, who confirmed they had sent a standard inquiry letter regarding the estate to an address they found for Clara. The lawyer was apologetic. Ms. Evans reported the call to the police. They took a statement, but said without a direct physical threat, there wasn't much they could do other than log it.

A few days later, Ms. Evans' car tires were slashed. All four of them. Outside her house. There was no proof of it. it was Clara, but we both knew. Ms. Evans had to pay a lot to get them replaced. She looked shaken, but she just got more determined. She's not going to scare us, David, she said.

Then, yesterday, I was walking from my rented room to the bus stop to go to college. A car swerved towards me onto the sidewalk. I had to jump out of the way. It was going fast. I fell and scraped my hands and knees badly. The car didn't stop. It was a dark sedan, I didn't see the driver clearly, but it looked like Clara's car that I vaguely remembered her getting after she sold Dad's old one.

I can't be sure. It happened so fast. I told Ms. Evans. She wanted to call the police again. Clara is unhinged. That threat on the phone, the self-pity, the blaming me for Dad's death, the rage. It's worse than I've ever seen it. And now she's escalating to physical actions.

First property damage, now what feels like a direct attempt to hurt me. Ms. Evans is trying to be strong, but I can see this is affecting her. I feel so guilty. She helped me, and now she's in danger because of it. I'm scared all the time now. The little bit of peace I had is gone. Final update, this is the last time all right here. much has happened. I don't even know where to begin. It all feels like a horrible dream.

After the car incident, Ms. Evans insisted on reporting it to the police. She told them about Clara's previous call, the slash tires. They were a bit more serious this time. They said they would try to talk to Clara, but they warned us that unless she confessed or there were witnesses, it would be hard to prove anything about the car. Ms. Evans also installed security cameras at her house. She made me take taxis to and from college for a while, and she paid for them. She was worried sick. I felt like a burden. A few days after the car thing, Clara showed up at my rented room. My landlady, Mrs. Gable, is an elderly woman. Clara somehow found out where I was staying. Maybe she followed me, or the lawyer's letter had a return address that Ms. Evans was

using for me. I don't know. I wasn't home. I was at college. Mrs. Gable told me what happened later. Clara apparently banged on the door, screaming my name, demanding to be let in. Mrs. Gable was scared. She opened the door just a crack on the chain. Clara tried to push her way in, yelling that I was a thief, that I had stolen from her, that I was a danger. Mrs. Gable is frail, but she's tough. She told Clara to leave or she'd call the police. Clara started wailing. A full-blown emotional meltdown on Mrs. Gable's doorstep.

She was crying, pulling at her own hair, and then she started hitting her own head against the doorframe, hard, repeatedly. Mrs. Gable said it was terrifying. She slammed the door shut and called the police. By the time the police arrived, Clara was gone. But she'd left a mark, a smear of blood on the doorframe from her head. The police took pictures. They seemed concerned about Clara's mental state.

The police finally made contact with Clara. I don't know what was said. But a few days after that, Ms. Evans got a call. It was from a hospital. Clara had been admitted to a psychiatric unit. Apparently, after the police spoke to her, she had some kind of major public incident. I don't know all the details, but I heard she was found in a park, disoriented, screaming at trees, and had tried to physically fight the officers who approached her.

They said she was a danger to herself and others. She had superficial cuts on her arms, which they thought were self-inflicted. That explained the self-harming behavior implied earlier. So, Clara is contained. For now. The police said it's likely she'll be in treatment for a while. They are also looking into pressing charges against her for the harassment, the threats, and possibly for the incident with her car and my tires, though the proof is still thin for those.

The assault on Mrs. Gable's door and her subsequent public breakdown made things clearer. I'm still going to college. I'm still living in Mrs. Gable's spare room. She's been very kind, especially after the incident with Clara. Ms. Evans wants me to see a therapist. She says I have a lot to process. I will look into it TBH. Also, before I go, I just wanted to thank the people here on Reddit. When I first posted, I didn't know what to expect. Reading your comments, getting tips about shelters or just knowing someone out there read my story, it helped. It was a

place to put down what was happening when I had no one else to tell. So, thank you for that. It meant something, especially during the really bad times.