Following her father’s death, Abigail’s stepmother forces her hand in Abi’s life, making cruel decisions. When Abi faces impossible odds, she trusts her gut to keep her safe.

My 15th birthday was anything but what I expected it to be. My father had passed on six months before, and due to having no relationship with my birth mother, I was forced to live with my stepmother, Linda.

I always felt that Linda didn’t like me. She seemed to put up with me for my father’s sake, but there was an underlying bitterness in all her interactions with me.

After my father’s death, I knew that Linda would try to get me out of the house, but I was only 15, so I thought that she wouldn’t be so cruel.

On the morning of my 15th birthday, Linda barged into my room with a devious smile playing on her lips. She held a gift-wrapped box in one hand and a cupcake in the other.

“Happy birthday, Abigail,” she said, her voice betraying a coldness that sent a shiver down my spine.

Despite the strained nature of our relationship, her gesture momentarily sparked a flicker of hope within me — at least she hadn’t forgotten about my birthday altogether.

Little did I know what was coming.

“Thank you,” I replied cautiously, taking a bite of the cupcake she handed me. “What’s in the box?”

“Open it! I know you’ve been talking about being more independent lately,” she said. “So, I thought I’d give you what you wanted.”

What independence could she give to a teenager? I couldn’t even drive yet.

With shaky hands, I tore open the envelope, anticipation rearing its hopeful head.

Inside wasn’t a token of affection or celebration — instead, it was a lease agreement for a small apartment across town. The note read that she had even paid the deposit and the first month’s rent.

“I can’t live by myself,” I stammered. “What about school? This is too far!”

“Well, Abi, you wanted your freedom, doll,” Linda sneered. “Now you have it. You can take your things by the end of the week. I’ll have Paul, my assistant, drop off some boxes for your stuff.”

“But Linda, this is Dad’s house,” I said. “I don’t want to go anywhere.”

“Too bad,” she said. “You insist you want to be a doctor instead of contributing to the family business. I told you, my business is booming, and I have houses rapidly leaving the market. All I asked you to do was clean the houses for me between viewings. But you refused.”

It was true, but I didn’t have a choice. Linda wanted me to clean during the day — during school hours, and that was impossible.

“You can fend for yourself. I’m sure you’ll figure it out,” she said, exiting my room.

The gravity of her ultimatum hit me like a ton of bricks. If I wanted to stay, I would have to leave school and become Linda’s cleaner for the real estate business. But I couldn’t do that. I loved school and dreamed of becoming a doctor — it was a dream my father and I shared.

He always said that I had the heart for being a doctor. I missed him terribly.

But, at such a young age, I was faced with the impossible — homelessness and abandonment by the only family I had left.

I tried to figure out what to do for the rest of the week. I knew I couldn’t leave school, but neither could I live in that apartment — where would I get the money for food and rent?

Eventually, I went to my Aunt Maria. She’s my father’s sister, and although they didn’t get along well, she was my only option for survival.

I stood on her doorstep and told her everything that had happened to me. With open arms, she welcomed me into her home, offering me the warmth and stability I desperately craved.

“You have a bright future ahead of you, Abi,” she would say when we cooked together. “Don’t you let anyone extinguish that fire.”

Aunt Maria housed me throughout my school years and then again during medical school. She was a spinster, so it was always just us and her cat, Mimi. With her unwavering support and encouragement, I balanced school with part-time jobs, paving the way for my studies.

Years later, during a routine shift in the ER, fate pitched me a curveball. On a busy night, Linda was brought in bleeding from her temple because she had been in an accident. A driver had shot through a red light, running into Linda’s car.

“People are so reckless,” she said when I stitched her up, not recognizing me. “I’m grateful that I’m alive — if I could get my hands on that driver…” her voice trailed off.

“Do you think kicking out a fifteen-year-old girl is reckless, too?” I asked, carefully looking at her wound.

Linda gasped.

“Abigail?” she whispered.

“It’s Doctor Abigail Parker now, but yes, it’s me. Hold still,” I said as she winced.

“I’m so sorry. You disappeared, and I didn’t know where to start looking for you,” she stammered.

Linda had aged but was still the same person — cold and callous to the bone.

“It’s fine,” I said. “I made it to where I need to be. Let me finish stitching you up, and you can leave.”

Every part of me wanted to kick and scream and tell Linda how much she had hurt me, but I couldn’t do it.

That wasn’t me anymore — I was a doctor who had taken an oath, and now, Linda was my patient.

I finished with the stitches and sent her off on her way. Admittedly, I was happy to see her, only for her to know that I had survived, but I was also glad when she left.

Besides, Linda seemed to be getting her share of karma. Maybe the accident was just the beginning of fate paying her back for her wicked ways.

What would you have done if you were in my shoes at my age?