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MidReal Story
Scheming Stepsister: A Homeowner's Battle
Scenario:Bratty stepsister tried to move in to my house and kick me out
Create my version of this story
Emma Johnson
1woman,blonde hair,casual style,blue jeans,white t-shirt
Jack Thompson
1man,brown hair,short haircut,athletic build,blue t-shirt,jeans
Olivia Smith
1woman,brunette hair,casual dress,green
I thought I was dreaming.
The voice outside my bedroom door sounded so unfamiliar.
It wasn’t Jack’s voice, and I knew it wasn’t one of the neighbors.
But it was six thirty in the morning, and I’d been sound asleep when the voice had awakened me.
“Emma, open the door right now.
You can’t ignore me forever.”
The person on the other side of the door pounded their fist against it.
I sat up in bed, my blanket falling into my lap as my heart rate kicked into high gear.
“Who is it?”
I finally called out.
I thought maybe it was one of those scammers who were always coming to my door, trying to convince me to sign up for a new credit card or change my electricity provider.
But why would they be knocking on my bedroom door at such an ungodly hour?
God, I hoped they hadn’t caught my house on fire or something terrible like that.
“It’s Olivia,” the voice replied.
My eyes widened in shock, because that definitely wasn’t a scammer.
That was my stepsister, Olivia, and she hadn’t been a part of my life since my father’s funeral six years ago.
“Olivia?”
I repeated, throwing back my blanket and climbing out of bed to open the door.
But before I could even turn the knob, she burst into the room like she owned the place, and I stopped dead in my tracks at the sight of her.
She looked like she’d walked straight out of a nightmare and into my life.
“Emma,” she said again, her voice softer now as she took in the sight of me, standing in my pajamas with my hair all tangled around my face, looking like a hot mess.
My heart was pounding in my chest as I stared at her in disbelief.
She was stunning, there was no doubt about that.
With long, blonde hair and bright blue eyes, she bore a striking resemblance to our father.
But she had also been gone for six years, and she certainly wasn’t supposed to be standing in front of me now.
How had she even gotten into the house?
I had been in the process of trying to move on with my life.
It hadn’t been easy, but I was finally starting to feel like myself again after losing my father.
And then Olivia waltzed back into town and declared that I had two weeks to vacate the premises because she was moving in.
I didn’t think so.
This house was mine.
It had belonged to my father, and he had left it to me in his will.
I wasn’t about to let some long-lost stepsister take everything away from me.
“I don’t want you here,” I said.
I could hear the emotion in my voice, but I didn’t bother trying to hide it.
My father had only had one child in his will—me.
He hadn’t left anything to Olivia because he hadn’t even known where she was at the time of his death.
She had been living in New York City and working as a model—just like our mother had done before her—but she’d cut all ties with us.
She’d even changed her name to Smith when she’d started her modeling career because she hadn’t wanted anyone to know that she was related to us.