I Returned Home from Work to Find My Adopted Twin Daughters, 16, Had Changed the Locks and Kicked Me Out

Thirteen years ago, I adopted my late husband’s secret twin daughters after his fatal car crash revealed his double life. I gave them everything, but at sixteen, they locked me out of my home. One week later, I discovered the shocking reason for their actions.

The morning Andrew died began like any other. The sun had just started peeking through my window, painting everything in a soft, golden light that made even my shabby countertops look almost magical.

It was the last normal moment I’d have for a long, long time.

When the phone rang, I almost didn’t answer it. Who calls at 7:30 in the morning? But something, intuition maybe, made me pick up.

“Is this Ruth?” A man’s voice, formal, hesitant.

“Speaking.” I took another sip of coffee, still watching the steam dance.

“Ma’am, I’m Officer Matthews with the Police Department. I’m sorry to inform you, but your husband was in an accident this morning. He didn’t survive.”

The mug slipped from my hand, shattering against the linoleum. Coffee splashed across my bare feet, but I barely felt it. “What? No, that’s… no… not my Andrew!”

“Ma’am…” The officer’s voice softened. “There’s more you need to know. There was another woman in the car who also died… and two surviving daughters. Records in our database confirm they’re Andrew’s children.”

I slid down the kitchen cabinet until I hit the floor, barely registering the coffee soaking into my robe.

The room spun around me as ten years of marriage shattered like my coffee mug. “Children?”

“Twin girls, ma’am. They’re three years old.”

Three years old. Three years of lies, of business trips and late meetings. Three years of another family living parallel to mine, just out of sight. The jerk had been living a whole other life while I’d been suffering through infertility treatments and the heartache of two miscarriages.

“Ma’am? Are you still there?”

“Yes,” I whispered, though I wasn’t sure I was. Not really. “What… what happens to them now?”

“Their mother had no living relatives. They’re currently in emergency foster care until—”

I hung up. I couldn’t bear to hear more.

The funeral was a blur of black clothes and pitying looks. I stood there like a statue, accepting condolences from people who didn’t know whether to treat me like a grieving widow or a scorned woman.

But then I saw those two tiny figures in matching black dresses, holding hands so tightly their knuckles were white. My husband’s secret daughters.

One had her thumb in her mouth. The other was picking at the hem of her dress. They looked so lost and alone. Despite the hurt of Andrew’s betrayal, my heart went out to them.

“Those poor things,” my mother whispered beside me. “Their foster family couldn’t make it today. Can you imagine? No one here for them except the social worker.”

I watched as one twin stumbled, and her sister caught her automatically like they were two parts of the same person. Something in my chest cracked open.

“I’ll take them,” I heard myself say.

Mom turned to me, shocked.

“Ruth, honey, you can’t be serious. After what he did?”

“Look at them, Mom. They’re innocent in all this and they’re alone.”

“But—”

“I couldn’t have my own children. Maybe… maybe this is why.”

The adoption process was a nightmare of paperwork and questioning looks.

Why would I want my cheating husband’s secret children? Was I mentally stable enough? Was this some form of revenge?

But I kept fighting, and eventually, Carrie and Dana became mine.

Those first years were a dance of healing and hurting. The girls were sweet but wary as if waiting for me to change my mind. I’d catch them whispering to each other late at night, making plans for “when she sends us away.”

It broke my heart every time.

“We’re having mac and cheese again?” seven-year-old Dana asked one night, her nose wrinkled.

“It’s what we can afford this week, sweetie,” I said, trying to keep my voice light. “But look — I put extra cheese on yours, just how you like it.”

Carrie, always the more sensitive one, must have heard something in my voice. She elbowed her sister.

“Mac and cheese is my favorite,” she announced, though I knew it wasn’t.

By the time they turned ten, I knew I had to tell them the truth. The whole truth.

I’d practiced the words a hundred times in front of my bathroom mirror, but sitting there on my bed, watching their innocent faces, I felt like I might throw up.

“Girls,” I started, my hands trembling. “There’s something about your father and how you came to be my daughters that you need to know.”

They sat cross-legged on my faded quilt, mirror images of attention.

I told them everything about Andrew’s double life, their birth mother, and that terrible morning I got the call. I told them how my heart broke when I saw them at the funeral and how I knew then that we were meant to be together.

The silence that followed felt endless. Dana’s face had gone pale, her freckles standing out like dots of paint. Carrie’s lower lip trembled.

“So… so Dad was a liar?” Dana’s voice cracked. “He was cheating on you?”

“And our real mom…” Carrie wrapped her arms around herself. “She died because of him?”

“It was an accident, sweetheart. A terrible accident.”

“But you…” Dana’s eyes narrowed, something hard and horrible creeping into her young face. “You just took us? Like… like some kind of consolation prize?”

“No! I took you because—”

“Because you felt sorry for us?” Carrie interrupted, tears streaming now. “Because you couldn’t have your own kids?”

“I took you because I loved you the moment I saw you,” I reached for them, but they both flinched back. “You weren’t a consolation prize. You were a gift.”

“Liar!” Dana spat, jumping off the bed. “Everyone’s a liar! Come on, Carrie!”

They ran to their room and slammed the door. I heard the lock click, followed by muffled sobs and furious whispers.

The next few years were a minefield. Sometimes we’d have good days when we went on shopping trips or cuddled together on the sofa for movie nights. But whenever they got angry, the knives came out.

“At least our real mom wanted us from the start!”

“Maybe she’d still be alive if it wasn’t for you!”

Each barb found its mark with surgical precision. But they were entering their teens, so I weathered their storms, hoping they’d understand someday.

Then came that awful day shortly after the girls turned sixteen.

I came home from work and my key wouldn’t turn in the lock. Then I spotted the note taped to the door.

“We’re adults now. We need our own space. Go and live with your mom!” it read.

My suitcase sat by the door like a coffin for all my hopes. Inside, I could hear movement, but no one answered my calls or pounding. I stood there for an hour before climbing back into my car.

At Mom’s house, I paced like a caged animal.

“They’re acting out,” she said, watching me wear a path in her carpet. “Testing your love.”

“What if it’s more than that?” I stared at my silent phone. “What if they’ve finally decided I’m not worth it? That I’m just the woman who took them in out of pity?”

“Ruth, you stop that right now.” Mom grabbed my shoulders.

“You’ve been their mother in every way that matters for thirteen years. They’re hurting, yes. They’re angry about things neither of you can change. But they love you.”

“How can you be sure?”

“Because they’re acting exactly like you did at sixteen.” She smiled sadly. “Remember when you ran away to Aunt Sarah’s?”

I did. I’d been so angry about… what was it? Something trivial. I’d lasted three days before homesickness drove me back.

Five more days crawled by.

I called in sick to work. I barely ate. Every time my phone buzzed, I lunged for it, only to be disappointed by another spam call or a text from a concerned friend.

Then, finally, on the seventh day, I got the call I’d longed for.

“Mom?” Carrie’s voice was small and soft, like when she used to crawl into my bed during thunderstorms. “Can you come home? Please?”

I drove back with my heart in my throat.

The last thing I expected when I rushed through the front door was to find my house transformed. Fresh paint coated the walls, and the floors gleamed.

“Surprise!” The girls appeared from the kitchen, grinning like they used to when they were little.

“We’ve been planning this for months,” Dana explained, bouncing on her toes. “Working at the mall, babysitting, saving everything.”

“Sorry for the mean note,” Carrie added sheepishly. “It was the only way we could think of to keep it a surprise.”

They led me to what used to be their nursery, now transformed into a beautiful home office. The walls were soft lavender, and there, by the window, hung a photo of the three of us on adoption day, all teary-eyed and smiling.

“You gave us a family, Mom,” Carrie whispered, her eyes wet. “Even though you didn’t have to, even though we were a reminder of everything that hurt. You chose us anyway, and you’ve been the best mom ever.”

I pulled my girls close, breathing in the familiar smell of their shampoo, feeling their hearts beat against mine.

“You two are the best things that have ever happened to me. You gave me a reason to keep going. I love you more than you’ll ever know.”

“But we do know, Mom,” Dana said, her voice muffled against my shoulder. “We’ve always known.”

My Halloween decorations kept getting stolen and ruined, but my world was turned upside down when I discovered who was behind it

I had just moved to a new town, hoping for a fresh start, but my neighbor Catherine made sure to ruin everything. She complained constantly and even stole my Halloween decorations. Determined to catch her in the act and get revenge, I set up a camera. What I discovered was far more shocking than I ever expected.

I had just finished setting up the Halloween decorations at my new house, feeling a little proud of how it all looked. Orange pumpkins, spider webs, and cute ghosts lined the front yard, ready for the kids who would come trick-or-treating.

It felt good to be settled after moving to this town just a month ago. My job was great, the house was cozy, and the town itself seemed charming—except for one thing: my neighbors.

Since the day I moved in, it felt like they had it out for me. It started with small things—comments about where I parked or how I didn’t trim my bushes the “right way.”

They would glance at me disapprovingly if I said “hi” in a way they didn’t like. It didn’t take long for the hostility to grow. One evening, they even called the police because I had my music on—at 7 p.m.! I couldn’t believe it.

The worst of them all was Catherine, who lived across the street. She was relentless, always coming over to complain about something. Once, she even stole my flowerpots, claiming they “didn’t fit the neighborhood vibe.”

I was beyond frustrated. Still, as I looked at my newly decorated house, I hoped at least this would be left alone. Just one thing that could bring some joy.

I’ve loved Halloween for as long as I can remember. It wasn’t just about the decorations or the candy; it reminded me of simpler times, warm childhood memories.

But this year, it felt different—darker. There was a hole in my heart where my dreams of having children used to be. It hurt to know I’d never create those special memories for my own kids.

Halloween, though, allowed me to heal a little, one bag of candy at a time. I poured it into a pumpkin, setting it out for the kids, and went inside, hoping for the best.

The next morning, my heart sank. All my decorations were gone. The only pumpkin left had been smashed, and the candy stolen. Tears welled up as I covered my mouth, overwhelmed by frustration and sadness. This was too much. I wasn’t going to let it slide. I knew who had done it, and I was determined to make her pay!

I stormed across the street and pounded on Catherine’s door, my anger bubbling over.

“Catherine! Open up! You’re a real witch!” I shouted, not caring who else heard.

After a few moments, the door flew open, and there she was, glaring at me.

“Have you lost your mind?” she yelled, hands on her hips.

“What did you do with my decorations?” I demanded, my voice shaking with fury.

“I didn’t touch your stupid decorations! Though they looked awful, if you ask me!” she shot back. “But I’m not ruining Halloween for the kids.”

“Just like you didn’t steal my flowerpots?” I screamed, stepping closer.

“Maeve, you’re crazy! You have no proof it was me!” she shouted, her face red. Then, with a loud slam, she shut the door in my face.

I stood there, shaking. “Witch!” I yelled at the closed door.

As I stood there, I realized that some of the neighbors had come outside, watching the whole scene. Their curious eyes were fixed on me, and I could already imagine the whispers behind my back.

They probably thought I was the crazy one now. I just wanted to do something nice for Halloween, and it had all been ruined. My throat tightened, and I could feel the tears building up again. Without another word, I turned and walked back home, my chest heavy with sobs.

Inside, I sat down, wiping my eyes. I couldn’t let this go. Halloween meant too much to me. I refused to let Catherine or anyone else destroy it. That evening, I made up my mind.

I went to the store, buying new decorations and candy. When I finished putting everything back up, I carefully placed a small camera among the decorations. This time, if she messed with them, I would have proof.

In the middle of the night, I woke up to a strange noise. My heart raced as I looked out the window. All my decorations were gone. Again. Anger bubbled up inside me as I quickly threw on my slippers and rushed outside.

The cool night air hit my face as I ran to grab the camera I had set up earlier. This time, I was sure I would catch Catherine in the act.

I hurried back inside and turned on the video. My eyes narrowed, ready to see Catherine, but to my shock, it wasn’t her. Instead, it was a boy—no older than 12—taking my decorations and candy. I stared at the screen, confused. I didn’t recognize him from the neighborhood.

Without thinking, I grabbed my coat and followed the direction the boy had gone. I passed house after house, but none of them seemed like his home.

I knew all the local kids, and he wasn’t one of them. Finally, I found myself standing in front of an old, abandoned house. A strange feeling came over me, urging me to go in.

Inside, it was dark and cold, the air damp and heavy. I pulled my cardigan tighter, my steps careful on the creaky wooden floors. Suddenly, I saw a faint light coming from a room. I walked in and froze.

There, huddled together, were two children—the boy from the video and a little girl, barely four years old. They were trembling, surrounded by my Halloween decorations.

“Please, don’t turn us in to the police!” the boy cried, his voice shaking. “My sister loves Halloween, but we don’t have any money. I didn’t want to steal, I swear! You just had the best decorations,” he said, his eyes wide with fear.

I stood there, staring at them. Two small kids in this awful, broken house. They looked so scared, and to be honest, I was scared too. The decorations didn’t matter anymore.

“Why are you here? Where are your parents?” I asked.

“We don’t have any,” the boy replied. “We ran away from our foster parents because they weren’t treating us right.”

I knelt down to their level, trying to understand. “What are your names?”

“I’m David, and this is my sister, Nicole,” he said, putting his arm around the little girl.

“My name is Maeve,” I told them, trying to sound reassuring. “You can’t stay here. It’s too cold. Come with me.”

David looked up at me, fear in his eyes. “Are you going to call the police?”

I shook my head. “No. I’m going to take you home,” I said, reaching out my hands to them both.

David and Nicole had been staying with me for several days now, and during that time, I had learned more about them through social services. It broke my heart to hear that their foster parents hadn’t even reported them missing.

How could anyone just forget about two children? I knew right then that there was no way they could go back. So, I filed the paperwork for temporary custody.

It was a bit of a process, but the social worker said the kids could stay with me even while we waited for everything to go through. That was a relief—I wasn’t ready to let them go.

The kids were amazing. At first, Nicole was so quiet, barely saying a word. She would just sit by herself, hugging her little stuffed bunny. But as the days went by, I saw her slowly start to relax.

She began to smile, laugh, and even talk a little. David, too, seemed happier. He helped me around the house, always asking if there was anything he could do.

Having them there made the house feel different—warmer, more alive. I hadn’t realized how empty it had felt before. It was as if David and Nicole had always been a part of my life.

In the evenings, I would read them bedtime stories. Every time, I felt tears welling up. I never thought my dream of having children would come true in such an unexpected way. But here we were, and it felt right.

On Halloween night, there was a knock at the door. Expecting trick-or-treaters, I smiled as I opened it, but instead of kids in costumes, I saw two police officers standing there.

“Can I help you, officers?” I asked, feeling my stomach drop a little.

“Your neighbor reported some strange screaming coming from your house,” one of the officers said. I followed his gaze across the street, where Catherine stood, arms crossed and a smug grin on her face. Of course, it was her.

Just then, a loud shout echoed from inside my house. I smiled sheepishly. “Oh, that. I’m showing the kids a scary movie for Halloween. You know, something fun for the night,” I explained, stepping aside. “Would you like to come in and check?”

The officers nodded and followed me inside. As we walked into the living room, one of them asked, “Are these your children?”

“Yes,” I said, the word slipping out naturally. “These are my children.”

It was the first time I had said it, but I realized it was true. In such a short time, they had become my family. I couldn’t imagine my life without them now.

The officers glanced at David and Nicole, who were sitting on the couch, eyes wide as they watched the scary movie. Every so often, they would pull the blanket over their heads, then peek out again.

The officers smiled, clearly seeing there was nothing wrong. “Have a good evening, ma’am,” they said, heading out the door.

As they walked out, I stepped onto the porch and waved at Catherine, who was still watching from across the street.

She looked furious, her face red with frustration. With a loud huff, she stomped her foot and marched back inside. I couldn’t help but smile to myself.

The next morning, I did what I had been thinking about for days—I applied to adopt David and Nicole. From that point on, I never spent another holiday alone. Every day was filled with laughter, love, and the warmth of family. I finally had what I had always dreamed of: I could call myself “Mom.”

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